Rima
by Purupuss
Summary: Time moves on; people move on... But when your world starts imploding around you, can things ever be the same?
1. Chapter 1 - The End

_The end is nigh... But for whom?_

_This is not the sequel to A Quiet Year, rather it's the story I've been working on for a few quiet years.  
_

_I first had the idea back in 2004, but thought that I'd never use it. Then, when it came to writing the sequel I made a start of a couple of chapters before the muse kept on pestering me with this 2004 story. To keep it quiet I wrote that little bit and then got back to the sequel. The muse fed me more of 2004, so I wrote that and went back to the sequel. The muse fed me more of 2004...  
_

_I gave up and decided to write it._

__The title is Rima (Ree-ma) because that means five in Maori. I chose that because there are five Tracy boys, five Thunderbirds, five major rescue events... and this story was supposed to be the fifth in line waiting to be written after the sequel. It's working title was #5, so I've kept that without making it sound like a movie about a robot. __

As usual, thanks to D.C, Quiller, and this time also to Red Hardy for proofing and checking that the Americans sound like Americans. Rima has been proofread so many times that it's a wonder that it hasn't been worn out. Hopefully between the three of us we've obliterated all the typos, but I doubt it. Even last week I managed to find that Lady Penelope was enjoying a "mew" cup of tea. So if you find any mistakes - blame Gordon.

I've decided that as Rima is Purupuss length and you all have a life to live, and because Red Hardy is still ploughing/plowing through it, I'm going to upload every Friday. This may become more frequent if my review withdrawal symptoms becomes too much for me to stand.

Naturally I can claim none of the Tracy clan or their friends as my own; nor Tracy Island, and, of course (as much as I'd love to) none of International Rescue's craft, including the Thunderbirds. Those characters and equipment who are not part of the Thunderbirds canon belong to me.

Please do not post this story in a C2 or any other site without first asking my permission.

:-)_ Purupuss_

* * *

"_Civilisation exists by geological consent, subject to change without notice."_ Will Durant (5/11/1885 – 7/11/1981): Writer, historian and philosopher.

**Chapter 1 – The End**

_Monday 17__th__ October 2072_

"We can't afford to carry on."

John Tracy studied the shocked, bemused, and stunned faces before him and wondered if any of them had expected this.

They probably wouldn't have dreamt it six months ago.

Six months before that moment when they began their slow downward spiral...

They should have known that something was wrong. Jeff Tracy asking for someone to pilot his aeroplane to a meeting in the States should have sent alarm bells ringing. But the Tracy patriarch had said that he needed the time to go over some files, and everyone had accepted the excuse. Scott had flown him to Tracy Industries' headquarters.

The first sign of trouble had been when John had received that frantic call from his elder sibling. To John's ears, tuned to seven years of listening to his brothers' various emotions played out over the airwaves, Scott had sounded frightened, almost panicked: alien emotions in one of the most calm and controlled personalities that John knew.

It wasn't until much later, when things had calmed down somewhat, that John had heard the full story of what had happened. The flight out had been smooth; and, mindful of his father studying in the back of the aeroplane, Scott had kept conversation to a minimum. He'd had no indication that there were any problems. Even upon landing, all had seemed well. He'd stayed in the cabin of the aeroplane to retrieve his father's bags, while Jeff had gone out to talk to the Tracy Industries employee who'd come to the airport to collect his boss.

Scott had glanced out through the cabin window just in time to see Jeff Tracy collapse onto the concrete. By the time Scott had hurdled the cases and thrown himself out of the aeroplane's door and across the tarmac, the airport's paramedics were already on the scene; working on the casualty and keeping everyone superfluous at bay.

Including Jeff Tracy's eldest son and International Rescue's Rescue Coordinator.

John surmised that this was what had really destabilised Scott's mental equilibrium. It wasn't so much the fact that his father had so unexpectedly collapsed and was being given cardiac resuscitation, but that Scott had been rendered redundant and with no control of the situation. All he could do was send his panicked call to the space station: "I think he's had a massive stroke, John!"

It had taken all of John's own self control to stop him from heading down the same frightened path. The many experiences of having been through similar situations with his brothers helped him to remain calm...

But this wasn't a brother. This was his father.

John had relayed the message back down to Earth to a shocked, but supportive Tin-Tin. And it was Tin-Tin who'd been the only one who kept her cool. She'd taken control; dispatching Alan and Virgil, with Brains for support, off to rescue John from Thunderbird Five; at the same time sending Gordon, Mrs Tracy and her own father to support Scott at the hospital. Then, in the intervening hours as she waited for Thunderbird Three's return, she'd arranged rooms at the hotel nearest to the hospital, organised meals to be sent to the family group, and packed everyone's bags. She then set about tidying Jeff Tracy's Tracy Industries affairs as much as she could; cancelling appointments, and handing files over to the appropriate assistants. By the time the crew had arrived back from the space station she was ready to head to the States.

And there they'd waited for hour after seemingly endless hour. Hoping for the best news and dreading the worst.

It wasn't the worst, but it hadn't been the best either. For the first 48 hours Jeff had been kept in a medically induced coma as the doctors sought to limit the damage to his brain.

John remembered the shock he'd felt when the doctor had confirmed Scott's original diagnosis. He couldn't believe it. For his age his father was fit and active. While Jeff Tracy didn't deny himself the odd luxury, he also made a point of taking care of himself. A stroke shouldn't have happened to someone as young and fit as him.

Then the doctor had asked if there was any genetic predisposition towards cerebrovascular attacks in the family, and John had got another shock when his grandmother had confirmed that there was. "Yes, it runs in the family," she'd admitted. "Jeff's grandfather was paralysed because of a stroke. His great-grandfather died of one, as did his great-great-grandfather. His father died in an accident, which I guess is why Jeff never thought of having tests."

"Does this mean that any of us could be susceptible?" Alan had asked.

It was a disquieting thought to realise that any one of the five Tracy boys could be a ticking time bomb, and they all agreed that complete medical examinations were in order...

Once they knew that their father was going to be all right.

But during those first 48 hours they each had to deal with their own demons. Scott had paced up and down in the corridor outside his father's room, still desperate to gain some control over the situation. Virgil had spent the evening pouring his emotions into the hotel's piano. He hadn't stopped when asked to by the management, who were forced to get Grandma to ask him to leave the restaurant. Even this didn't work and eventually Virgil had been physically dragged away by Scott.

Gordon stayed in the hotel pool; swimming lap after lap...

Alan had spent the time holed up in his room being comforted by Tin-Tin.

John remembered trying and failing to search out peace in a patch of starlit sky. All he could find was a little bit of murky darkness in the skies overhead; the stars having been obliterated by light pollution.

No, John reflected. None of them had handled their father's sudden indisposition well...

"John?"

A touch on his shoulder brought him out of his reverie.

"John," Scott repeated. "What do you mean that we can't afford to carry on?"

John stared at the digital surface of the table that the core of International Rescue was seated around. "I mean just what I said. We don't have the money." He pushed at the image of the top piece of paper and it 'slid' across the table until it was in front of his brother. Then he passed copies of the document to Lady Penelope, Parker, Kyrano and his grandmother, before flicking the last three digital papers with less care to his brothers.

"I don't understand," Alan admitted as he looked at his copy of International Rescue's finances. "These numbers look big enough to me."

"Personally we're not in dire straits," John acknowledged. "If we wanted to continue the lifestyle that the world thinks we live, we could, no problem. But we can't afford to keep International Rescue operational."

"It can't be that bad," Virgil challenged.

"You think so? Let me tell you, Virgil, that by the time you've left this room, slid down your chute, chosen the required pod, lowered the cliff face and trundled out to Thunderbird Two's launch pad, you've just spent more money than the GDP of most of our Pacific neighbours. And that's before you've even fired the launch rockets."

Virgil looked shocked. But then, John realised, once again they all did. As if they hadn't considered the costs involved in operating an international rescue organisation.

Maybe they hadn't.

It wasn't as though running the family business, including International Rescue's finances, had been lumped solely onto John's shoulders. Virgil had always been ready to give advice and assist with decisions relating to engineering. Likewise Scott could be counted on for help with things aeronautical, Gordon for anything relating to water, while Alan was the expert with automotive decisions. But it was John, able to comprehend the relationships between trillions of stars with ease, who'd been the most comfortable manipulating a few billion dollars.

Between the five of them they'd managed to keep the Tracy Industries running on an even keel. It was only over the last couple of months that John had become aware of the slow leak.

"If you look here," he highlighted a graph on his financial statement and the result was mirrored on the others' copies, "you'll see how the value of Tracy Industries has dropped."

Gordon's finger traced the line of the graph. "Since Dad had his stroke."

"Yes. As far as the markets are concerned Jeff Tracy IS Tracy Industries. Without a clear leader at the helm, people are wary of dealing with us."

"So, what can we do?" Grandma asked.

John sat back. "I don't know. That's why I've called this meeting, to see if any of you have ideas. How can we raise more money? Throw in any ideas you have, no matter how crazy they seem, and we'll see if we can make some of them work."

"We could sell something?" Tin-Tin suggested.

"That would help in the short term," John agreed. "The question is; what would we sell?"

Scott was flicking through the document. "Our biggest asset is Tracy Island," he noted, "but without Tracy Island we don't have International Rescue."

Gordon was perusing the page detailing operatives' salaries. "We could all take a pay cut," he stated. Then he stared at a number on the page before looking up at his eldest brother. "Is that what you earn?!"

John ignored the side issue. "If none of us were paid, we could keep Thunderbird Four going and not much more. If you turn to page fifteen and start at appendix part one…" John pointed out the relevant section. "You'll find the breakdown of the expenditure required to operate each of our craft."

Parker was staring over his big nose at the even bigger numbers. "'Scuse me, Mister John, but H-I thought Thunderbird Five would be h-a lot more h-economical to run. Since h-it don't h-actually go h-anywhere. H-It says 'ere that h-it's nearly h-as much h-as the other Thunderbirds."

John managed a small smile. "I can see why you'd think that, Parker, but I've factored in other expenses, such as using Thunderbird Three..." Parker frowned and John continued. "Under Thunderbird Three's appendix I've listed how much it costs to use it solely as a rescue vehicle. Thunderbird Five's expenses include using Three as transportation between base and Five for maintenance and upgrades. If Five were still manned the costs would be even higher because we'd have to make regular runs to replenish supplies and change Space Monitors." A note of sadness had crept into his voice and his grandmother gave him a comforting rub on the back. Since Jeff's illness it had been decided to use Thunderbird Five as a relay satellite - sending calls for help directly to Tracy Island. This meant that International Rescue had more operatives available for emergencies and that, should Jeff's health take a turn for the worse, all five of his sons could get to the States in quick time. It also meant that John hadn't stayed in his beloved satellite for months.

"We could always not do space rescues," Gordon suggested and ignored Alan's "Hey!" of complaint. "We hardly ever have any anyway."

"But we have had them!" Alan rebuked. "Remember when we rescued Rick O'Shea?"

Gordon smirked. "Don't tell me that you wouldn't have rather left him on his pirate satellite TV station."

"If we're de-commissioning Thunderbirds because of lack of use, why not Thunderbird Four?" Alan challenged. "It hardly ever gets used. And just the other week you said you were seriously considering going for that underwater research job. If you did that we wouldn't have an aquanaut and wouldn't be able to use Four anyway."

Surprised, all eyes turned to Gordon who looked uncomfortable. "There hadn't been any action for weeks and I was bored," he admitted. "We've had that shipwreck since then. Look..." he added, hoping to divert everyone's attention away from Alan's unwelcome revelation. "Can we cut back on some of our machines' capabilities?"

"Such as?" Scott asked.

"Uh..." Gordon thought for a moment. He glanced across the table. "As an example: FAB1." There was an unintelligible sound from Parker. "It's a huge car. And increased size equals increased fuel consumption. We could chop it in half. Maybe have four wheels instead of six? That would reduce rubber costs too."

"Next thing you'll have Lady Penelope being driven about in a Mini instead of a Rolls Royce," Alan scoffed. "I'm sure that would be much more economical. Or better still. A pink motor scooter! You can't get much more economical than that!"

It was obvious to all that he was joking, but Alan still received a glare from an unimpressed Lady Penelope. "May I remind you boys," her withering stare moved from Alan to Gordon, "FAB1 is my own private vehicle. I pay for all expenses related to its use. You will not 'chop it in half'."

"We're aware that it's yours, Penny," Scott shot his two youngest siblings down with a stare of his own. "The basic idea's sound; we just need to work out where we can put it into practise. Do you have any thoughts, Virg?"

Virgil had been scribbling ideas onto a sheet of digital paper and just as quickly scrubbing them out. He sighed. "Nothing that equates to the millions of dollars that John's talking about."

"Brains?"

Brains had been staring into space, his huge intelligence running through various equations and hypotheses. He gazed at Scott through enormous, solemn, blue-framed eyes. "No."

"Tin-Tin?"

She shook her head. "I am sorry, Scott. Maybe if I had more time to think about it?"

Scott turned his attention back to the lead in this discussion. "How much time have we got, John?"

"Depends," John admitted, "on the type of rescue. If they were water-based ones within a thousand kilometre radius of Tracy Island we could do hundreds. If it was something along the line of the Sunprobe rescue where we used both Thunderbird Three and Thunderbird Two to the limits of their abilities, we'd probably have enough money to be able to scrape through one rescue and one alone. And that's assuming that we don't use Thunderbird One."

Scott made no comment. "Okay. So what other options have we got?"

"Sponsorship?" Gordon suggested.

"Sponsorship?" Tin-Tin queried. "You would be willing to allow businesses to advertise on the side of the Thunderbirds?"

Gordon shrugged. "I don't like the idea," he admitted. "But you've got to admit that we've got a fantastic billboard in the underside of Thunderbird Two. Everyone looks up to watch us arrive..."

"Whoa! No way!" Virgil exclaimed. "We are not painting anything on Thunderbird Two!"

"Why?" Gordon teased. "Don't you want to advertise that hamburger chain? The logo would look great against the green backgr..."

Before Virgil had the chance to formulate a suitable answer, Scott had negated the suggestion. "Sponsorship is out of the question. Besides, do you know of any businesses with the spare cash to sponsor the kind of money that we would require?"

"Tracy Industries?" Alan suggested. "Then people would be rushing to do business with the business that does business with International Rescue, and we'd get the money we need to continue."

"You may as well paint _The_ _Tracy family is International Rescue_ on a Thunderbird," Virgil responded.

"Should you start chargin' for your services?" Parker asked. "User pays."

"Who would we charge?" John asked. "The two little boys we've just rescued from the mine? The family of those boys? The community those children live in? The country the children live in?"

"Maybe not after the rescue, but what about before? As a type of insurance?" Lady Penelope suggested. "Charge each nation in the world a premium; payable so many times a year."

John shook his head. "The poorer nations could never afford to pay their share, leaving the wealthier nations to carry the burden of supporting us."

"Most of 'em could h-afford it," Parker growled.

"True... Until some of their constituents complain about their tax dollars being used to support 'freeloaders' and a new government's elected and decides to withdraw all their support. It leaves us vulnerable."

"I-Instead of individual countries, er, could we ask the World Government to sponsor us?" Brains asked. "They get levies from i-individual nations. Maybe a, er, portion of that could be allocated to International Rescue?"

There was a general murmuring of assent.

Scott frowned. "The problem with requesting monetary help from countries, even if it's through the World Government, is that we'll appear to become political; and if there's one thing Father insisted on, it was that International Rescue is to be free of political influences. We help anyone and everyone. No matter who they are and how much money they've got."

"Plus," John added, "there's always a chance that those funders will decide that they are entitled to have a say in the running of International Rescue. They might try to dictate who we do, or don't, help. Or tie up the purse strings so tightly that we're more hamstrung than we are now... If that's not a mixed metaphor."

Silence fell over the group as each individual tried to come up with a workable solution.

Up till now Kyrano had been silent; listening and thinking about all that had been said, but now he raised his hand. "May I have permission to speak?"

"Of course, Kyrano," Scott replied. "You're as much a part of International Rescue as any of us."

Kyrano bowed his head in a gesture of thanks. "During the past seven years I have observed the sons of Mr Jeff Tracy at their work." His eyes moved from John, to Scott, to Alan, Gordon and finally Virgil. "You have been dedicated to Inter-national Rescue. You have not sought recognition for your labours and have willingly laid down your lives for those of strangers. You have put your hearts and souls into Inter-national Rescue… But I have seen changes."

"Changes?' Lady Penelope looked at him sharply. "What do you mean?"

"No longer do they have the fire in their bellies. No longer do they, as you say, 'champ at the bit' to fly out in their Thunderbirds. When Inter-national Rescue began I saw young men eager to go out and serve. Now, when I hear the alarm of help, I also hear groans of reluctance."

The brothers fidgeted, unable to look at each other or their colleagues.

"I believe that Mr Tracy's money formed the backbone of Inter-national Rescue and his sons the body," Kyrano continued. "But I also believe that Mr Tracy is Inter-national Rescue's heart. While the heart is ailing, the body is weakened. A weakened body is vulnerable to injury and disease. I fear that injury to the body of Inter-national Rescue would kill the heart."

There was silence.

Scott cleared his throat. "So, are you saying, Kyrano, that we shouldn't be asking ourselves how we are going to keep International Rescue going: but whether we should?"

Kyrano inclined his head in assent.

"Well," Scott looked around the group, concentrating on his brothers. "Gordon's gone on record saying that he wouldn't mind a change of scene…"

"I didn't go on record!" Gordon exclaimed, embarrassed by the perceived lack of loyalty. "Alan opened his big mouth!"

"Okay, Gordon, point taken… But what about the rest of us?" Scott looked at each brother in turn. "John? You've had the biggest change to your role in International Rescue since Father's stroke. What do you think?"

"Well, they say a change is as good as a rest…" John paused. "I'm not begrudging having a bigger input into Tracy Industries and I'll admit that I'm enjoying the challenge, even if it's obvious that I'm not in Dad's league. But… If I'm really honest… For me International Rescue is now a 'job', not my 'vocation'. Now, as Kyrano said, I dread hearing this going off…" Pulling the radio receiver that was his direct link with Thunderbird Five off his belt, he placed it on the table before him. "…because it means I'm going to have to interrupt whatever it is I'm doing." He took a deep breath. "I also no longer feel as 'valued' by International Rescue as I was…" There were various exclamations about the table.

"Valued!" Grandma exclaimed. "Of course you're valued, Honey. Whatever do you mean?"

"I mean that my forte is communications and astronomy. While I was on Thunderbird Five I could indulge my interests while International Rescue made use of my communication skills. While I can still use this," he indicated the receiver, "to communicate with anyone in the world who needs us, and I still have the ideas to make improvements to our communications systems; I don't have the time to bring those ideas to life, and International Rescue doesn't seem to need them. It seems to me that my skills are being better utilised by Tracy Industries, and that International Rescue no longer needs me…" He weighed the receiver in his hand and then put it back on his belt.

"We do need you, John," Scott reassured him. "And we appreciate all you're doing to keep Tracy Industries going." He looked down to the other end of the table. "What are your thoughts, Virg?"

Virgil doodled on a blank piece of digital paper. "What are my thoughts?" He hesitated. "I've been thinking that I've flipped an elevator car while a nuclear-powered jet airliner's landed on me; I've been shot down and crash landed; I've been knocked around and knocked out; I've had numerous bumps and scrapes and bruises and so far I've managed to walk away unscathed. I've been lucky. And I've been wondering when my luck's going to run out." He fixed his brothers with a solemn stare. "I've been wondering when _our_ luck's going to run out."

"Haven't we all," Scott agreed. "Gordon? Do you want to say anything?"

"Well, since Alan brought it up," Gordon glared at the offending brother. "I'll admit that I'm not finding International Rescue as fulfilling as I'd hoped. I know that after my accident no one wanted to push me before I was ready; and I appreciate that… But that was nearly ten years ago and I still don't get the action that I expected when Dad first told us about this organisation that he was planning on starting. I knew that there would be few water-based rescues, but… kinda like John, I'm starting to think that my skills would be better used elsewhere."

Scott nodded. "Alan?"

"Uh..." Alan frowned. "It's not something I've considered..." He bit his lip. "I do have things that I want to do. Things I won't contemplate doing while I'm a member of International Rescue." He shot a quick glance towards Tin-Tin. "I'm just not sure that they're a good enough reason to quit."

No one pushed him for further information.

"What about you, Scott?" Virgil asked. "We haven't heard your thoughts."

"There have been times when I've wondered why I bother being part of International Rescue," Scott admitted. "I know that we don't expect payment from those we help, but a word of thanks would be appreciated. But the public seems to expect me to wave a magic wand and work miracles as soon as I arrive at the danger zone, as if it's their god-given right. Then, when I tell them that we've got to wait for Thunderbird Two to arrive, they start yelling at me as if the whole catastrophe's my fault. I mean, I know that's not a good reason to give up, but..." He stopped, aware that he was getting hot under the collar. "It does take away your enthusiasm for the job."

"And then there are all the false alarms we're called out to," Virgil reminded him. "They waste a heck of a lot of time."

"And money," John added.

"Do you get many?" Lady Penelope enquired.

"Many!" Scott gave a bitter laugh. "Too many. Last month some kid had thought it'd be a laugh to call International Rescue out on a wild goose chase. And then what happened when he got caught out?" He threw his hands up in exasperation. "His mother dragged him away by the ear without a word to me. No apology. No thanks. Nothing. She didn't even make the kid apologise... And that's not an isolated incident."

"And then there's the media's response when we don't pull off a miracle," John added grimly. "Believe me; the public expect it of us; whether or not it's humanly possible."

"Yeah." Gordon clenched his fists in frustration. "Remember that newspaper reporter who ripped into us for turning up too late to save that family inside the house that burned down?"

"The local fire brigade turned up before we did," Alan recollected. "And even they were too late. There was no way that we could have done anything."

Grandma huffed. "That report made me so mad! I can understand people wanting International Rescue to help those they care about, but honestly a house fire! International Rescue is there for those who appear to be beyond help, not for minor disasters that the local authorities can deal with!"

In the silence that followed they all tried to rein in their anger.

When he thought they'd had long enough to cool down again, Scott spoke. "Does anyone want to say anything else?"

"Yes." Alan sat up straighter. "We've all got valid reasons for walking away from International Rescue, but I can think of one equally valid reason for keeping it going... Dad." There were nods of agreement from his brothers. "International Rescue was his dream. What would it do to him if we shut it down because of his illness?"

It was his grandmother who responded to his question. "I know that I've been spending most of the last few months with your father, and I haven't spent a lot of time with you boys; but I've noticed the changes in your attitudes towards International Rescue too. And, like Kyrano, I'm worried that you'll become careless. I don't want Jeff upset any more than you do, but I know that if one of you had a serious accident that would upset your father more than if International Rescue ceased operations. He will understand if you make that decision."

Kyrano bowed his head. "Mrs Tracy is correct."

"In that case..." Virgil had drawn a large question mark on his digital paper. "Are we giving serious consideration to shutting down International Rescue?" He pushed home the dot at the bottom.

Scott looked around the group before him before answering. "Yes."

"Then can we take some time to think about it?" Alan asked. "I can't make a decision now."

"I think we all need the time," Scott agreed. "And we're going to need longer than a couple of hours. We'll meet back here this time next week. Agreed?"

They all agreed.

"Let's all hope that International Rescue isn't called out to anything major in the meantime," John muttered as he switched off the digital table.

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

Nurse Georgia smiled at the five young men who approached her station. Then her smile slipped slightly. There was something odd here. The Tracy sons weren't frequent visitors to their father, but when they did visit they were attentive towards the older man. Unlike some visitors who turned up to see the patients, spent a quick five minutes visiting, said they had a few errands to run and that they'd return soon, and then reappeared five minutes before they were due to leave; the Tracys would try to spend every minute possible with their father.

What was really odd was that all five were present. Georgia couldn't remember this happening since the week that Jeff Tracy had been shifted into the long-term care wing of the private hospital. She couldn't even recollect a time when she'd seen two or more of the sons together. Something unusual was definitely happening. Maybe it was something to do with Mrs Tracy having been called away from her son's bedside last week...?

The eldest, Scott, smiled at her; but his smile seemed forced. "Good morning, Georgia. How is he?" he asked.

This was odd too. They always greeted her with the usual pleasantry of asking after her health before they asked after their father. Not that Georgia expected anyone to worry about how she was feeling. In a hospital ward there were people with greater problems than her own. "He's stronger today, Scott. Your grandmother deliberately placed the newspaper out of reach before she left the room and he had to get up and walk across to get it."

Scott smiled again, but Georgia wasn't sure he'd been listening. "Is he strong enough to take some bad news?"

Georgia abandoned all pretence of a smile. "Bad news? Well, yes he is, depending on how bad the news is you're talking about."

"Ah..." Scott Tracy seemed unsure of how to respond. "We've got to tell him that we're going to have to close down one of his pet projects... We know it's going to upset him."

Georgia evaluated her response. "So long as you break it to him gently, he should be all right."

"He might be, but what about us?" Gordon muttered as they walked towards Jeff's room, and Georgia realised that it was the first word that any of Scott's brothers had said. They seemed to be content in letting him take control of the situation... Whatever it was.

Jeff Tracy, lying propped up by a multitude of pillows looked pleased when he saw Scott enter his room. Pleased, then surprised, and finally concerned when he realised that his eldest was followed by Virgil, John, Gordon, and finally, showing some degree of reluctance, Alan. "Wha' y' do' 'ere?"

Grandma stood. "There's not enough room in here for the six of us," she stated. "I'll wait outside." Jeff watched, alarmed, as she squeezed Scott's hand, patted John on the shoulder, and treated her other grandsons to a reassuring smile before walking out the door.

"Wha' 'ron'"

"Father..." Scott pulled up a chair and placed it close to his father's head so he wouldn't have to raise his voice. He looked at the frail, somewhat emaciated man who lay on the bed before him. "We have something we have to tell you."

Jeff looked at his five sons and wished that that horrendous stroke hadn't robbed him of so much of his speech. He wanted to tell them to stop frightening him with their solemn and silent attitudes. "Wha'?"

"We've done our best... And John's been amazing keeping Tracy Industries going..." Scott smiled at John, now seated across the bed. "And we... That's the rest of us... have helped where we could... But..." Scott had always welcomed his role as the leader of his brothers, but this time he wished that someone else had offered to be the one to break the bad news. "We've developed a new admiration for what you've achieved over the years, but... the fact is... we're not as good at business as you... And people... the markets... would rather deal with you than with your sons... or anyone else." He stopped.

Jeff wished that he had the strength in both arms to be able to shake whatever the news was out of his eldest boy.

"We're not in any trouble," Scott waffled, aware that Jeff was getting a wary look that spoke volumes more than any words he was unable to enunciate. "We're all fine, physically and financially..." He managed an unconvincing chuckle. "We're not about to be kicked out into the streets any time soon..."

If Jeff's legs had been strong enough to support him he would have kicked Scott himself to encourage him to spill whatever it was that was troubling them. Either that or he would have liked to have been able to stride out into the corridor to demand that his mother explain what was going on. It had been obvious that she'd known what his sons weren't in any hurry to tell him.

"Everyone's okay... But..."

Jeff held his breath. This was the "but" he'd been waiting for.

Scott took a deep breath. "We can't afford to keep International Rescue going, Father."

"Wha'?"

Scott wasn't sure what reaction he'd expected, but he was sure it wasn't this one. Somehow Jeff managed to meld his weakened face into an expression that was simultaneously accusing, disappointed, shocked, and in denial. "We: and this is a unanimous decision made not only by us five, but includes Brains, Penny, Parker, Tin-Tin and Kyrano... We have all decided that we're not going to carry on. We are going to terminate International Rescue..."

Jeff managed to say one word. "No..."

"It's not a decision we've taken lightly. We've all thought about what we can do to keep it going, but we've come to the conclusion that no matter what we do we can't afford to..."

"No..."

"Please understand that this is not your fault," Scott pleaded. "But if we did continue we'd have to reduce our services and..."

"NO!"

Out in the corridor Grandma and Georgia heard the shout. It was followed by several more.

"They're upsetting him!" Concerned for her patient's wellbeing, Georgia took a step towards the door.

"No!" Grandma caught the nurse's arm. "Please, don't interrupt them. Jeff will calm down in a moment. Once he's thought about what they're telling him he'll understand that it's for the best."

"You know what this bad news is?"

"Yes, I do. And while it's a shock for him now, he will calm down soon..." The two women realised that the masculine voices coming from the room had once again become almost inaudible. "See. He's calming down already."

Using all his strength, Jeff had pushed himself upright with his stronger right arm. "No! You can't! I won't let you!" he tried to say, his words almost incomprehensible; before, frustrated by his lack of speech and already exhausted by that one simple manoeuvre, he flopped back onto the bed.

He hadn't needed words to express his thoughts and emotions.

"Please understand!" Scott begged. "This is for the best!"

"Dad!" John laid a hand on his father's shoulder. "This is not only about the money. It's about us. The five of us!"

Jeff stared at him. Then, without further comment, he relaxed. He regarded his second eldest thoughtfully.

"We're tired, Dad," John explained. "We've been risking our necks to save others for seven years, and we're burned out. We can't carry on. If we do, one of us will get hurt... or worse."

Scott picked up on his brother's theme. "We've been on duty 24/7 for seven years. There's no one to give us a break and there's no one coming through the ranks to replace us. We can't continue on like this, and if we can't continue on then International Rescue can't continue on."

"This is a mutual decision," Virgil stated. "No one has coerced anyone else into deserting International Rescue. We wouldn't."

Alan nodded. "Virgil's right. We thought about it and we've decided that it's what we want. What we _all_ want."

"Not only want," Gordon added, "it's what we all need. We all need a break. We need to lead 'normal'," he mimed the quotation marks, "lives."

Jeff observed each son one at a time. He could see how tired and drawn they all were. Not only that, they looked... old? How much of this was due to concern over their father's reaction to their decision and how much was due to their work? "W'n?"

"We told Penny we'd call her as soon as we'd told you," Scott explained. "She's going to let all our agents know and then go through her contacts to get word to the World President and ask him to send out a press release."

"F'm n'?"

"Yes, from now. Once we've given Penny the word, International Rescue will cease to exist."

Jeff nodded.

Relieved that his father appeared to be accepting their decision, Scott picked up Jeff's hand. "I'm sorry. We know how much International Rescue means to you. It means a lot to us too and it's not a decision we'd make if we weren't one hundred percent sure it was the right one."

Jeff nodded again and Scott felt his father squeeze his hand.

John picked up Jeff's other hand. "Are you all right?" He was treated to another nod and a weak smile. "You're looking tired. Do you want us to leave?" The grip on his hand tightened as if he was being held back, but Jeff gave another, weaker nod.

"We'll come back later." Virgil offered. "We'll have to discuss with you what you want us to do with the equipment anyway."

"Are you going to be okay?" Gordon queried, and smiled when Jeff responded with one of his nods.

"We'd better go. We've got a call to make," Scott noted, his voice sombre. "I'm sorry," he repeated and his hand received another squeeze.

"Shall we tell Grandma to come back in?" Alan asked.

Jeff mouthed the words "thank you," but no sound came out.

They filed out; their heads down and shoulders slumped; past a bewildered Georgia and stopped in front of their grandmother.

Grandma gave them each a hug in turn. "You've done the right thing," she asserted. "The only thing you could do. Remember that." She bustled back into her son's room.

None of the brothers said anything until they got back to the hotel.

Scott slumped against the wall and rubbed his face. "That did not go how I'd planned. I had it all worked out what I was going to say and then when I saw how worried he was I went to pieces."

"You did all right," Gordon reassured him. "I think he would have reacted like that no matter how we told him."

Alan collapsed into one of the chairs. "I can't imagine carrying on, but I can't believe we're finishing. It's been such an important part of our lives for so long."

John collapsed into a seat of his own. "It's _been_ our lives."

No one moved. They were silent for a full minute.

"Who's going to call Penny?" Virgil eventually asked.

"I suppose I'd better." Scott pulled up his sleeve to expose his watch. "Ten oh five. Anyone remember the time we first launched seven years ago?"

"Eight fifteen," John recollected.

"We started with a call from England and we're finishing with a call to England," Alan mused. "I suppose there's some symmetry in that."

"Calling Lady Penelope," Scott told his watch. "Come in, Penny."

Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward's sombre face appeared in place of his watch's dial. "Good day, Scott. How are you?"

Scott wasn't in the mood for pleasantries. "Hi, Penny."

"You have told your father?"

"We've told him. He was upset to start with, but he understands that it's necessary."

"I'm sorry," Lady Penelope admitted. "I'm sorry for us all. But I believe that you have made the right decision."

Scott sighed. "I want to believe that too."

"Give it time." The image in the watch blurred slightly as, in the only hint of the emotions she was feeling, Lady Penelope's powder compact gave an involuntary twitch. "Remember that it is thanks to International Rescue and your reports to the authorities after your rescues that the world is now a safer place."

"I suppose that's one way of looking at it," Scott admitted. "Maybe we will continue to save lives."

"I'm sure you will... Before we conclude the formal part of our relationships; both Parker and I would like to thank you all for allowing us to have a small role in such an admirable organisation. It has been an honour and a privilege."

Scott managed a minute smile. "And it's been a privilege working with you, Penny. Next time we meet it'll be in a purely informal setting."

"I shall look forward to it, dear boy... Ah... Shall I, er, start the wheels rolling?"

"Start them rolling," Scott instructed. "We're going to switch off the receiver so we can't receive any more calls from Thunderbird Five. We don't want anyone to try and reach International Rescue now we're no longer available."

"I shall do so. Keep in touch... all of you."

"F-A..." Scott pulled himself up short. "Will do."

"Good bye, dear boy. Keep your chin up." The watch face became a dial again.

John took the receiver out of his pocket. "I suppose I should shut this down." His finger hovered over the keypad, but he didn't touch it. "This feels so final."

"It is final," Virgil noted. "There's no going back now."

John looked at his brothers. "Do I do it?"

Scott pushed himself off the wall and claimed a seat so he could observe the coup-de-grace. "Do it."

"Right," John sighed. "Here goes..." There was a minute hesitation before he entered the code.

With a final wink of its lights, the receiver went dead.

And International Rescue was no more.

_To be continued..._


	2. Chapter 2 - A Planet Stirs

Well, it's Friday, so it must be time to upload...

**Chapter Two: A Planet Stirs**

Seven years passed and International Rescue faded from the collective consciousness of the world. It obtained a kind of mythical status, becoming the basis of stories told by parents to send their children off to sleep. Occasionally a disaster would cause people to wonder if the outcome could have been different if International Rescue had been involved, but by and large the organisation was forgotten by those who had never had direct contact with them.

The Tracy sons had spent the first few months post-International Rescue securing Tracy Island so their top secret equipment could never fall into the wrong hands. Their next task was to help Brains set up his new laboratory in America. Using Kyrano's metaphor they may have been the body of International Rescue, but they were well aware that Brains had been the brains. Feeling a measure of guilt that International Rescue's engineer had little say in International Rescue's continuation, they worked hard to ensure that his new laboratory had everything he could want and that he would be free to follow whatever undertaking he wished. By the time he was happy in his new surroundings and buried in his latest project, enough time had passed that no one associated the reintroduction of Jeff Tracy's offspring into society with the bombshell news of the dissolution of International Rescue.

Jeff, whose progress up till when his sons had broken the news to him had been slow but steady, seemed to give up. He bought himself a house in the States big enough to accommodate a man with limited mobility, hired a live-in nurse, and spent his days confined behind the property's eight-foot high walls.

Only twice did he appear in public. The first was at Alan and Tin-Tin's wedding, where he beamed with delight throughout the ceremony and puffed up with pride as Scott read out the father of the groom's speech. The second was six months later when he, surrounded by his grim-faced sons, watched as his mother was laid to rest beside her beloved husband. Then he retired to his home; becoming the recluse that the world had assumed him to be when he lived on Tracy Island. He accepted Kyrano's offer to be a live-in cook and gardener, and more importantly welcomed his friendship, but otherwise hid himself away from the rest of the world.

His sons went their separate ways and scattered throughout the country. In light of their father's withdrawal from society, John assumed full control of Tracy Industries. Scott, employed as a test pilot with Tracy Aviation, in effect became his employee. Virgil decided that he needed a new challenge far removed from engineering, and attempted to become a full-time artist. Gordon applied for, and got, his coveted underwater research assignment. Alan returned to his first love: motor racing. He and Tin-Tin were the only ones to still call Tracy Island home, although with the racing circuit's bohemian lifestyle, they were there so infrequently that the Tracy villa took on an air of desolation.

And, sealed out of sight, neglected and forgotten by the world in their rocky tombs, the mighty Thunderbirds deteriorated…

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

-I-R-

_Monday 3__rd__ July 2079_

As Brains would have been the first to tell you, science is always evolving. His own discoveries became the foundation of a new seismological system able to accurately predict the magnitude, size and date of earthquakes and volcanic eruptions up to six months in advance. This system, the Seismic Heralding Alarm Kinetic Energy Responder, known popularly as the SHAKER, was accurate to two days and had saved many lives as it had enabled the orderly evacuation of entire regions before disaster struck…

"You can't be reading it right, Gina."

"Grant, if you don't believe me, look for yourself."

The two seismologists stared at each other across the report that the SHAKER had spewed out. Then Grant Fisher turned the computer monitor so he was able to see the screen more clearly. "There's got to be a bug in the system somewhere."

"I wish there was," Gina Scolepi admitted. "But I ran debugging programmes before I re-ran the report, and the outcome's remained the same."

"But it's saying that in four months time, almost instantaneously, most of the world's seismic faults are going to experience a cataclysmic event. That's not possible!"

"I would have agreed with you if I hadn't seen this." Gina indicated the report.

"It's going to make the 2011 Japan earthquakes and tsunamis seem as horrific as... as..." Grant struggled to find a suitable simile for what had been a terrible tragedy. "As a pebble dropping into the ocean!"

"I realise that."

"That event caused the Earth to wobble on its axis. This event could send it spinning!"

"You're exaggerating."

"Exaggerating?! Do you know how many countries are going to be affected?"

"I do. There won't be a country on the planet unscathed."

"Unscathed! Gina, we could be talking about the destruction of the planet!"

"I know, Grant!"

"The Earth is going to crack open like a boiled egg hit by a spoon!"

"Grant…"

"It's going to be a huge catastrophe!"

"I know!" Gina, exasperated by her colleague's ranting and tempted to slap some sense into him, grabbed him by the arms. "So what do we do?"

"Do? Do! There's nothing we can do! There's nowhere that anyone can be evacuated to!"

"We've got to tell the World President."

"The World President?" Grant stared at his fellow seismologist as if she were mad. "What could she do?"

"People need to know what's going to happen."

"Why? What could they do about it? All we'll be doing is causing unnecessary panic."

"We're only two seismologists, Grant," Gina reminded him, trying to remain calm in the face of what appeared to be imminent doom. "We've got to get the word out in case someone has a solution."

"Solution! What possible solution could there be?! There're going to be massive earthquakes and eruptions and tsunamis and…"

"That's why we've got to tell the World President! It's her job to decide what the next course of action should be. That's why she's the politician and we're the scientists. If she chooses not to alarm the world, then that's her decision, not ours." Gina took a deep breath. "Look. Let's analyse the data more thoroughly and see what the extent of the event is likely to be. Once we've got a better understanding of what the planet's up against, then we can decide whether or not to tell the World President."

The World President was informed and she, after much soul-searching and deep discussions with her most trusted advisors, made the decision to release the news to the world.

There was wide-spread panic.

Religious leaders reported a huge upsurge in believers as people sought to find peace with some higher power and improve their chances of receiving a better existence beyond their mortal world. The rate of suicides increased 100-fold. So did murders, burglaries and other types of lawlessness as people decided that since the world would end before they had a chance to be processed through the legal system, they may as well take advantage of that fact. Adventure tourism boomed as their customers, reasoning that they were going to die anyway so what did it matter if it happened a few months early, let their hair down and took a few risks.

Talkback media and letters to the editor only had one topic of conversation. Some laid the blame at the feet of the oil industry for sucking all the oil out of the ground and leaving weakened pockets of nothing. Others blamed the godlessness of mankind, this politician or that politician, aliens from outer space, or rock music, while a good few espoused their theory that the whole thing was conspiracy by the World Government to bring the few nations not under their umbrella into line.

But by far the most common thread was the call for International Rescue to be re-established to save the planet from what the media had dubbed, rather un-originally, _Doomsday_.

"The World President knows who International Rescue were. There must be a record hidden somewhere in the vaults at Unity City!"

"Someone must know where the Thunderbirds are concealed. Get them out of storage now!"

"The World President should demand that International Rescue bring the Thunderbirds back into service."

"We _need_ International Rescue!"

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

_Friday 7__th__ July 2079_

Alone, despite all the people surrounding him, Scott Tracy cooled his heels at one of New York City's private airports. He was now at that stage in his life that the media delighted in calling "middle aged", a fact that he told himself didn't worry him unduly. He was fit, toned, and still garnered appreciative looks from passing women. The only visible sign of those ever advancing years was that his dark hair was highlighted with a slight greying at his temples. Although he'd never admit it to anyone, he did find this disquieting; taking it as a sign that he was no longer the daring young man that he had been during his days as International Rescue's Rescue Coordinator. Of course his siblings had taken great delight in pouncing on this new fact about their eldest brother at one of the regular family get-togethers, and had teased him mercilessly about getting old. He'd hated it, but known better than to let them see his discomfort. Discomfort which hadn't been helped by Brains expounding his theory that he was greying at such a young age due to the melanocytes in his hair slowing down production of melanin. This, Brains explained, enjoying his recitation, was the result of two factors. One was genetics, probably inherited from Scott's mother's side of the family and Scott gained some satisfaction from the realisation that if that was the case, then he wasn't likely to be only Tracy with white hair by the age of sixty. The second reason, Brains had blithely continued, unaware of the distress he was causing in his friend, was that Scott could blame his many hours of pulling major G-forces both in the Air Force and International Rescue for sucking the life out of his hair.

He could have dyed his hair, he knew that, but the very idea was an anathema to him.

His musings were interrupted when another man dropped his bag at his feet. "Hi," said the newcomer.

Scott took in the shoulder-length sky-blue hair that hung loose, the similarly coloured goatee beard, eyebrows and eyelashes (the latter hidden behind the granny-style sunglasses), the bohemian clothing, the studs through the nose, top lip and eyebrow, and the array of pins that ran the length of the other's ear culminating in a thin metal string passing through the right earlobe. The other earlobe had a huge hole in it, held open by what looked to be a section of hosepipe. The newcomer's sleeves were short; revealing one tattoo on the other's left forearm and another on the man's right bicep.

"Sorry, Pal," Scott growled. "I'm waiting for my brother."

Virgil sighed. "Scott, you play this charade every time we meet."

Scott picked up Virgil's bag and the brothers started walking towards the airstrip. "That's because you look nothing like you!"

"I'm not supposed to be me. I'm supposed to be..."

"Gustav, world famous artist," Scott grunted.

Virgil chuckled. "Try moderately successful."

"What's with that hole through your ear? Is it for Kasey to put a length of rope through so she can lead you around?" Scott joked and Virgil made no comment. "I hope you never go to see Father dressed like that."

"I did the other week," Virgil admitted. "He wasn't impressed..." Scott could well imagine his father's reaction. "I told him that it was what the art world expected. And he spent the next half hour lecturing me on how the most important thing to be is true to yourself. He's right, of course... He was exhausted by the time he'd finished and he had to go to bed. The nurse was furious with me for tiring him out and she's never looked at me the same again. I don't think she quite knows what to make of me now..." Virgil's voice faded away at the recollection. Then he gathered himself together. "I would have got changed before I came here, but I've come straight from my agent's. We've been going over the final plans for my exhibition."

"How's it going?" Scott had already done the pre-flight checks of his private jet and as they talked the pair stowed Virgil's bags away in the lockers before settling themselves into their seats to await clearance to take off.

"It's looking good," Virgil admitted. "I'm hopeful it'll generate some real interest this time." He grasped both ends of the earring threaded through his ear and Scott winced as his brother gave the piece of jewellery a sharp yank. The earring came free, leaving the earlobe unblemished.

Virgil laughed at Scott's surprised expression. "It's held together by magnets," he explained. "It gives the appearance of a piercing without actually needing to put any holes in my body." He pulled the other ear pins free, scraped the studs off his face, and placed all the bits into a small tin.

"But what about…" Scott gaped as a piece of earlobe, along with the hosepipe, was also consigned to the tin; which was pocketed. "It's all fake?"

"Yep. Prosthetics."

"Why don't you save yourself the bother and get some real piercings?"

"Not Virgil Tracy's style. Besides, I've seen too many body bits torn by snagged jewellery to risk it myself."

Scott made no comment. He was still getting used to Virgil's tendency to talk about himself in the third person. "I see you have got some tattoos."

"Oh, yeah?" Grinning Virgil produced a pot of cream and some cotton wool. A quick swipe across the middle of his forearm and part of the tattoo disappeared. "Why would I want to engrave my body with a picture I wouldn't hang on my wall?"

"Gustav obviously does."

"Gustav sees it as a statement against society."

"Virgil. You worry me sometimes."

Virgil laughed and showed off the picture on his right bicep. "What does that remind you of?"

Scott examined the print. It was a bird of prey against a stormy background. The lightning bolt clasped in its talons formed the vague shape of a number. He grinned. "Thunderbird Two."

"Well done. Opal thought it was too tough for Gustav's persona, but I like the symbolism behind it."

"Opal?"

"The makeup artist who helped me with all the camouflage."

"Oh…" Trying not to imagine one of his brothers wearing makeup, Scott grabbed Virgil's left arm and twisted it around so he could see the stylised writing. "What's this one say?"

"Ow!" Virgil pulled his arm free of his sibling's clutches and held it so Scott could see what remained of the text. "Aeneid."

"What?!"

"Aeneid! As in Virgil's _Aeneid_. It's Opal's idea of an in-joke. I didn't have the heart to tell her I'm named after the pilot, not the poet."

"How do you manage to line them up the same way each time?"

"Easy. The base of the number two follows the scar I got from Bucharest, and the line of the wing covers the scar from Montero. The left eye is where I got my Tuberculosis jab. The bottom of the letters of Aeneid run along the scar I got from Regnad. If I can't be bothered with fussing about with the transfers I just wear long sleeves."

"What did Opal say about all your scars?"

"I told her that I was in a car accident." Virgil finished cleaning his arm. "How's Stewie?"

"Stuart," Scott corrected. "He's nearly an adult."

"That hasn't stopped you calling me Virg... How old is he now?"

"He turns 17 next week."

"17!" Virgil gasped. "It doesn't seem that long ago that he was this skinny little eleven-year-old."

"I know," Scott agreed. "He's getting his private pilot's licence on his birthday. I promised him I'd throw him a big celebration party when he passed."

Virgil laughed. "Scott, you're supposed to mentor them in the Big Brother programme. Not turn them into your clone."

"He's always been interested in planes and flying," Scott responded indignantly. "That's one reason why they paired the two of us together."

"What does his gran think about him becoming a pilot?"

"She's all for it. She's glad he's found an interest that he's stuck to. It's kept him out of trouble."

"You helped tutor him?"

"Of course. Mrs K could never have afforded lessons. It's been enough of a struggle for her bringing him up since his parents died."

"So you've paid for them all."

Scott shrugged. "It's not like I couldn't spare the money."

"You'll never change, Scott." Virgil gave his brother an affectionate punch on the shoulder. "You'll never stop being a mother hen. If you can't be clucking over one of us then you'll find someone else."

"Mother hen?" Scott snorted. "I'm not the one with bright blue plumage. Why don't you take that wig off?" He reached over and pulled at the blue-sky strands on his brother's head.

Virgil gave a yelp of pain. "Don't do that!"

Scott stared at him in amazement. "That's your hair?!"

"Yes."

"Why? I thought you wore wigs when you played Gustav."

"I used to," Virgil admitted. "But it's easier this way."

"What about your beard?"

"It's real."

"And your..."

"Yes."

"You've dyed _all_ your hair?"

"It's not _that_ unusual, Scott. You might want to consider dyeing your own. It'll help cover up the grey."

Clearance from the control tower gave Scott the necessary excuse to ignore the comment. He set his jet in motion.

It wasn't until they were airborne and far beyond any chance of eavesdroppers that the reason for their journey was mentioned. "Do you think we'll be able to do anything?" Virgil asked.

"Dunno. Brains has been working on the problem non-stop since the World President made her announcement. He hasn't said if he's found a solution yet. This might be one time when even International Rescue can't work a miracle..." Scott made a slight flight adjustment. "I hope Gordon has the good sense to not bring Marina." His brother's red-headed wife had always managed to rub him up the wrong way. Her high-pitched voice, irritating laugh, overblown make-up, patronising attitude towards his father and her obvious materialism never failed to increase his irritation quotient and shorten his fuse. His brothers felt the same; John dubbing her the Vamp-ire.

"I still don't know what he sees in her," Virgil mused. "I think it must be her name that excites him."

"There can't be any other reason," Scott conceded. "What I can't understand is why he can't see that she doesn't love him?"

"I can't understand it either."

"She's only interested in herself."

"You've got that right."

"She looks like something that you'd find in the sleazier parts of town!"

"She was a cocktail waitress."

"I'm thinking that she sold more than drinks."

"Any evidence of that?"

"No. But I do know that she's a dirty little gold-digger!"

"I agree."

"She doesn't care about Gordon!"

"Maybe she does…"

"What!?"

"In her own way…"

"Own way!" Scott exploded. "All she cares about is Father's money! She couldn't care less about Gordon, and the stupid idiot can't see it!"

"Calm down, Scott!" Virgil exclaimed. "You know what happened the last time you let her get under your skin."

Scott grunted a reply and took a few minutes to regain his composure as his aeroplane soared on its unerring path.

Virgil waited until he judged the time was right before asking his next question. "How are things between you and Gordon?"

"Okay…" Scott rubbed the side of his face. "I guess."

"You know…" Virgil sounded almost too casual as he spoke. "You never did say precisely what happened between the pair of you."

"That's all in the past," Scott informed him. "It doesn't matter now."

And Virgil realised that the subject was closed. Seeking to reopen communications between them, he picked what he thought would be a safe subject, "How's Farrah?" and was surprised to see his brother's face flush. "What's wrong?"

"We're not together anymore."

"Oh..." At a loss as to what else he could say, Virgil asked the obvious. "What happened?"

Scott was silent for a time and Virgil let him decide whether or not to elaborate. Finally the elder brother spoke. "I thought we were solid. I trusted her and she trusted me."

"Had you told her about International Rescue?"

"No." Scott laugh was bitter. "I suppose you can't expect to have an honest and open relationship when you're not willing to give out a secret like that."

"Tell me about it." Virgil gave a grim smile. "So, what happened?" he repeated.

"You knew Farrah was a busy woman. I thought she was dedicated to her job, which meant that we couldn't get together every night, but that suited me because it meant I could spend time with Stewie..." This time his silence lasted several minutes.

Virgil decided that if his brother didn't want to elaborate then he wasn't going to push him and so he changed the subject. "How's work?"

Scott appeared unfazed by the change of topic. "Do you want the truth? I hate it!"

"What!? But I thought being a test pilot was your ideal job."

"If I was testing planes it would be. But my boss has decided that I'm too precious for that... " Scott saw Virgil's horrified expression. "No, I'm not talking about John," he clarified. "Tracy Aviation's general manager. He's scared that something might happen to the bosses' son and brother so he's confined me to my desk."

"He had no right to do that. Your job description is as test pilot for Tracy Aviation."

"He's clever, which is probably why he got the job. He hasn't issued an outright directive saying that I'm to keep my feet on the ground. It's just that every time I'm lined up for a flight I get called away for some triviality or I've got to help tweak a plan that I'd finished working on weeks earlier."

"He's missing out on using the best pilot in the business."

"He'd rather know that I was wrapped up in cotton wool."

"Why don't you quit and rejoin the Air Force?"

"I'd probably end up with another desk job."

"That's a bit defeatist, isn't it?"

"I like being part of the family business! Even if it is only a small part."

"Talk to John," Virgil suggested. "I'm sure he'd be willing to set the G-M straight."

Scott snorted. "Good thinking, Virgil. Get my younger brother to fight my battles for me. My co-workers are already wondering what kind of person I am. That's when they're not wondering if I'm there to spy on them."

"Spy?"

"And if the gossip mill's as thorough as I think it is, John's probably heard all sorts of stories about me."

Virgil frowned. "Stories?"

"Any dirt on Jeff Tracy's first-born son is number one topic of conversation at the water cooler."

"What kind of stories?" Virgil queried. "What on Earth could _you_ have been doing to warrant being gossiped about?"

"I haven't done anything. Not intentionally anyway." Scott scowled at the calm blue sky outside as if it was the source of all his problems.

"Scott!" Virgil was becoming exasperated by all the hints and no information. "What are you talking about? What have you done...? Or not done as the case may be."

"You asked me about Farrah."

"Uh... Yeah..." Virgil agreed, wondering at the sudden reversal in topic.

"You asked why we broke up."

"Yes."

"She took someone's advice and dumped me."

"She dumped you! Whose advice was this?"

"Her husband's."

"_What_!?" Virgil's blue goatee dropped an inch as he fixed his steady, safe, straight-laced brother with an incredulous stare.

"I was working at my desk because the G-M had taken me off a flight when this guy walked up to me and attempted to take a swing at me."

Stunned, Virgil could only gape at his brother.

"It was all a lie," the bitterness was clear in Scott's voice. "She didn't have this high flying career; she worked from home during the day selling cosmetics or something. The reason why we couldn't be together on the evenings that she was 'working' was because she was home with her husband. The evenings that she was with me she'd told him the same lie. All the gifts I'd bought her she'd told him she'd bought with her own money."

"Did you know she was married?"

"I didn't have a clue."

"How'd the husband find out about you?"

"I don't know. I didn't stop to have a conversation with the guy. I was too busy stopping him from hitting me and trying to explain that I didn't know what he was talking about. All while the rest of the office is enjoying the sideshow. Then Farrah came rushing in and pulled him away from me."

"What did she say?"

"Nothing to me. She started sobbing and telling him that she was sorry and that it was all a mistake and that I didn't mean anything to her."

Virgil realised how devastating the whole experience would have been to his brother. "Do you think she was after your money?"

Scott shrugged. "I don't know. I haven't spoken to her since."

"I'm sorry, Scott," Virgil admitted. "I thought you two were made for each other."

"Yeah," Scott agreed. "So did I..." He sighed and seemed to deflate. "Do you know how hard it is for someone my age to find a woman? They're all already in some kind of steady relationship. And those that aren't see the slightest hint of grey and decide that you're over the hill." He immediately regretted his brief show of weakness. "On to a more cheerful subject; how are you and Kasey?" Kasey was an artist who'd fallen for Gustav's paintings and then for Gustav himself, and it was Scott's turn to be surprised when Virgil screwed up his face. "What's wrong?"

"I thought you wanted a more cheerful subject."

"What happened?"

"Like you, I thought we were solid. I was even considering telling her my real identity."

"About International Rescue too?"

"No."

"So, why didn't you tell her you're really Virgil Tracy?"

Virgil gathered his thoughts. "She'd been invited to a party, so Gustav tagged along." He bit his lip. "I thought it was just another boring party with a whole lot of artists standing around explaining what made their artwork so great and what made so-and-so's so terrible. By the end of the evening I'd usually wish I could find someone who understood crankshafts and annular bearings who I could have an intelligent conversation with."

"I've said it before, Virgil. You're not made for that scene."

"No, but Gustav is. And if you want to get anywhere in the New York art scene, you've got to mingle with the right people."

"And is that what you want?"

"Huh?"

"Is that what you really want? To mingle with posturing artists, with your hair long and dyed blue, and wearing fake jewellery, pretending to be someone and something you're not. Are you happy?"

"I'm happy to be spending time with you," Virgil told him. "We don't get a lot of time together these days."

"That's not what I meant."

It was Virgil's turn to be silent. Then he spoke. "At first it was great. I think I was burned out with all the state-of-the-art technology we were dealing with and I wanted to get back to something simple. And you can't get much simpler than splashing a bit of paint on a piece of canvas." He managed a smile. "Kasey told me that she can pick out Gustav's work because he always paints palm trees at odd angles. I hadn't realised, but when I went back through his earlier pieces I discovered that she was right."

Scott smiled too. "You can take the man out of International Rescue, but you can't take International Rescue out of the man."

"I guess so. Anyway, at first I was quite happy to be exhibited as Virgil Tracy. One advantage of not being an Olympic gold medallist or a race ace is that no one knew what he looked like. I could play the piano to provide ambiance and listen to everyone's comments about his paintings."

"What if they were critical?"

"Some were, but I know you can't please everyone, and sometimes a negative comment can help you become a better painter. It was the other comments that were troubling."

"Troubling? In what way?" Virgil had never told anyone why he'd taken on his alter ego and, fascinated, Scott listened.

"I heard several people say that if it wasn't for whom my father was they wouldn't have even come to the gallery, let alone purchased something. They weren't interested in me for my art; they were only interested in owning the Tracy name. When I realised that I decided to see if they approved of the work of a total unknown. And so I invented Gustav and got myself a new agent who didn't know Virgil Tracy."

"And became moderately successful."

Virgil gave a dry chuckle. "Yes. It meant having to put on a wig and a false beard, and a few other bits and pieces every time Gustav went anywhere, but I could live with that. Until..."

"Until?"

Lost in his thoughts Virgil stared out the window.

"Virgil?"

"Huh?" Virgil gave himself a shake. "You were asking about Kasey?"

"You'd been invited to this boring party."

"I thought it would be a party like any other, but that was until we got there."

"What was different?"

"It was a drugs party. And I'm not talking aspirin."

Scott stared at Virgil. "What? Heroin?"

"Heroin, cocaine, methamphetamine, stuff I've never heard of. You name it, it was there. There was a ready supply of hypodermic syringes so you could take your trip of choice."

Scott, who'd only used a needle to save lives, shuddered.

Virgil continued his tale. "I've been to other parties where I've assumed that some drug taking went on, but that was all behind closed doors. You'd get a whiff of something suspicious, but there was never anything overt. But this was a free for all."

"What did you do?"

"Decided that I wanted to get out of there. And I wanted Kasey to come with me."

"What did she think?"

"She already had her sleeve rolled up. I was told in no uncertain terms that if I didn't want to stay I'd be leaving without her."

None of the Tracy boys had ever felt the inclination to dabble in the world of drugs, and as far as Scott was aware none of them had ever been in a situation where they'd had access to them. "What did you do?" he repeated.

"When it was clear that a vial of whatever it was being injected into her arm was more important to her than I was, I left. She was laughing at me."

"Did you realise that she was into drugs?"

"I think I was in denial. I told myself she couldn't hold her drink and that was why she tended to go a bit spacey at parties. I'd seen no real evidence that she was into anything illicit. Plus I think that must have been one of the first times that she tried the hard stuff..."

"So what happened then?"

"I'd only just driven away when there were sirens, police converging from all directions, and the place was raided."

Scott gave a low whistle. "Just as well you got out of there when you did. You can guarantee it wouldn't have been Gustav's name in the papers."

"But somehow word got around that it was Gustav who'd rung the cops. He's become _persona non grata_ in the art world and Kasey has never spoken to me since."

"I'm sorry, Virgil," Scott empathised. "I know this isn't much comfort, but you did the right thing. And honestly, if the drugs were more important to her than you were, then you're better without her."

"I keep telling myself that, but it doesn't make me feel any happier."

"I can relate to that."

Virgil grimaced. "So much for the five of us being the world's most eligible bachelors. Alan's the only one who's managed to find someone he can be really open and happy with."

"And that's probably because Tin-Tin was already practically part of the family and she knows all about International Rescue," Scott noted. "So, getting back to my original question. Do I assume that you're not happy?"

"That's an excellent assumption," Virgil agreed. "And it's not only because of Kasey; it's because of Gustav as well. He's taking me over, Scott! Virgil Tracy would never have let his hair grow long." He took hold of a sky blue lock and looked at it. "Do you know why I chose this colour?"

"No."

"Isn't it familiar?"

Scott frowned. "It's the same colour as the sky, isn't it?"

"It's the same colour as our International Rescue uniforms! I chose it to remind me who I was." Virgil released the lock of hair and slumped back in his seat.

"At least you haven't put in yellow highlights," Scott joked.

Virgil stared out the window without seeing anything.

"Virgil?"

There was no response.

Realising the need for them both to get a more positive outlook, Scott put his stern voice on. "What you need, Virgil Tracy, is to get your feet back on the ground and forget all this artistic garbage." Virgil grunted. "Look, if we do decide that we can do something, you're going to have four months on Tracy Island doing nothing but engineering work. That's got to be good for you."

Virgil made no comment as he released his safety harness and disappeared into the back of the plane. When he returned he was carrying a thick book.

Scott glanced over at the tome. "What's that?"

"One of my old engineering text books." Virgil opened it at a bookmarked section, pulled a hair tie from out of his pocket and tied his hair back so it wouldn't get in the way.

Scott watched the procedure in amazement. Lost for words at the sight of one of his brothers with a sky blue ponytail, he turned back towards the similarly hued sky outside the aeroplane. "Why don't you just cut it?" he suggested. "I've got scissors on board."

"It's not Gustav's style."

"So? Think of it as the ceremonial cutting of the ribbon, marking the beginning of your new life."

"What if we can't do anything," Virgil asked, "and we've got to go back to our miserable lives and resign ourselves to counting down the rest of our days?"

Scott had no answer to that. "What are you reading a textbook for anyway?"

"If we are going to save the world, I'm going to need a refresher course."

"Uh, uh," Scott contradicted. "What you need to do is have a refresher course in flying this plane."

Dumbfounded Virgil stared at him. "Why?"

"I need to know that you're still capable of flying Thunderbird Two."

"I've kept my hand in."

"Yeah, but only on short bunny hops across the country. Thunderbird Two's a bit more of a challenge than your crate."

Virgil was affronted by his brother's lack of faith. "I could still fly Thunderbird Two in my sleep."

"I'm not asking you to dream about flying Thunderbird Two; I'm telling you to fly my plane now!"

"Me? Fly _your_ plane while you're sitting next to me? Scott, you must be kidding! You're the worst back seat pilot in the world!"

"Maybe, but at least I've done a lot more flying recently."

"Fine!" Virgil grumbled. "Give me a moment to stow this away again." He returned his textbook to his bag, and then made sure his safety harness was done up. "Is yours secure?"

"Yes." Scott took his hands off the control yoke. "She's all yours..."

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

John Tracy stood on the pier and waited. Today, in preparation for the long flight to Tracy Island, he'd forgone his usual neat business suit and was dressed in more casual gear. His shirt was open at the neck revealing the pale skin of a body that didn't get outside of an office too often, His physique spoke of a lifestyle big on business meetings, and short on exercise; compounded by encroaching middle age. Most people who met him wouldn't have called him fat, but for those who had known him before he'd taken control of one of the biggest conglomerates in the world, he'd definitely gained weight.

A little jet boat appeared in the bay and motored into the wharf, coming up alongside. John accepted the rope that was tossed up to him and bent down to tether it to a cleat, trying to ignore his body's protests around the belt region.

"You're getting fat," Gordon informed him as he finished making his boat fast. The younger Tracy threw a bag onto the pier and grinned up at his brother. "Too many business dinners."

"I am not fat," John rebuked as he picked up the bag.

"Oh, yeah?" Gordon bounded easily up the ladder. "Where's the car?"

"Over there. Where's Marina?"

Gordon frowned at the question. "You don't think I'd bring her along to something like this, do you?"

"She is your wife," John reminded him.

"What's that got to do with anything?" Gordon snapped.

"I assumed that she would think that she was entitled to stay with her husband."

"Well, I don't!"

"You don't?"

"Why does everyone in my family think they have a right to tell me what I should and shouldn't do and who I should or shouldn't marry!?" Gordon slammed his bag onto the ground. "You're just as bad as Scott!"

Astounded by the venom in this outburst, John could only gape at him.

Gordon saw the shock in his brother's face. "I'm sorry, John," he said meekly.

"It's okay."

"This whole marriage thing's been preying on my mind. I've told Marina I want to get a divorce."

"Divorce?" John gaped at his brother again. "Gordon! You've only been married for what…? Seven months?"

"The marriage was over a long time ago. We've been sleeping in separate beds for ages, and the only reason why we're not in separate rooms is because the houseboat only has one bedroom."

"Oh, Gordon…" John sympathised. "I am sorry."

It was as though his sympathy had ignited another fuse. "You're not sorry," Gordon challenged, "none of you will be. You didn't want me to marry her! Scott will be overjoyed! He practically demanded that I dump her!"

"Uh…" Gordon's second outburst in as many minutes floored John. "I… Uh… We…"

Gordon took a deep breath and made a visible attempt to cool down. "You're not sorry," he repeated, "and neither am I. When she's in one of her tempers she freely admits that she married me for Dad's money."

John reflected that Marina's tempers seemed to be infectious. "She does?"

"She was most put out to discover that, not only is Dad expected to live for a few more decades, but also I've got three brothers ahead of me before I can claim my share of the loot. So after I got Scott's call to arms this morning, I told her to give her boyfriend a ring and tell him that he could come and pick her up once I'd gone."

Shocked again, John stared at his brother. "She has a boyfriend?"

"She's never admitted as such, but I'm sure she has. She's denied it of course. Doesn't want to jeopardise her chance of getting her hands on my money. I told her to get her lawyer to talk to my lawyer and see if they can come to some agreement that won't leave me a pauper… Where did you say the car was?"

Speechless, John led the way to the sporty little saloon; licence number TBFIVE. Normally he was shepherded around by a chauffeur, leaving him free to study Tracy Industries' papers, but this time he'd decided that he didn't want to risk anyone eavesdropping on their conversation. He put the car into gear and started driving. "Scott's already picked up Virgil. They'll probably get there about half an hour before us. Lady Penelope's going to bring Brains out to the island."

"Any word on when they'll get there? We can't start the party without him."

"Apparently Penny's having to use a crowbar to prise him out of his lab. He keeps on finding new bits of research that he wants to read before he gives us his findings."

"And has he found a solution?"

"He hasn't said," John admitted. He was still getting his head around the morning's discoveries. "Have you told Dad you're getting divorced?"

"Haven't had the time. Once I got Scott's call I packed my bag and said goodbye to Marina. I'll want to tell him face-to-face and not over the phone."

"He will support you, Gordon. We all will."

"Thanks." Gordon settled back into his seat. "Well, since we've already dissected mine and decided that it's a total failure; how's your love life?"

John snorted. "Non-existent."

"Come on, John. You're one of the most powerful men in America, if not the world. You should have women falling at your feet."

"You don't get to be one of the 'most powerful men', which I dispute, without having little time for socialising. The only women I have the opportunity to meet either work for me or else want to work with me."

"Any talent at Tracy Industries?"

"Any women working for me are totally out of bounds, Gordon. I'm their boss for Pete's sake!"

"You can tell me and I won't tell a living soul," Gordon promised. "Cross my heart. Have you ever been tempted to ask one of your employees out?"

"Well, there's Emma, my secretary…" John caught himself. "No. I may have been tempted, but there's no way I'd step over that boundary. I've always been careful not to show that I'm attracted to her. Besides, for all I know she's already got a steady love interest."

"But she's not married?"

"No."

Gordon let out a cheer. "Then there's hope for you yet, Johnny."

"No, there's not. Not while I'm her employer."

"So sack her and then ask her out of a date!"

"Would you go out with me if I sacked you?"

"You're not my type."

John decided that Gordon was getting too ridiculous to bother continuing the conversation. "How's the research going?"

He noticed that his brother's face lit up at the question. "Great! We've discovered the last surviving pocket of lion coral and we've managed to get it to breed in captivity!"

John smiled at his brother's enthusiasm. "Are you going to be able to replace dead reefs?"

"Probably not in the short term, the ocean's temperatures have increased too much to sustain coral in its native environment, but at least we should be able to maintain a breeding population until such time as the temperatures revert back to acceptable levels."

"Any idea how long that will be?"

Gordon made a face. "Decades. Maybe even centuries. Mankind has a lot to answer for. We're supposed to be such an intelligent species and look at what we're doing to the planet!"

"I know."

"Maybe we should forget about restarting International Rescue and let Mother Nature destroy us all as punishment!"

John laughed at his brother's joke.

Except Gordon didn't appear to be joking. "Don't laugh at me, John!?"

"I wasn't..."

"Maybe that would solve everyone's problems! Have you considered that!?"

"Errm... Okay..." John was glad to arrive at Tracy Industries' private airport.

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

Tin-Tin smoothed out the duvet and then felt a pair of arms slip around her waist. "Alan! I'm busy!" She twisted in his embrace so that she could look up at him.

"How busy?" he asked; a mischievous gleam in his eye. "All these beds are giving me ideas."

"Very busy," she responded, slapping him playfully on the chest. "And I've got an idea too. You can help me make John's and Brains'."

"Leave them," he suggested. "We can come back to that later."

"I want to have them made before they get here."

"They're big boys. They can make their own."

"Alan!" She tried to push free. "I am going to make their beds now!"

"But Tin-Tin," he moaned, still holding her close, "this might be the last chance for us to be alone for months. Maybe even forever!"

At the unpleasant reminder of what the gathering was for, Tin-Tin wrapped her arms about him. "Do you think International Rescue will be able to do anything?" she asked, hugging her husband tightly.

"I don't know," Alan admitted. "I know Brains has been researching all the seismology and geography of the danger zones, so maybe he's come up with a potential solution. We'll know soon…" He kissed her gently. "But remember that we're not going to go down without a fight." He kissed her again, this time more passionately. "Come on, Honey," he begged. "Before we're invaded and can't get any privacy."

"There's a lock on the bedroom door. That will give us privacy." Tin-Tin pushed free from his arms and picked up the basket of clean linen, which she held out to her husband. "You can carry this for me."

Alan conceded defeat and accepted the basket.

Standing with her hands on her hips, Tin-Tin looked about the room. "The whole house needs redecorating."

"Would you rather we did that instead of trying to save the world?"

"Oh, don't be silly, Alan." Tin-Tin led the way into John's bedroom.

Alan placed the basket on a chair. "I hope Gordon's got enough sense to not bring Marina."

"She is his wife," Tin-Tin reminded him.

"I know. That doesn't mean that I trust her."

"No," Tin-Tin admitted. "Neither do I. It is sad, isn't it?"

"We'll have to keep all the doors locked to stop her from snooping around." Alan took a sheet out of the basket. "Or better still! We'll lock _her _in_ her_ room so we know where she is at all times. We can cut a hole in the door so we can feed her. I'm sure there's some oxyhydnite hidden somewhere."

"Alan!" Tin-Tin scolded. "She is your sister-in-law!"

"When the others get here we'll take a vote on it." Alan held out one end of the sheet. "Those for keeping her behind locked doors versus those against."

Tin-Tin burst out laughing. "You're awful!"

"I know how Scott would vote."

Tin-Tin accepted the end of the sheet, and the pair of them started making the bed. "How are things between Gordon and Scott?" she asked.

"I think they're okay. They were talking to each other last time we got together."

"Do you know why they fell out?"

"At a guess Scott tried to tell Gordon a few home truths and Gordon didn't take kindly to it. But that seems too simplistic. Something else must have happened."

"I hope they have reconciled their differences." Tin-Tin folded a corner of the sheet under the mattress as she'd been taught by Mrs Tracy. "You'll all need to be able to trust each other implicitly if Brains does come up with a solution."

"Yeah. There'll be no room for doubts. But they're both professionals. I can't see either of them letting their personalities get in the way of doing their jobs." Alan tossed the pillow to the head of the bed.

Muttering something about men having no idea, Tin-Tin straightened it before smoothing the pillowcase.

Alan, wrapped up in his musings about the mystery that was his brother's marriage, didn't hear her comment. "I still don't know what Gordon sees in her... On their wedding day I could have almost believed that she'd drugged him to force him to marry her."

Tin-Tin stared at him. "You did? Why?"

"Because he was grinning like a lunatic all the way through the ceremony."

"Maybe he was happy?"

"I was happy when we got married and I didn't look like that."

"No…" Tin-Tin had a faraway smile at the memories. "You looked distinguished… and terrified."

"I was. I was terrified that I'd drop the rings. I was terrified that I'd call you by the wrong name. I was terrified about making a fool of myself at the reception." He gave a wicked grin and stepped closer. "I wasn't able to relax until I carried you across the threshold." Moving with the sort of speed that he coaxed from his race car, he swept her off her feet and into his arms. "Come on. Let's go relive some happy memories."

"You," she tapped him on the chest, "have a one track mind."

"Yep!" he growled. "And I'm not thinkin' about the race track." A siren rang through the house. "The proximity alarm," he groaned as he placed her feet back on the ground. "It's not fair. I've got four big brothers who love to play gooseberry."

"Who do you think it is?"

"One hundred to one it'll be Scott and Virgil." Alan gave another wicked grin and pulled Tin-Tin close again. "What's my prize if I'm right?"

Tin-Tin giggled, pushed free and picked up the basket. "You'd better go and give whoever it is clearance to land while I finish this. It's going to be nice to have most of the family together."

"Except that this isn't going to be a social reunion. If Brains has come up with a workable solution we're going to need to spend every available minute getting International Rescue up and running again."

"Is that what you want, Alan?"

It was a question that Alan wasn't expecting, even if he'd spent many long hours contemplating the answer. "If I was still in International Rescue, I would never have proposed to you, Tin-Tin," he admitted. "And that," he gave her a kiss on the nose, "is definitely what I wouldn't want." He walked out of the room.

Having finished making the beds, Tin-Tin joined him by the runway as they waited for the newcomer. It wasn't long before their visitor flew into view.

Alan shielded his eyes against the sun. "Something looks funny."

"Funny?" Tin-Tin mirrored his action. "It's upside-down, isn't it?"

"Scott's showing off. He wants to prove that he's not over the hill and has still got it."

Continuing on its upside-down path the aeroplane had been lined up with the runway, almost as if its pilot planned to land with the wheels uppermost; then, seemingly at the last possible minute before the fuselage made contact with the tarmac, it tilted its nose skyward and soared around in a combined loop and barrel roll before touching down in an almost flawless landing.

Alan grinned. "He's still got it."

-F-A-B-

Inside the cockpit Virgil removed his hands from the control yoke and sat back. "There you are: piece of cake." He grinned over at his brother. "You're looking a bit pale there, Scott."

Scott stared at him with a mixture of surprise and awe. "I didn't know you could do that!"

"I told you I'd kept my hand in."

"Virgil! You don't learn to fly like that by 'keeping your hand in'."

"No?" Virgil reached into his wallet and pulled out an identification card, which he showed to his brother.

"_Virgil Tracy_." Scott read. "_New York Hawks aerobatic team. Captain._" He glared at the card's owner. "You never told me!" he accused.

"No." Virgil admitted. "I had this dream that we'd be performing at an air show and you'd be in the crowd and that I'd be able to surprise you."

"This might not be an air show, but you've surprised me all right."

"So," Virgil smirked. "Do you think I'll be able handle Thunderbird Two?"

"Virgil, you know it takes a lot to impress me, flying-wise, but I'm definitely impressed. I'm glad that you flying Thunderbird Two is one less problem we've got to worry about... I only have one issue."

Virgil looked surprised. "What's that?"

Scott indicated the ID card. Virgil's photo was clean shaven and his hair was short and chestnut brown. "You look nothing like you."

Virgil accepted the card back. "I know. The rest of the team keep telling me that I should get a new card, but I don't want one. This reminds me who I really am." With no further comment he replaced the ID and clambered out of the jet.

Alan greeted his brothers. "Awesome flying, Scott."

"Thanks." Virgil held his arms open to his sister-in-law. "How are you, Tin-Tin?"

She giggled after her greeting. "I'd be better if I didn't have to kiss those whiskers."

"Honey, if you'd married me instead of Alan, I would shave them off for you... How are you, Alan?"

"Fine... That wasn't you flying the plane, Scott?"

"Nope," Scott admitted. "I was testing Virgil's flying skills."

Alan grinned. "I think he passed the test."

-F-A-B-

Nothing was said between the brothers until John's sleek little jet was flying through the skies. Then Gordon offered a tentative, "How's work?"

"Keeping me busy," John admitted. "I don't know how Dad found the time to run the business, bring up five kids, and still have a life."

"At least you're managing to maintain a profit."

"Yep. I've even managed to get us close to the levels we were before Dad had the stroke. At least we're not going to have any problems with finances if we do decide we can do something."

"Looking forward to seeing Thunderbird Five again?"

"I'm in two minds about that," John admitted. "She's been shut down for seven years. What state is she going to be in? All her controls are probably frozen solid. We might have to do a complete refit. Are we even going to be able to recommission her in the time we've got?"

"I'm thinking the same thing about Thunderbird Four. What's her hull going to be like?"

"You have one advantage over me," John smiled. "At least you won't have to wait to see Thunderbird Four. You'll probably have her ready for service before I even get to see Thunderbird Five."

Gordon snapped. "Do you think Thunderbird Four's going to be easier to recommission than Five?" he demanded. "There are any number of things that could have gone wrong with Four!"

"Uh..." John was beginning to get the impression that he wasn't going to be able to say anything without inspiring Gordon's wrath. "I know..."

"Her electronics are just as sensitive as your tin can! Plus if there's any degradation to the hull that's going to require a lot of repair work before I'll be able to dive to any depth! I suppose you'd like to see me crushed inside her!" Gordon balled his hands up into fists.

"No, of course not," John soothed. "And I'll be available to help while I wait for Thunderbird Three to be prepped to go up to Thunderbird Five." He favoured his brother with an ingratiating smile and got another shock.

Over the last seven years Gordon had managed to swim for work and pleasure most days, and he still had the muscular, toned body that he'd possessed whilst a member of International Rescue. But now he appeared to have shrunk in his seat. He huddled there with his arms wrapped around him looking like a small scared child.

"Gordon...? Are you all right?"

Gordon said nothing and looked out the window.

"Gordon...?" Totally bemused by his brother's behaviour, John could only offer a tentative offer of help. "Look... Obviously I'm no expert in matrimony, but do you want to talk? You know I can keep a secret, and no one's going to interrupt us up here. If you want I can just sit and listen. Maybe you'll be able to get things sorted in your own mind if you talk about it?"

Gordon looked down to where his hands now lay his lap; his fingers twisting together.

John didn't prompt him and for several minutes there was silence in the cabin as the jet soared ever closer to Tracy Island.

Eventually Gordon appeared to steel his nerve. "Do you promise you won't tell anyone?"

"You have my word. Anything said in this cockpit stays in this cockpit."

There was another few minutes silence before Gordon spoke again. "I..."

Another voice broke in and, angry at the interruption, John grabbed at the microphone. "What!?"

"John?" Scott sounded bemused at his brother's tone of voice and lack of protocol. "Is everything all right?"

"Ah... Yeah... Sorry, Scott, everything's fine. We were just enjoying an intense conversation, that's all. We, ah, were trying to see if we could guess what Brains' plan is going to be." John glanced back at Gordon who'd shrunk back into his seat and was staring out the window again.

"If you can guess that, you're a better man than me," Scott admitted. "I haven't got any ideas."

"What can we do for you?" John asked the microphone.

"I was just checking up on your progress."

"We're about half an hour out."

"Good. Penny's finally got Brains into her aeroplane and she says they'll be here in a couple of hours."

"We'll all be waiting for them. The sooner I hear Brains' ideas the happier I'll be."

"You and me both, John. Tracy Island out."

John pushed the microphone out of the way. "Sorry about that."

Gordon didn't respond.

"Ah... That offer to listen still stands. If you need longer than half an hour I can always forget where the island is and make a long detour via New Zealand."

Gordon shook his head. "'m 'kay," he mumbled, still gazing out the window.

"Are you sure?"

With a scowl of pure fury Gordon swung around to his brother. "John! I'm...!" Then he took a deep breath to calm down. "I'm okay."

Wondering if he was pushing his luck, John took the _"are you sure"_, which was on his tongue, and replaced it with, "Feel free to tell me to mind my own business, but is everything okay between you and Scott?"

Gordon looked out the window again. "Yeah. We're fine."

Aware that the rift between his two brothers had lasted nearly as long as Gordon's marriage, John bit back another _"are you sure?"_ "Well, if you ever do decide that you want to talk, I don't think I'll be straying too far away over the next four months, except for when I'm on Thunderbird Five."

Gordon managed a wry grin and patted the pilot on the shoulder. "Thanks, Johnny."

He was silent for the rest of the journey.

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

They had a welcoming committee of four when they reached Tracy Island. Feeling almost sorry that he hadn't been able to break through Gordon's self-imposed barrier, John taxied the aeroplane into her hangar.

Gordon was up and out of his seat. "Come on. You need some sun."

The family reunion was as warm as the tropical day after the chill of the hangar.

"Did you both have a good flight?" Tin-Tin asked.

"Yes, fine," John lied. "We had an interesting conversation."

"Scott said you were discussing Doomsday." Alan hoisted a bag onto his shoulder. "Did you come up with a solution to our problem?"

"We came up with _a_ solution," John admitted, with a sideways glance at Gordon. "But it's not very practical."

"I presume I'll be using my old bedroom." Gordon slung his backpack onto his back. "And if anyone's interested, I'm getting a divorce from Marina. Later." He stalked away up the path to the villa.

"What?" Scott exclaimed. "Gor...!"

His chase after his brother was halted by a firm hand on his shoulder. "Leave him, Scott," John advised. "He doesn't need us telling him what he should be doing now."

"Especially since we're not the best examples at how to hold down a relationship," Virgil added and received a querying look from the rest of the group.

Scott suppressed his natural instincts to look after his younger brothers. "You're right. He knows we'll be here for him if he wants to talk about it."

"Yes," John agreed. "He knows."

Deciding that no one was going to be moving any time soon, Alan dropped the bag back onto the ground. "Is he really getting a divorce?"

"That's what he told me," John admitted. "He told Marina that he was calling his lawyer and that she should call hers... But don't mention it to Dad," he warned. "Gordon wants to do that himself, face-to-face."

"Poor Gordon," Tin-Tin sympathised. "He must feel awful."

John nodded. "I think he feels worse than he's letting on..."

Up at the house Gordon opened the door to his room, threw his pack onto a chair, and then, messing up Tin-Tin's carefully made sheets, tumbled onto his bed. He pulled his pillow over his head and tried to block out all his fears and misgivings.

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

If Lady Penelope hadn't been such a lady she would have ground her teeth. What with Brains being so unwilling to leave his laboratory until he'd gleaned every piece of data and research from his computers, Parker's bad back meaning that she'd had to help carry some of Brains' books, her resultant broken fingernail, and this phone call from Ralph, she was nearing the end of her considerable patience.

It wasn't as though she didn't like Lord Ralph Cockburn-Saint-John. He was a thoroughly charming man who took great pleasure out of wooing whichever woman he had set his heart on. The problem, in Lady Penelope's mind, was that he had no spark; no spunk; no drive. He shied from danger. She remembered the furore when he'd gallantly offered to stoke her fire and he'd got a splinter in his finger. Anyone else would have laughed it off, but Ralph behaved as if the splinter was the size of the log and had narrowly missed several vital veins and arteries. For a woman who thrived on the cut and thrust of spying on deadly criminals, the super-cautious Ralph was totally unsuited to her life. The problem was that her cover as one of England's most prominent socialites meant that he wasn't to know that.

She'd waited a discreet amount of time before contacting her former employers and letting them know that she was available for employment. They'd been overjoyed to have her 'back on the books', but she, in contrast, had found her new employers dull, uninspired and, compared to Jeff Tracy, self-centred. She would never admit it, but she missed working for International Rescue and had almost felt relief when they'd been called back into service to save the planet from Doomsday.

Her phone rang the Cockburn-Saint-John concerto again. "Answer that for me would you, Parker," she requested, tightening her grip on the pink control yoke. "I am rather busy at the moment."

"Yes, m'Lady." Parker held the phone to his ear. "Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward's phone," he intoned. "'Ow may H-I 'elp you?" He covered the mouthpiece. "H-It's Lord Raff Cowburn-Sint-John."

"Lord _Raif Coburn-Sinjin_," she corrected. "I ascertained that from the ring. Please tell him that I am piloting FAB4 and I am unable to talk to him at the present time."

"Yes, m'Lady."

"And inform him that, er, something of some importance has developed and I may be out of the country for some time. I shall contact him when I return to England."

"Yes, m'Lady." Parker passed on the message. "Very good, Sir. H-I shall inform 'er Ladyship." He hung up the phone and burst out laughing, garnering an annoyed glance from his mistress. "Lord Co-burn-Sint-Gin wishes you to know that should you need comfort h-in th' Earth's last 'ours, 'e's willin' to 'elp."

"Really!" Lady Penelope huffed. "Him comfort me!? He will probably spend the next four months hiding beneath his Queen Mary counterpane!"

Parker laughed again and Lady Penelope immediately regretted her outburst. It was not her style to denigrate anyone in public, not even to her trusted associate, but she had to admit that Doomsday and everything relating to it was preying on her mind. There was such a lot to consider. Whether or not she would have a role in saving the world; whether or not the Tracy boys would be willing to undertake the task ahead of them; whether or not International Rescue's equipment would be ready; whether or not the man in the back of the aeroplane could come up with a workable solution... "Is Brains still hard at work?"

Parker twisted in his seat and grimaced in pain. Lord Ralph had offered to help him carry Lady Penelope's bags, until he'd discovered how the words 'travel light' didn't exist in her vocabulary. He'd let go of one of her ladyship's larger suitcases and Parker, trying to maintain his hold on his own armload of bags, had pulled a muscle trying to stop it from careering down the steps. Lady Penelope had only just managed to stop herself from sending Cockburn-Saint-John down after her now scarred and battered case in the same uncontrolled manner. "'E's got 'is nose buried."

"I do not know whether to take that as a good sign or not," Lady Penelope mused.

"Shall H-I go h-and h-ask 'im?"

"No. We shall leave the poor boy to carry on with his work... How is your back, Parker?"

"H-I'll live," he admitted. "H-It's arlright so long h-as H-I don't move."

"We shall ask Brains if he has any ointment to help you when we get to Tracy Island."

"H-I don't like to h-interrupt 'im. 'E's got more h-important things to worry about."

But Brains was interrupted. He looked up when another familiar voice filtered through the airwaves and into the pink aeroplane. When he realised that it was only the radio, he returned to his study of the information in front of him.

This was one call that Lady Penelope was more than happy to respond to. The Tracys were the epitome of her idea of masculinity and it was with a warm sense of pleasurable anticipation that she responded to Scott's call. "How are you, dear boy?"

"Impatiently waiting for you to arrive with that precious cargo of yours, Penny. What's your ETA?"

"I anticipate landing on Tracy Island in approximately one hour's time."

Scott chuckled. "We'll have to get Virgil to teach you his secret for calculating the exact time of arrival. Will you need to freshen up when you get here, or do you want to get straight down to business?"

"'Down to business' of course, assuming that Brains is ready."

"Do you think he'll be ready?"

"I do not know," Lady Penelope admitted. "He has not said a word since we boarded."

"Well, if he's not cursing under his breath, we'll take that as a good sign. We'll have a meeting as soon as you get here, Penny. The world is waiting to hear if International Rescue has a solution to Doomsday..."

_To be continued..._


	3. Chapter 3 - Close to Home

It's Friday. Time for...

**Chapter Three: Close to home**

Scott stared down at the pair of legs that stuck out from beneath the digital table. "Haven't you got this thing working yet?"

Alan snickered. "He's so fat he probably can't reach the electronics."

A screwdriver appeared from under the table and made a suggestive gesture.

"Be nice, John," Virgil chuckled. "We've got ladies present."

"Oops. Sorry, Ladies.… Where's Brains?"

"He is still in my aeroplane," Lady Penelope explained. "We decided that we wouldn't disturb him until we were ready to hear what he has to say."

Tin-Tin crouched down beside the table so that she could see underneath it. "Can I help you?"

"Probably," John smiled at her in the shadows. "Can you check that the magdon chip is slotted home correctly?"

Tin-Tin prised a panel off the top edge of the table and, holding a torch as she peered inside, gently prodded a computer chip. "It looks corroded."

"Like the wiring under here. That's the problem with being so close to the sea. Can you replace it?"

"I'll see if there's a useable spare in the storeroom."

"While you do that, can you check if there's any useable wiring?"

"What are the rest of us supposed to do while you lay around?" Alan asked as his wife trotted away on her errand.

John pulled himself out from under the table so that he was able to look up at his youngest brother. "How about making me a cup of coffee? I'm parched." He looked at his watch. "I'm usually on cup number five by now."

"Let me, Mister John," Parker offered. "H-I'm not doin' much standin' 'ere."

"Thanks, Parker." John looked about the room. "Where's Gordon?"

"He hasn't surfaced since he got here," Scott told him. "Not that there's much that he can do until Brains is ready. And Brains won't be ready until you've got this thing working." He tapped the top of table and weird electronic patterns swirled about its surface. "You're not going to electrocute yourself, are you?"

"No." John reassured him. "Not enough power."

"Hasn't anyone here heard of pen and paper?" Virgil asked. "Do we really need the digital table?"

Scott frowned. "We don't all like working with canvas and paint, Gustav."

"It's not Gustav talking," he was informed. "Anyway this table's technology has been superseded."

"I don't care if it came out of the ark," Scott growled. "So long as it works and we can all see Brains' plans. Ah… Here's Tin-Tin."

"Good." John accepted some new wires and wriggled back under the table. A short time later the table top stabilised into the accepted soft hue of green baize.

John crawled out from underneath and brushed his clothes down. "Let's check that it works." He entered a few codes into a keypad and what appeared to be blank pieces of paper appeared at each seat. "What are Tracy Industries' shares doing?" he mused as he tapped the keypad again. A report appeared in front of him, and he studied it closely. "Good. The market's not missing me yet."

"Why don't we get Brains?" Virgil asked. "Will our wristwatch telecoms work now that we're on the island, John?"

John nodded. "They should. Has he got much that needs to be brought out of the plane?"

"'Eaps, Sir," Parker told him, handing him a hot mug.

Virgil put his sunglasses on. "Then we'd better get down there and give him a hand."

"The monorail to the hangar works," Alan said. "It's about the only thing in the place that still does. But we blocked off the spurs to the Thunderbird hangars, so we're going to have to walk between them when we check out the craft."

Scott put his freshly made cup of coffee on the table. "We'll worry about that later. In the meantime let's get Brains up here. Would you mind telling Gordon that we'll be starting soon, Tin-Tin?"

"It would be a pleasure, Scott," Tin-Tin informed him. "This is beginning to feel like old times."

Brains was still deep in studious thought in the passenger cabin of FAB4. He looked up when shadows fell over his computer screen. "S-Scott…? Alan…? John...?" He looked out the window seeing palm trees waving in the gentle zephyr. "Have we landed?"

Alan chuckled. "You landed about an hour ago."

Scott indicated the computer. "Does the fact that you're in full concentration mode mean that you've come up with something?" he asked.

"P-Possibly." Brains started packing all his research and equipment into manageable piles.

"Let me take some." Virgil picked up a large pile of papers.

"Thank you, ah…" His mind still clouded in a fog of facts and figures, Brains stared owlishly at him.

"Believe it or not, that's Virgil," Scott explained, "looking like one of Gustav's paint brushes."

"Oh! Er… Sorry, Virgil."

"It's all right, Brains." Virgil pulled his sunglasses down so that he could look over them. "There are some days I don't recognise me either."

-F-A-B-

"Gordon." Tin-Tin tapped on his door. "We're nearly ready, Gordon."

She was just beginning to wonder if he had heard her, when the door slid back. His hair was a mess, giving the impression that he'd been lying down, and he ran his fingers through it to try to smooth it back into place. "Sorry, Tin-Tin," he apologised, "I've been trying to work out how I'm going to break the news to Dad."

She gave his hand a squeeze. "Just tell him. He'll understand."

"He'll remind me that he told me it would all end in tears if I married Marina." Gordon sighed. "He was right."

"Your father has never been one for recriminations," Tin-Tin reminded him. "Would you like a cup of coffee? I'm going to have to make some more. Everyone else's is getting cold."

He managed a smile. "That's sounds great. Thanks." He wandered into the lounge. "Hi, Penny."

"Hello, Gordon. How are you?"

He fixed her with a wry grin. "I suppose everyone's told you that I'm getting a divorce?"

"Ah…" Lady Penelope hesitated. "It has been mentioned."

"You mean they've been gloating?"

"I think that their attitude is more of sorrow," Lady Penelope corrected. "They are sorry for you."

"If anyone else said that I wouldn't believe them. But since it's you..." Gordon indicated the digital table. "I'm surprised this thing still works." He pulled out a chair and sat down.

"It does thanks to John and Tin-Tin." Lady Penelope smiled at the pretty Eurasian as a coaster and Gordon's coffee was placed at his elbow.

The digital table erupted into a rainbow of static.

"Maybe that's not such a good idea," Gordon suggested, moving his mug to the table's bezel.

Tin-Tin frowned. "That shouldn't happen." She placed her own mug on the table and the surface remained placidly green.

"Odd." Gordon watched as Lady Penelope placed her coaster, cup and saucer on the table, which showed no signs of complaint. "Guess it must be me." He shifted his mug back to its original position.

The table repeated its multi-coloured performance.

Tin-Tin giggled. "It is you, Gordon."

"Everyone's a critic."

There were sounds from the direction of the monorail entrance. Scott was the first to appear, his arms filled with papers. "That was weird. The monorail stopped working of its own accord and then started again."

"Somehow I don't think fixing whatever's wrong with that is going to be a priority over the next few months," Virgil commented. "Do you want these papers on the table, Brains?"

"No. On the coffee table will be fine."

Alan dumped his armload of books onto the table. "We had visions of having to carry all this through the complex… Where's my coffee?" He screwed up his nose. "It's cold."

"I'll get you another," Tin-Tin offered. "Would anyone else like a fresh cup?"

She was back with a tray full of steaming brews by the time Brains had inserted his computer into the slot beneath the digital table, set up the connection between the two pieces of equipment, and got himself ready to explain his findings. He looked at Scott. "Shall I, er, start?"

"It's what we're all here for," Scott reminded him. "We're all dying to know if you have the answer to the world's problem."

A map of the world was displayed across the surface of the table. "As you all know," Brains began, "The SHAKER has predicted that the majority of the world's fault lines are going to, er, create a cataclysmic event in four months time." Red lines appeared on the map showing the length of the impending disaster. "Most of these events are going to happen along recognised tectonic boundaries, such as the Pacific's so called ring of fire." He had a smaller map on the table in front of him and as he circled the Pacific Ocean a corresponding circle appeared on the larger map within view of his friends.

"Right around our home," Alan grumbled.

"As you can see, the fault lines of the Pacific plate and its adjoining plates are close to, if not under, the Pacific Ocean. When Doomsday occurs, not only will these areas along the fault lines suffer from various seismic events, but tsunami will also spread out across the ocean." Blue lines started bleeding out from the red ones through the waters of the world. "The same holds true for most of the world's oceans."

"Any chance the tsunamis would cancel each other out when they met in the middle of the ocean?" John asked.

"Unlikely," Brains admitted. "The meeting of two tsunamic systems would probably compound the energy displacement, rather than diffuse it." The blue lines met and seemingly bounced off each other, reversing their course.

"So any coastal land would be hit by two tsunamis," Lady Penelope surmised, as the blue lines swamped smaller islands and invaded continental coastlines.

Brains looked at her through his thick spectacles. "At least two," he conceded.

"How big are these waves going to be?" Gordon asked, as the blue lines washed far inland.

"Imagine any disaster movie you've seen," Brains advised. "And triple it..." Those around the table stared at him in shock. "Also, with the seismic disturbances of the magnitude we're expecting, the tsunamis could, er, bounce around the globe for days, if not weeks."

"Assumin' the world's still h-in one piece," Parker muttered.

"Earthquakes, as you know," Brains continued, "are caused when the forces caused by friction built up between tectonic plates are released suddenly. The amount of energy released and the depth of that release dictates how violently the 'quake is felt on the Earth's surface." He spied his coffee cup and took a sip.

Everyone waited, knowing that Brains needed to proceed at his own pace. The fact that there was no sign of his stutter showed that he was completely focussed on their discussion.

He set down his cup. "My theory, and I would like to point out that it is only a theory; a hypothesis based on historical data, many calculations, and guesswork... My theory is that if we were to cause the faults to release their energy at an earlier time and at a deeper depth than those predicted, we will reduce the size of the events at the surface. An earthquake may still be felt, but, if my theory is correct, it will not be the cataclysmic event we are all fearing."

Scott steepled his hands in front of him. "Okay. I think we understand the theory. But how do we put it into practise?"

"We will need to bury explosive charges deep into the Earth's surface; timed to detonate in a precise order."

"How deep?" Virgil asked.

"Between twenty and fifty kilometres."

"Fifty kilometres!" Virgil sat back. "The Mole's never gone any deeper than one K!"

"I-I," the first hint of doubt about his plan had ignited Brains' stutter, "I wasn't anticipating any of you physically drilling that f-far into the Earth. I envisage a much smaller drilling device burrowing down before it releases its payload."

"A nuclear explosion?" John asked.

"No. I was considering an acoustic shock. It will be safer to transport the detonator and easier to control the amount of energy released."

Scott was more interested in working on the logistics of the plan. "How are we going to get these 'detonators' down to where they're going to release their payload?"

"These devices will operate in a manner similar to a conventional rocket launching into space," Brains explained. "Not a single-stage self-contained booster spaceship like Thunderbird Three, but one that has booster stages which ignite, give the rocket the necessary push forward, and then fall away." He drew a rough sketch on the table and the image appeared in front of each member of his audience. "But there will be a limit to the propellant such a small device can carry. It will need assistance to start it on its journey into the ground."

Alan stared at the drawing in front of him. "What kind of assistance?"

"We will have to launch the device as far into the Earth as we can; using the equipment we have available. I have calculated the most promising locations on the Earth's surface. These locations have been chosen for their ease of access, as well as proximity to the Earth's centre and to recognised seismic faults."

"Proximity to the Earth's centre?" Virgil queried. "Such as…"

"You're thinking of the Mariana Trench, aren't you!?" Gordon demanded.

"I did o-originally," Brains admitted. "But the Earth is not exactly spherical in shape. It is an oblate spheroid, slightly flattened at the poles and bulging at the equator. The Mariana Trench, at eleven degrees north of the equator, is further from the Earth's core than some locations within the Arctic Circle. These Arctic locations are roughly 40 kilometres closer to the Earth's core and also, because of the Earth's shape, are found in relatively shallow waters. However I have discarded them as potential drilling points as they are too inaccessible due to location and ambient temperatures."

"So you have chosen the Mariana Trench!" Gordon repeated.

Brains nodded. "Where the Pacific Plate is subducted under the Mariana Plate. To be precise, I have decided that the optimum position for launching one of the acoustic concussion generators is at the bottom of the Challenger Deep." On the electronic map, an orange glow off the coast of the Philippines appeared and pulsed gently.

"But that's the deepest known point in the ocean!" Gordon exclaimed.

"I-I am aware of that."

"Thunderbird Four's never gone down that deep!"

"T-True. But we've never tested her to her limits."

"Limits! She'll have to dive at least five thousand fathoms. That's way beyond her theoretical limits!"

"Five thousand fathoms?" Lady Penelope enquired. "How deep is that?"

"Ten to eleven thousand metres!" Gordon spluttered. "Thirty thousand feet!"

"Well," Alan mused. "That's half to a fifth of Brains' hypothetical required distance."

"That's also 100 megapascals of pressure on her hull!"

Virgil gave a low whistle. "That's a lot..."

"A lot! Virgil! That's over 1000 atmospheres!"

"'Scuse me," Parker apologised, "but H-I don't h-understand. Watcha mean 1000 atmospheres?"

"I've heard it described," John explained, "as the equivalent of the weight of 1,600 elephants on every centimetre of your body."

"Oh," Parker mouthed. "Ta."

"We don't even know if she can withstand that kind of pressure!" Gordon slapped his hand on the table. "Especially after seven years of rotting in her pod!"

"I'm sure Brains has taken that into consideration, Gordon." John, noticing that Scott had chosen not to interrupt Gordon's outburst, decided that as second eldest it was his place to take the lead. "Let's hear the mechanics of his plan before we start stressing over the details… Okay?"

Gordon took a deep breath. "Yeah. Okay… Sorry, Brains. I guess I'm getting ahead of myself."

"Not at all, Gordon. I want you all to, er, consider the ramifications of my suggestions."

Virgil leant forward. "So, are you suggesting that Thunderbird Four's going to have to, for want of a better phrase, lay all these charges at various underwater points around the globe?"

"No. We will not have time for that," Brains admitted. "All three detonators will take time to burrow into the Earth's crust. The other two detonators will be, er, launched from the lowest points on the Earth not under water."

"The Dead Sea's the lowest," Parker offered. "H-I remember learnin' about that when I was at school. H-If H-I remember rightly it's 1369 feet below sea level."

"You are quite correct," Brains congratulated him. "In a manner of speaking."

"Huh? Watcha mean?"

Brains didn't elaborate. "I propose that The Mole," he glanced at Virgil, "should bore down into the Dead Sea Transform," another orange dot pulsed on the map, this time next to the Mediterranean, "until it has reached its maximum depth and then launch its acoustic concussion generators further into the Earth."

"Before The Mole gets the heck out of there," Alan muttered.

"Where's the third site, Brains?" Scott asked.

"At a point on the Earth's surface that is even deeper than the Dead Sea. One thousand metres deeper and yet it is not covered by any of the world's seas or oceans. It's a place called the Bentley Subglacial Trench."

"The Bentley Sub-_glacial_ Trench?" Alan echoed. "Never heard of it. Sounds cold."

"It is," Brains agreed. "It is 2540 metres or 8333 feet below sea level and is buried under ice in Antarctica at 80 degrees south, 105 degrees west." An orange dot pulsed on the great white mass at the bottom of the map. "Should the ice melt it would be covered by sea water, which is why the Dead Sea is recognised as being the lowest place on Earth instead of the Bentley Subglacial Trench."

Parker pointed at the map. "But h-it's nowhere near a faultine."

"It's not near a known faultline," Brains corrected. "But, ignoring that issue, my hypothesis is that the sudden disturbance of the Antarctic plate will take, er, the pressure off the neighbouring plates."

"Seems to me you're relying a lot h-on 'ypotheseses."

"Unfortunately, Parker," Brains stared at the older man through his thick spectacles. "That is a-all we've got. This is a new, er, situation for us all."

"If this trench is buried under metres of ice," Scott began. "How are we going to reach it?"

Brains looked at him. "I propose two missiles fired from Thunderbird One in quick succession. One to melt the ice and the second carrying an ACG."

"So I'm going to be strafing a blank, buried target?"

"Yes."

As if it was adding its own perspective on their conversation the digital table sent a psychedelic wave across its screen before settling back into its portrait of the Earth.

"You can't blame me this time," Gordon grumbled. "I wasn't touching it."

"One of the wires must still be loose," John reassured him.

Tin-Tin had more important things to worry about rather than the table. "When do you think we should start operations?"

Brains looked at her over his spectacles. "We will need to deploy the detonators inside three months. That will give them the necessary time to reach their goal and detonate before the faults release their energy of their own accord."

"Three months!"

Virgil was taking notes. "So we're going to need Thunderbirds One, Two, Four, and The Mole. We're going to need Thunderbird Five to facilitate communications between us all, which means we're going to need Thunderbird Three to get to it." He laid down his digital pen. "It's going to take a lot of work to make sure all the craft ready. That's before we even think about starting work on the detonators and Thunderbird One's missiles. Can we do it inside three months?"

There was silence as everyone contemplated the task ahead of them.

"IF we do this," Scott began, "and it's a big if, we're going to have to give it one hundred percent. Who knows what repairs and preparations we're going to have to make before we can even start thinking about undertaking this rescue. Does anyone want to back out now?"

"I think that the fact that we're all here says that we're committed to doing something," Gordon commented, as everyone else shook their heads. "Besides, I've got nothing to go back to." Brains fixed him with a curious look.

"We've got to at least try," Alan added. "What are our options if we don't? Sit back and wait for the world to implode on itself?"

"Sit back?" John started going through the calendar on his smartphone. "Who's got time to sit back? I've got meeting after meeting. There're three on the 27th..."

"I'll need time off to visit my lawyer," Gordon noted. "The sooner I can get divorced from Marina the better, but I want to go and tell Dad in person that I am getting divorced before I do anything else."

John brought up the next date on his calendar. "I've got a couple of important meetings on the 28th..."

"My next race is next month," Alan admitted. "If I miss that, I'll lose all chances of winning the championship."

"I might be able to forgo the meeting on the 29th. Robert can handle that one..."

"My show opens on the 30th," Virgil remembered. "And I've got to be there for all the preparations leading up to it. That'll take a couple of days."

"The 30th!" John exclaimed. "That meeting on the 30th is very important. That's to finalise the Martin contract. Must get Emma to send through the reports..."

"Reports!" Gordon snapped his fingers. "I've got to write up the reports about my last expedition. Chris's been on my back over that."

"That meeting on the 1st is important. I can't miss that…"

Unable to believe what he was hearing, Scott had been listening incredulously to this recital of prior engagements. "Well, excuse me!" he snapped. "We'll just tell everyone that we're too busy to save the world, shall we? Maybe we should ask the planet to not self-destruct until some time when we can all make space on our calendars!?"

What followed was an embarrassed silence.

"I guess I can deal with the lawyer over the phone," Gordon admitted. "At least then I won't have to meet with Marina again. And as for the reports; what are they going to do? Send someone down here to the middle of nowhere to point a gun at my head to force me to write them up?"

"I don't really have to be at the show," Virgil conceded. "My manager will rip me off as usual, and people will go around reading meanings into my paintings that aren't there, but…" He shrugged.

"It's only a car race," Alan accepted. "It's not like it's a matter of life and death if I don't participate." He frowned. "But what excuse can I have for not racing? Just because I've told everyone that I've got this superstition about having my photograph taken during a series, doesn't mean that I haven't got a reasonably high public profile."

"Say you want to spend the planet's final days with your family," Scott suggested. He looked at John who was frowning at his smartphone. "What about you?"

"Don't get me wrong, it's not that I don't want to help out. But it's not that simple…!" At Scott's exasperated sigh, John leant forward. "Look! If I could just drop everything I would! But consider my position, Scott… No. Consider _our _position. _This_," he indicated the smartphone, "is International Rescue's lifeblood. The reason why we had to shut down in the first place was because of the way the markets reacted to Jeff Tracy not being at the helm. They're only just beginning to accept me as someone who's managed to keep the boat on an even keel, and Tracy Industries' values are finally reverting to the levels they were at before Dad had the stroke."

"Which means we have the money to do this," Scott told him.

"Does it? We haven't checked out the state of our equipment yet. For all we know the wings could have fallen off Thunderbird One! We've got to undo seven years worth of decay and neglect inside three months and bring everything up to scratch, and that's going to take more than time and manpower. It's going to take money! Lots of money!"

"Are you saying that we don't have the funds to even try?" Virgil asked.

"No. As things stand I think we'll be okay. But when the markets discover that I've taken leave and that no one named Tracy has taken over Tracy Industries, International Rescue's lifeblood could drain away!" John sat back. "And if you don't consider that a good enough reason, then try this. Dad worked hard to make Tracy Industries the global success that it is. I couldn't be the one to ruin it all for him."

"Then why not put him back at the helm?" Alan suggested.

John stared at him as if he were crazy. "What?!"

"Why not? Obviously you can't give him anything too… Umm..."

"Difficult," Gordon offered.

"I was thinking more along the lines of taxing. Difficult he'd thrive on. We all know that his brain's fine, it's just that his body's not working so well. He needs something to stimulate him and this could be it."

"He wouldn't be able to attend any meetings," Virgil noted. "We can understand him, but complete strangers wouldn't be able to."

"John…" Alan persevered. "Surely there are people you can trust to take on the more difficult bits like meetings? Dad didn't employ idiots or anyone he didn't trust, and I know you haven't either."

John gave a slow nod of agreement, but didn't comment.

Gordon concurred. "Alan's right. Dad's probably bored stuck at home all day. He'd relish the opportunity to take on more responsibility and it would stop him worrying about what we're doing."

"That's a good point," Virgil agreed. "And knowing that we're restarting International Rescue would probably give him a boost. We all know how crushed he was when we said we had to shut it down."

Scott pushed home the winning argument. "And the markets would see that there was still a Tracy at the helm." "And not just _any_ Tracy, but _Jeff_ Tracy!" He stared at his brother who was still gazing at the smartphone as if it held the answers to their problems. "How about it, John? Are you with us?"

John looked at him. "I'll need a day or so to check Dad's willing, and to make arrangements for the transition."

Scott could see that this was a fair compromise. "Good. Then that's done. First thing…"

"What about Stewie?"

Scott froze; staring at Virgil.

"Stewie?" Alan frowned as he looked between his two brothers. "What about him?"

"It's his 17th birthday next week," Virgil explained. "And he's going to be sitting his private pilot's certificate. Were you planning on being there, Scott?"

Scott gave a slow nod. "Yes, I was… But I can't now... Can I?" He ran his hands through his hair. "How am I going to explain it to him?"

"Come with me when I go to talk to Dad," John suggested. "I'd rather you were there to reassure him that we're going to be doing everything properly anyway. Then you can go and see Stewie."

"But what do I say to him? He's been looking forward to this day for years…" Scott slumped in his chair. "And so have I. And I can't go and do what's important to me when I've just told you guys you can't do what's important to you!"

"I think we'll get over it," Virgil reassured him.

Alan grinned. "Just as long as you don't stay until after the party."

"Go, Scott," Gordon told him. "Wish Stewie good luck and a happy birthday from us all."

Scott thought for a moment. "No," he decided. "We're all going to go and tell Father tomorrow. We'll give ourselves one day to get the rest of our lives in order before we commit ourselves to re-launching International Rescue."

"Can we spare the time?" John asked. "We're going to be working to a tight schedule."

Virgil indicated his notes. "It'll give us a chance to get some supplies. Then we can make a start on minor repairs while we wait for the bigger items to be freighted in."

"What about Kasey, Virgil?" Tin-Tin asked. "What is she going to think about you disappearing into the middle of the Pacific Ocean for three months?"

Virgil pretended to be more interested in his notes. "Kasey's not part of the picture now."

"What!" Everyone stared at him.

Everyone except Scott who helped to deflect their attention away from his brother. "If anyone's interested, Farrah and I aren't together any more either."

John switched his focus to his elder brother. "Is that why...?"

"Getting back to more important things," Scott interrupted. "Once we've checked the state of the equipment, we will fly out."

"Do I take this to mean that you are all serious about reforming International Rescue?" Lady Penelope asked.

"Yeah," Parker added. "H-It sounds dangerous, h-even compared to what you did before you h-all disbanded. What with missiles, an' detonatin' bombs underground, an' divin' down to the depths, an' all."

Scott shrugged. "Like Alan said before, what choice do we have? Now, order of priority. We'll start by working on Thunderbird Three..."

"Thunderbird Three?!" Gordon stared at him.

"Yes."

"What about Thunderbird Four?"

"We will work on Four once we've checked over Thunderbird Three…"

That wasn't good enough for Gordon. "Thunderbird Four should have top priority!"

"Thunderbird Four _is_ a high priority," Scott admitted, "but we need Thunderbird Th..."

"If I'm going to have over 100 megapascals of pressure on me then I'll need to know that Four's hull can withstand it!"

"We all need to know that Thunderbird Four's hull won't be compromised," Scott soothed. "Don't worry, Gordon..."

"Don't patronise me!" Gordon's chair went flying as, furious with his eldest brother, he leapt to his feet.

Scott flinched. "I wasn't…"

"That deep in the water with that much pressure on her, Thunderbird Four could be crushed like an egg! With me in it! Is that what you want, Scott?!"

Uncomfortable by the way the exchange was heating up; the others pretended to make notes on their digital papers.

"No! Of course not." Scott could feel the situation slipping out of his control and knew that the last thing International Rescue needed was for Gordon and him to have another falling out. "Trust me, Gordon, we'll do all we can to preven…"

But Gordon wasn't in the mood to listen. "Even Thunderbird Two's going to be more important than Thunderbird Three! Right, Virgil?"

Virgil, looking like he'd rather not be dragged into the argument, gazed at the wall.

"Both Thunderbirds Four and Two should have a higher priority than Thunderbird Three! We'll only be using her as a taxi!"

Knowing that to speak now would only inflame the situation, Alan bit his tongue.

"You are right, Gordon," Scott agreed. "As far as the actual mission is concerned, Thunderbird Three isn't important. But she's still got a high priority because…"

Gordon pushed himself away from the table and, breathing heavily, stalked over to the window so he could look out over the calming Pacific Ocean.

"Gordon…" John got to his feet and walked over to his brother's side. "Scott knows how important it is to make sure that Thunderbird Four can withstand all that pressure. We all do. None of us want to see you risk your neck any more than necessary."

Gordon grunted.

Taking this as a good sign and keeping his voice quiet and soothing, John continued to speak. "Just like we all know it's important that each of our Thunderbirds and The Mole are going to be able to do what we ask of them."

Immensely grateful for John's intervention, Scott took a chance that Gordon wasn't going to fly off the handle at him again. "We're all going to be taking a risk and none of us wants to see the others in any danger. But, Gordon, you know none of us is going to be able to do anything without good communications!"

"I know," Gordon grumbled.

"And for that we need to know that Thunderbird Five's operational."

Gordon clenched his fist against the glass. "I know," he said again, his voice almost a whisper. He pressed his forehead against the cool windowpane.

"And we're not going to find that out until we get to the space station."

John drove home the final argument. "And to get there we need Thunderbird Three."

"I know," Gordon repeated.

"With any luck Thunderbird Three won't need a lot done to her and we can start work straight away on our next highest priority, Thunderbird Four." Scott shared a look with John that said that Thunderbird Five was probably a higher priority, but didn't articulate the fact.

John placed his hand on his brother's shoulder. "Are you ready to sit down again?"

Gordon heaved a sigh. "Yeah." He reclaimed his seat. "Sorry." Avoiding everyone else's eyes, he didn't speak again throughout the rest of the meeting.

Scott made a note on his digital paper. "Anyone else want to say anything?"

"Yes," Virgil nodded towards the wall. "I think we're going to have to get new portraits."

"Oh, for Pete's sake!" Scott, having had enough of his brothers' idiosyncrasies, threw his pen down in disgust. "Gustav, leave!" he snapped. "We'd like Virgil's input here."

Virgil fixed him with a level stare. "And you're getting it. What I mean is that we were younger and a lot fitter when we started International Rescue. We've been trying to work out if we can get our equipment operational in time, but what about us?" He looked at his brothers. "Are any of you as fit as you were when those portraits were created? I know I'm not. I've been jogging through Central Park every day, but I'll freely admit that I'm not in the same shape that I was when we started."

"And some of us have even more shape than we had when we started," Alan prodded John's slightly rounded midriff. John knocked his hand away.

"Do you think we're wasting our time, Virgil?" Scott asked.

"No," Virgil responded. "But I do think we've got more work ahead of us than we realise. We've got to get the equipment ready and we've got to prepare ourselves as well. And I'm not talking about only physically, but also mentally. Can you imagine any of us putting other aspects of our lives before International Rescue eight years ago?"

"No," Alan admitted. "Eight years ago International Rescue was our lives."

"At least John has a non-physical role," Tin-Tin offered. "And you'll be able to spend your spare moments working out in Thunderbird Five's gym."

"But I need to be fitter than I am for space flight," John admitted. "And so that I can help everyone get the equipment ready. I've got to pull my weight... Pun not intended…"

He sighed. "When I started working at Tracy Industries I was determined that I wasn't going to become just another fat corporate body. I had every intention of going to the company gym every morning, but I felt like everyone was staring at me. _Oh, look. There's the new boss, Jeff Tracy's son._" He shrugged. "You've got to admit that as Space Monitor I didn't exactly get endless opportunities for socialising. I wasn't used to being surrounded by large groups of people. So since a public gym wasn't for me, and work meant that I didn't have a lot of spare time to work out in my apartment, I decided that I'd take the stairs to and from my office every day. But every day I seemed to have a meeting at eight o'clock, which meant that I didn't have time to take the stairs. So I didn't..." he confessed. "I haven't exercised in months."

"Well, you're going to start now," Scott promised. "We're all going to start a regular fitness programme. Gordon, do you want to coordinate that?"

Gordon, his eyes still down, nodded.

"Thanks... Now, let's see…" Scott made a note on his digital pad. "Personnel allocations seem pretty straight-forward. We'll need full communications, so John you'll be manning Thunderbird Five. I'll be using Thunderbird One to strafe the Bentley Subglacial Trench. Gordon will have to do the Mariana Trench deployment, leaving Virgil and Alan to man The Mole in the Dead Sea…"

Tin-Tin grasped her husband's hand "Is it going to be possible to get the Thunderbirds up to operational standard in only three months?"

"We won't know until we see them," Scott admitted.

"Then I suppose we should go and take a look." Virgil pressed home a full stop on his digital page.

No one moved. They all sat there, waiting for one of the others to make the first move.

Realising that they'd reached an impasse, Lady Penelope asked, "Could the Thunderbirds have deteriorated at all, Brains?"

He gave a slow nod. "Without c-continual maintenance, such as they received when International Rescue was operational, yes."

"Lummee," Parker muttered.

"Externally Thunderbird Three looks okay." Alan shrank back when his brothers' eyes turned on him.

"How do you know that?" Scott demanded. "We sealed up all access to the hangars!"

"Ah..." Alan cast a furtive look at his wife. "When I, um, realised that we might be restarting operations, I, er, opened up the walkway from the lab to Three's launch bay... Ah... To save ti..."

The digital table started its disco lighting act again. Only this time it was accompanied by a shimmer that sashayed through the room, sending little tsunamis dancing in their coffee cups. The oriental wind chime on the far wall started to tinkle as windows rattled in their frames.

"What the..." Scott looked up to see one of the books on his father's shelf slide down its neighbour. "Earthquake?"

The shimmering stopped and the digital display returned to its normal utilitarian image.

The map on the table top disappeared as Brains replaced it with a seismographic readout. "Oh."

"Oh!?" Alan exclaimed. "What the heck does _Oh_ mean? The quakes aren't supposed to start for another four months!"

"W-we are presently on a volcano, Alan."

"I'm aware of that, Brains, I've lived here for a large part of my life. But it's supposed to be extinct. The whole volcanic field's moved away from here over the millennia... Hasn't it?"

"Alan's right," Tin-Tin agreed. "I thought it was now under the Kermadec Trench."

"We are still sitting on a highly active plate," Brains explained. "Magma is rising beneath Tracy Island."

Alan frowned. "Meaning our home is going to erupt at any time?"

"Not any time..." Brains clarified. "A-Approximately three months."

His announcement was met with exclamations from all around the table. "Three months!"

"It can't erupt in three months!" Scott insisted. "That's when we're going to be dispersed all around the planet. We won't be able to do anything to stop it...!"

"Assuming we can," Virgil added.

"I-I can not exactly say that the eruption will occur in three months. This programme isn't as advanced as the SHAKER. It may be l-later."

"Or earlier?"

"Yes."

"Great!" Alan threw his pen onto the table. "We're not only going to be working under pressure, we're going to be living and working on a pressure cooker."

"Would it be possible to move your centre of operations elsewhere?" Lady Penelope asked.

"We could," Scott admitted. "But that would take time. Time we don't have."

John ran his hand through his hair. "Is this eruption linked to Doomsday?"

"Yes," Brains confirmed.

"Then why is this eruption predicted to happen one month earlier than Doomsday?" Virgil demanded. "Have we got our facts wrong? Are we going to have to bring our plans forward one month?" He slumped back in his chair. "We may as well give up now."

"You know it's an i-inexact science, Virgil, but I believe that the predictions for Doomsday are correct. This eruption, and any others around the globe," the map returned to the table top, "are merely, er, an overture."

"I don't think much of the opera."

Lady Penelope had been studying the map. "Could there be unexpected volcanic eruptions elsewhere in the world?"

"Yes. B-But they will be localised enough that people will be able to be evacuated."

"Brains. Can you give us your honest opinion," Scott begged. "Is there any point us recommissioning International Rescue?"

Brains fixed him with an earnest stare. "Scott. Every mission you and your brothers undertook carried an e-element of uncertainty. The reason why International Rescue were called in was because the odds had been against the people you rescued. This time is no different."

"But every time International Rescue at least had a slim chance of success. What chance have we got this time?"

Brains' stare was unwavering. "A slim one."

Everyone was silent as they absorbed what he was saying.

Gordon pushed his chair back and got to his feet. "Well, what are we sitting here for? The longer we wait, the slimmer our chances get. Let's go see priority number one."

-F-A-B-

Thunderbird Three stood in her launch bay, her nosecone pointing towards an almost impervious plug of cahelium, concrete, and rock.

John gazed up at the gigantic number three. "I never thought I'd be looking at a Thunderbird again." He patted one of the boosters. "Let alone touching one."

Scott circled the giant spaceship. "You're right, Alan. She does look in good shape."

"But what about the engines?" Virgil asked, bringing Thunderbird Three's schematics up on his tablet computer. "And the electronics? And the internal structures?"

Gordon made an irritated noise. "Glad to hear you're starting the challenge with a positive frame of mind, Virg."

"We've increased the power plant's output," Tin-Tin offered. "It should nearly be at full capacity by now. We'll be able to run the diagnostic programmes on all the Thunderbirds."

Scott stared up at one of Thunderbird Three's firmly sealed hatches. "Once we get inside. How do we do that without causing too much structural damage, Brains?"

The engineer actually smirked. "I foresaw the day when y-you all would want to relaunch International Rescue," he admitted, and the brothers exchanged mystified looks as he reached into the bag that he'd brought with him. "I-It's taken longer than I, er, anticipated, but I had planned for that eventuality."

"How," Gordon queried, "had you planned for 'that eventuality'? And why?"

"After s-seven years of International Rescue, I c-couldn't see any of you being happy in 'mainstream' jobs long-term." Brains pulled out a box about the size of a pack of cards. "So when we sealed all the Thunderbirds' hatches I laid a s-strip of seizeite around each entrance first. It helped to seal the hatch, until the trigger's placed in a certain spot." He indicated the box.

"But the whole point of sealing the hatches was so that no one could ever get access to the Thunderbirds," Scott reminded him.

"Then why didn't you destroy them?" Brains enquired.

The brothers glanced at one another.

Scott was determined not to be sidetracked. "You deliberately installed a method of opening them? What if someone, not us, tried to break in?"

"Firstly, only I knew about the s-seizeite," Brains told him.

"That's true," Virgil conceded. "This is the first we've heard about it."

"Secondly, the seizeite is hidden b-beneath the seals you all installed," Brains continued. "It is not, ah, visible to anyone unaware of its existence. Thirdly, the seizeite actually aids in sealing the hatch until such time as the release mechanism is engaged. And finally," grinning, he pulled the twin antennas from out of the box, "y-you have to have the exact trigger for each Thunderbird, and know exactly where to position it. Only I know these secrets."

John gave Lady Penelope a sideways look. "Sounds to me like you've been a bad influence on him."

"Or a good one?" Lady Penelope's silvery laugh wafted through the little group. "I am beginning to believe that Brains has missed his calling."

"Never mind all that," Gordon said impatiently. "Let's open her up. What do we do, Brains?"

"I need to be able to place this trigger up there." Brains pointed to the airlock that had formerly been the portal through which the couches had passed on the hydraulic ram.

They looked upwards, craning their necks to see the patch at the bottom of the nacelle where the entrance hatch used to be.

"'Ow are you goin' to get h-up there?" Parker asked.

It was a reasonable question.

"Jetpacks?" Gordon suggested. "There should be some stored down the tunnel." He pointed into the gloom that contained the tracks the couch had travelled from beneath the lounge.

"All the jetpacks have been deteriorating for seven years," Virgil responded. "I'm not prepared to use any of them until they've been fully checked over, and they're going to be a low priority. But I'm willing to trust something as low tech as a ladder. Is there still one in the storerooms?"

"Yes," Tin-Tin watched as her husband circled Thunderbird Three slowly. "We use it for cleaning out the guttering."

"A ladder's not going to be long enough," Gordon scoffed. "We need something with a higher reach."

"What about the scissor-lift?" Tin-Tin suggested. "Assuming that it still works, there should be enough power to operate it."

"The woman has brains," Scott admitted. "Which is more than can be said for the rest of us. Let's go and check it out, Fellas."

Most of the Tracys hurried out of the hangar, following the rails that had conveyed the couches between their destinations.

"H-I don't think H-I've h-ever been this close to Thunderbird Three, m'Lady," Parker admitted as he admired the orange craft before him. "H-It's 'uge!"

"It is indeed," she agreed. "I have seen it launch, but I have never been close enough to touch it."

"What do you think? Can they get H-International Rescue goin' h-again?"

"I think they are going to try. And I think they are the world's only hope."

On the far side of the launch bay, Alan was lost in thought as he stared up at his rocket. Tin-Tin slipped her arm through his. "What are you thinking, Alan?"

"Huh? Oh... Just thinking."

"Are you excited that you're going to be flying Thunderbird Three again?"

"I don't know," he admitted. "I thought this part of my life..." he gave a guilty smile, "I mean _our_ life was over. Brains might have believed we'd restart International Rescue one day, but I never did. I think I'm kind of in shock."

"I knew you'd come back to it."

Alan stared at her. "You did?"

"Yes."

Animated talking over a mechanical whine could be heard growing louder and Alan's brothers, riding along the rails, reappeared in the launch bay.

"Virgil wants to cut out the couch in the lounge," Gordon announced, swinging himself down from the scissor-lift.

"It'd save carrying things right through the complex," Virgil grunted as he descended the platform's ladder to the ground. "Are you going up, Brains, or do you want one of us to do it?"

"I-I'll do it. I kn-know where the trigger goes." Brains pocketed the item in question and then, with more assuredness than would have been expected of someone who spent his life cooped up in a laboratory, climbed the ladder and attached his safety harness to the protective cage. "S-Send me up, S-Scott." The others watched as he rose on the hydraulic ram to just below the nacelle, carefully stuck the trigger to the edge of where the hatch was concealed, and then descended again.

As Virgil trundled the scissor lift out of harm's way down the tunnel, Brains took another box out of his bag. Entering a code caused a rainbow of lights to run up one side of the box, until only the orange one remained lit and the number three showed on the display. "Good. The trigger has been armed."

A safe distance away from the explosion down the passage, the group huddled together to await Brains' next instruction. He held out the detonator. "Would you like the privilege, Alan?"

Alan smiled. "Thanks, Brains."

"Push that button and the seizeite should release the hatch."

"I think I can manage that." Alan looked around the group, his palms suddenly sweaty. "Everyone ready?"

Scott smiled at him. "We're ready, Alan. Let 'er rip."

Alan pressed the button and there was an almost disappointingly small explosion from the launch bay. They gave the air a moment to clear and then walked back into the cavernous hangar.

The seal lay on the floor beneath a clean, rectangular hole in Thunderbird Three's base. "C'mon, Fellas," Scott commanded. "Let's get moving."

John looked up towards the emergency ladder that ascended the length of Thunderbird Three's entry tunnel. "It's going to be a long climb."

"Don't you think you'll be able to do it?" Gordon challenged.

"Just try and stop me... You first, Alan."

"Right." Alan donned a headlamp torch and clambered onto the scissor-lift. "Who else is coming?"

"If you don't mind, I think I'll wait here," Lady Penelope offered. "Unfortunately I am not wearing the proper shoes for ascending ladders."

"H-I'll wait with you, m'Lady," Parker offered, relieved that he was not expected to clamber up several hundred rungs after his mistress.

Brains looked about him. "I will inspect Thunderbird Three when we have reinstated the e-elevator. In the meantime I will start an inventory of what supplies we h-have available to us."

Virgil slipped his computer into a pouch and slung it across his back. "I'll take notes for you, Brains."

"Thank you."

Scott was the last to climb onto the platform. "Are you coming, Tin-Tin?"

"No. I shall explore around here with Brains. We need to know what we have that is still usable and what we will need to purchase."

Once they'd ascended to the entrance hatch the real work started. It was a long climb, over half the length of Thunderbird Three until they finally emerged at the top of the entry tunnel. There, headlamp torches shining beams into the darkness, they looked about them.

Virgil stretched his arms. "I've got to start pumping something with more resistance than a paintbrush."

John had hauled himself out of the entry tunnel and collapsed onto the floor so that he was able to use the bulkhead as a backrest. "I know I'm out of shape, but this is ridiculous! Gordon, I'm first priority in your exercise regime."

Gordon crouched next to his brother. "Starting with something not too strenuous, huh?"

John managed a smile. "I'd appreciate that. Build me up to ultra-marathon standard slowly."

Scott shone his torch on to the pair of them. "We've still got to climb up to the control room. Are you coming with us, John?"

John flapped a weary hand. "You guys go on ahead." He looked around at the life-support and other electrical systems. "I've got plenty to keep me occupied here."

Scott looked at Virgil. "How about you? Are you up to another climb?"

Virgil grinned. "I'll be right behind you."

They climbed again, bypassing the sleeping quarters and storage bay, until they finally reached the main control room.

Alan shone his torch about the room. "She's not looking too bad..." He ran his fingers along the top of the flight console. "Not too much dust." His torch fell on a button on the console. "I suppose it would be too much to ask for there to be some power left in the batteries." He pressed the button and, as though she were taking a long time to awake from sleep, Thunderbird Three's cabin lights resurrected themselves.

"At last!" Scott exclaimed. "Something's going in our favour." His watch beeped at him. "John?"

"Look's like Thunderbird Three's still got some life left in her."

"Yeah. We've got to hand it to Brains. When he builds something, he builds it to last."

"Don't speak too soon," Gordon warned as the lights flickered, before settling into a luminous glow akin to several candles.

"It's better than nothing." Virgil unslung the tablet computer. "How does it feel to be back in Thunderbird Three, Alan?"

"The honest truth? Weird."

"Yes," Scott agreed. "It does feel weird."

"Let's hope she's got enough power to run the diagnostic programmes." Virgil plugged the computer into the flight console and watched the tablet's screen as a series of numbers scrolled downwards.

Drained of their precious energy, the lights dimmed some more.

Alan, sitting in his old control seat, lightly caressed the console. "Come on, Baby. Don't give up on us now. Not when we need you more than we ever have before."

"Easy, Alan," Scott's wristwatch warned. "I know that the lighting's romantic in here, but what's Tin-Tin going to say when she discovers that you've got another love interest?"

"Are you doing anything constructive, John?" Scott asked his watch. "Or are you just eavesdropping on our conversation?"

"I'm being very constructive. Now that I don't have to hang on to the flashlight, I can see that we've got some corroded wiring down here."

"That may not be an issue," Scott reminded him. "If we're only using Thunderbird Three to ferry you to Thunderbird Five, I doubt we're going to need the portable radio safety beam transmitter console."

"Just being a good Boy Scout and being prepared in case we're thrown a curve ball." John, enjoying doing something that didn't involve endless paperwork, was sounding almost obscenely cheerful.

Virgil disconnected the computer. "I think we've got enough information for Brains in the short term. Shall we move on?"

"Which Thunderbird are we going to check out next?" Gordon asked.

Cautious, in case he set off another eruption, Scott thought briefly. "We'll let Brains make that decision; just in case he's got any other little surprises up his sleeve. If he doesn't, I think Thunderbird One's going to be the easiest to access." He waited to see if there were any complaints from the pilots of Thunderbirds Four and Two.

Gordon and Virgil made no comment.

-F-A-B-

Brains hadn't made contingencies for breaking into any of the hangars and that was why the Tracys and their friends found themselves back in the lounge, staring at a pair of light fittings.

"Whatever we do, it's going to mean putting a hole in the wall," Gordon commented. "Why don't we just get some sledgehammers?"

John had collapsed onto one of the couches. "Planning on taking your anger at Marina out on the wall are you?" he asked.

"I'm not mad at her. I just don't love her anymore."

"Surely we've got something a bit more high-tech than sledgehammers," Alan stated. "We are International Rescue. We were supposed to have the most advanced equipment in the world."

"How about oxyhydnite?" Tin-Tin suggested. "Brains and I found two cylinders."

Scott and Virgil grinned at each other. "Oxyhydnite!"

"You know what happened to you two the first time you used it," Gordon warned.

"And once Brains had worked out how to stop us passing out, there was nothing better at cutting through walls," Virgil reminded him. "Where are these cylinders, Tin-Tin?"

"We brought them up to Brains' lab."

"Right!" Scott rubbed his hands together. "Let's go get 'em."

He was almost feeling excited when, once again kitted out in his full face mask and with a cylinder of oxyhydnite strapped to his back, he faced the wall that stood between him and Thunderbird One. "All ready?" he checked. "Is your hood sealed correctly?"

He felt a feeling of déjà vu as Virgil smiled back at him; his brother's mask hiding the blue hair and goatee. "Yep."

"Then let's do it!" Scott lit the end of the oxyhydnite wand. Seconds later he'd cut an outline big enough for them to walk through. He switched off the gas and then removed his mask. He wiped his face, wet from the heat of the mask and excitement, on his sleeve.

Alerted by the lack of noise, Gordon stuck his head into the room. "Is it safe?"

"It's safe," Scott confirmed.

"Then get that wall out of the way and let's see her!"

Together Scott and Virgil put their shoulders to the wall and pushed. The wall resisted, budged and then fell into Thunderbird One's hangar; a cloud of dust heralding anyone's first sighting of International Rescue's rocket plane in seven years.

"After you." Virgil stood back to let his brother take their first steps into the hangar.

"Thanks." Scott accepted the offer and stepped up onto the remains of the wall.

Then he froze.

"Scott? What's...?" Virgil pushed past the human obstacle. "Oh, heck."

At first glance, Thunderbird One seemed intact. She stood on her trolley as if she were waiting to be transported down beneath the swimming pool before being launched into her role as the fastest aeroplane in the world.

Then you noticed the wing.

The port wing, to be exact. At some point over the last seven years, possibly during an earlier earth tremor, the wing had found a life of its own and had sprung outwards, crumpling itself against the concrete wall of the hangar.

Gordon stepped up to the handrail and surveyed the damage. "I guess Thunderbird Three's been bumped down the priority list."

Virgil leant over the rail and tried to get a closer look. "We're going to have to replace the entire wing."

"And the hydraulics," Scott added gloomily. "And who knows what else."

"Cheer up." John put his arm about his brother's shoulders. "If that's the only problem we've got, we'll be able to fix it in no time. Right, Brains?"

Brains, making rapid notes into his tablet computer, made no comment.

"Check the cockpit," Tin-Tin suggested. "Then we can run the diagnostic programme."

Scott pulled himself together. "You said you had the power plant up to full capacity, Tin-Tin?"

"Yes, that's right."

"Good." Scott marched over to a manual override switch. "Are you ready to go across to open her up, Brains?"

Brains' indicated Thunderbird One's trigger. "I-I am." He stepped onto the gantry platform.

Scott lifted the cover protecting the manual override and flicked the switch. Slowly, surely, almost miraculously, Brains moved out over the gap between the little group and the Thunderbird. He checked his computer, measured a distance down the right side of where the entrance hatch had been and then placed the trigger onto that spot on the hull. "Bring me b-back, Scott."

He joined everyone else in the lounge.

Virgil frowned at the gap in the wall that he and Scott had cut less than twenty minutes earlier. "Is there any chance that the seizeite will blow the hatch into here?" He eyed up the possible trajectory of a sizeable rectangle of reinforced metal. "It could take out Father's desk."

"U-Unlikely, Virgil. The explosive quality of seizeite is very localised." Brains held out the detonator to Scott. "Your turn?"

"Yeah, why not." Scott accepted the detonator and with no hesitation, pressed the button. There was a popping followed by a rattling sound. "I hope the hatch didn't take out anything important when it fell." He handed the detonator back to Brains than then approached the hole in the wall. Looking through he could see right into Thunderbird One. "She looks okay from here."

"But how does she look from inside?" Gordon asked. "Go across, Scott. I'll operate the gantry."

"Thanks, Gordon... Anyone want to come with me?"

"I will," Virgil offered. "Brains?"

Brains joined them on the short trip. When they reached the cockpit he looked about him. "On the, er, surface she looks intact."

"Yes," Scott agreed. "She doesn't look too bad." He leant on his pilot's seat and it toppled backwards. He muttered something under his breath.

Virgil crouched down so he could see the gimballed mechanism. "That's not a major. Some of the bolts have corroded through. It'll only take seconds to replace them."

"She's been in a hangar sealed against moisture, dust, and outside interference for seven years, Virgil. What possibly could have corroded them? And if they're corroded, what else is?"

"H-Hopefully we're about to find out," Brains offered, as he plugged his tablet computer into Thunderbird One's main console.

The screen remained blank.

Slightly down-heartened they travelled back and met the rest of the group in the lounge.

"Well?" Tin-Tin demanded. "What did the diagnostic programme say?"

Brains indicated his computer. "It didn't work."

"There wasn't enough juice," Virgil diagnosed. "Thunderbird Three's larger batteries must have held their charge for longer than One's. One of the first things we're going to have to do is unseal the power connections so we can charge up all the Thunderbirds' batteries. Once we've done that we'll have some idea what we're up against and we'll hopefully find it's not as bad as we fear."

Scott patted him on the back. "I appreciate your optimism. Now do you feel up to seeing Thunderbird Two?"

-F-A-B-

Thunderbird Two's hangar was going to be the hardest nut to crack. Their options were to take the pilot's chute down from the lounge, with no guarantees that whoever or whatever slid down it wouldn't end up splattered all over the hangar floor; cutting through more obstacles than there were doors under the Thompson Tower as they followed the long circuitous route along the monorail track; or to cut through the back wall of the conventional aeroplane hangar into the cliff face.

They chose the last option.

Once again the oxyhydnite had been put into use, carving through the basalt rock that concealed the mega-hangar that housed International Rescue's heavy-duty equipment.

"There," Gordon grunted as he shoved a jack into position. "One nudge from that and we'll be inside."

"Give it a nudge then," Virgil suggested as he replaced his oxyhydnite mask with a pair of sunglasses.

Scott gave an exasperated sigh. "For Pete's sake, Gustav. Go home!"

"The glare from the oxyhydnite torch was a bit bright," Virgil explained. "I'm resting my eyes."

"What?" Alan stared at him in bewilderment. "You're going to be entering a dark cavern and you're resting your eyes?"

"The power is on in Thunderbird Two's hangar," Tin-Tin reminded him. "It won't be dark."

Gordon activated the jack and the section of the rock face fell inwards, revealing a black hole. "Looks pretty dark to me."

Virgil shone his torch inside. "I can't see anything." He shone the beam onto the displaced wall and took a cautious step forward.

"No wonder you can't see anything if you're wearing sunglasses," Scott grumbled. "Where's the power switch?" He felt his way along the interior wall and pulled down a large lever. The sudden illumination of the cavernous hangar after the near total darkness left most of them blinking against the bright light.

Then they saw Thunderbird Two.

"Strewth," Parker cursed.

Gordon stared in disbelief. "I think we've found a new candidate for priority number one."

When the Tracys had made the decision to decommission the Thunderbirds they had agonised over what to do with Thunderbird Two. The two options had been to leave her sitting on the hangar floor or standing on her hydraulic legs. In the end they'd decided to leave her standing; the theory being that if anyone did discover her hiding place, it would make it harder for the intruders to gain access to the powerful aircraft.

It had been a mistake as nearly as big as Thunderbird Two herself.

Her front port leg had collapsed and she leant at a drunken angle with her nose pointing towards the ground. Her other three legs, unable to hold the huge weight of the transporter, showed signs of buckling.

"Gordon's right," Scott confirmed. "Two's our main priority in the short term. No one's going near her until we've got her stabilised and we've got to do that A.S.A.P. before she collapses any further."

"Hopefully the gantry crane will, er, still be operational," Brains mused. "We will have to use it to support the weight of Th-Thunderbird Two and remove the legs before we lower her to the ground."

"Why don't we use the elevator cars to support her?" Gordon suggested.

"The elevator cars..." Scott nodded his approval. "That's not a stupid idea."

"I have been known to have sensible ideas sometimes."

Lady Penelope looked at the sombre man standing next to her, his emotions hidden behind his sunglasses as he gazed at the aeroplane that had once been his pride and joy. "Did you anticipate this?"

Virgil removed the glasses. "I thought there may have been a possibility. Especially with those earth tremors."

"How long will it take to replace the legs?" John queried.

"D-Depends on how much damage has been done," Brains responded.

"Roughly?"

"Roughly...? Er..."

"How ever long it takes, it's going to take time," Scott interrupted.

"Then stop talking, Scott, and tell us what to do!" Gordon demanded. "Let's get that crane operational and get those elevator cars out here!" Giving Thunderbird Two a wide berth, he hurried towards the pod vehicle storage bays. "C'mon!"

Bewildered Virgil watched his brother's departure. "But what about Thunderbird Four?"

Gordon turned, still walking backwards. "Don't worry about Thunderbird Four, we can check on her later. She's not going anywhere if we can't use Thunderbird Two." He resumed his trek.

"Gordon! Wait!" Scott ordered, jogging after him.

"What!" Gordon rounded on him.

Scott skidded to a stop, aware of the anger in his brother's voice and the furious flush to his face. "Uh... Let's get some sort of plan sorted before we go off half-cocked, okay?"

"We're wasting time, Scott!"

"Not if we do this properly. Virgil, you take control of the crane."

"Right."

"In this confined area I'd rather use the manual controls instead of the remote, so the rest of us will take an elevator car each. Gordon, you get car two and stabilise the front starboard side."

Muttering something about how some people seemed to think that they were all stupid when they quite were capable of working things out for themselves, Gordon agreed.

"John. You've got car three and you can take care of the rear starboard end..."

"Okay."

"Alan. Car four and rear port side."

"Done."

"I'll take the master car and..."

Tin-Tin folded her arms. "Wait until Brains has opened the elevator cars and they've been refuelled."

Scott, keyed up by the idea of doing something practical, sagged. "For a moment there I forgot everything had been decommissioned." He sighed. "Okay. Virgil, do you want to check the crane over, while we open the elevator cars? We may as well take a look at Thunderbird Four while we're at it."

"Okay." Virgil pocketed his sunglasses.

"Can I borrow your shades?" Gordon asked.

"Borrow them?" Virgil looked surprised as he handed them over. "You can if you want. But why?"

"The light in Pod Four might be a bit bright after being in this mausoleum." Gordon leant closer. "And I'd hate for anyone to see a grown man cry," he whispered.

Virgil gave him a sympathetic pat on the back. "I hope you won't need them." He indicated his wristwatch. "Let me know how she is."

At first glance Thunderbird Four looked to be in good shape. Then Gordon noticed the faint white tinge to her yellow paintwork. "Oh, no."

"What is it?" Lady Penelope asked. "It looks like a type of mildew." She ran her fingers across the hull. "The surface feels corroded."

"It is. The white discolouration is scale," Gordon told her.

"Scale?"

"Metal corrosion caused by oxidation. Like rust."

"That don't sound good." Parker touched the metalwork. "Don't feel it neither."

"It's not." Gordon circled his submarine, casting a critical eye over every joint and rivet.

From the main hangar they could hear the sound of an engine coming to life for the first time in seven years.

"I'm sorry, Gordon," Scott apologised. "I thought we'd thoroughly washed her down."

"Yes." Alan frowned. "Didn't we paint her with anti-fouling paint afterwards? Why didn't that work?"

Gordon finished his circuit. "Don't worry about it. Apart from the scale she looks in good shape. I'll give her a quick coat of anti-corrosive now to prevent further damage, and then we can come back to her later. Do you guys want to go and make a start on breaking into the elevator cars?"

He was sounding so unconcerned at Thunderbird Four's weakened state that it took the rest of the group a moment to react. "Uh… Yeah… Okay..." Scott agreed. "That sounds like a good idea. And you can start making a list of what we'll need to make sure she's seaworthy. We'll give you a call when we need you to give us a hand."

Gordon gave a nonchalant nod.

Somewhat nonplussed by the aquanaut's lack of emotion, the rest of the group moved away deeper into the complex. They found the four elevator cars lined up with all the other pod vehicles. Each and every machine was decorated by a thick coating of dust and numerous spider webs.

"There has to be a, er, breach in here somewhere," Brains mused. "This place should be airtight. There shouldn't be any way that dust or sp-spiders can get in."

Scott ran his finger along the Firefly's scoop. It came away black. "If there is a breach it could help to explain the scale."

Brains was still mulling over the unexpected discoveries. "The earthquakes may have, er, opened up a previously unknown rift in the cliff."

Alan turned to look back towards the main hangar. "Maybe they warped the cliff face door?"

Brains nodded his agreement. "Th-That is an excellent hypothesis."

"That's something we'll have to look at later," Scott noted. "In the meantime…" he gestured towards the master elevator car.

Brains stepped forward, placed a trigger at a precise point on each of the elevator cars' hatches and then retreated a safe distance. "Would you like to open the master car, L-Lady Penelope?"

"I should be honoured," her ladyship responded. She accepted the detonator and held it high. "This feels like quite an occasion... I hereby launch the Master Elevator Car. May God bless her and all who sail in her." To the sound of accompanying chuckles she pressed the ignition button. With a soft boom, the door to the machine detached itself from the body of the vehicle.

"Thank you." Brains accepted the detonator back, changed the ignition sequence, and then held it out to Tin-Tin. "W-Would you like to open car two…?"

Back in pod four, Gordon was staring forlornly at Thunderbird Four. Although he hadn't made use of Virgil's sunglasses, at this moment he felt as close to tears as he had done in years. It seemed as though his life was spinning out of control as he faced one catastrophe after another.

The Catastrophe that was _Doomsday_.

The Catastrophe that was his marriage to Marina.

The Catastrophe that was his pending divorce.

The Catastrophe that was Thunderbird Four.

And on top of all this there was his catastrophic…

"Virgil to Gordon."

Gordon shook himself and raised his watch to his face. "Go ahead, Virgil."

"How is she?"

"Not good," Gordon admitted. "She's covered in scale."

"Scale! Oh, heck! Is it bad?"

"Bad enough. I was just going to give her a coating of anti-corrosive and then help you guys stabilise Thunderbird Two."

"Will she need much work?"

"Maybe a new body. I was thinking of attaching a second skin to help her withstand the Mariana's pressures anyway, so we're going to have to get double the cahelium."

"I hope John's right when he says we've got enough money for all this."

"Yeah. How's the crane?"

"The crane's fine, apart from a bit of dust and a few cobwebs. Where is everyone?"

"Unleashing the elevator cars."

"That'll take a bit of time, so I'll come down and give you a hand to stabilise Four. We can't have her deteriorating any further than she already has."

"Thanks, Virgil. I really appreciate it."

And Gordon meant it.

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

It had taken hours to get Thunderbird Two to the stage where they felt they could safely leave her unattended. All the elevator cars had needed refuelling before four of the Tracy boys drove them into position fore and aft of Thunderbird Two. While Brains and Tin-Tin controlled the two cranes that held the mighty transporter aloft and Lady Penelope and Parker stood by watching and feeling redundant, Virgil abseiled down the outside of his aeroplane and cut each leg free. As soon as each tubular metallic structure had hit the ground with an eardrum-shattering clang, an elevator car drove into place, ready to catch Thunderbird Two should the crane lose its grip. Once all four legs had rolled clear, Virgil clambered back up into the crane to supervise the next stage of operations; the lowering of the aeroplane down onto all four elevator cars.

It was a weary group that, finally convinced that there was no chance that any more damage could happen to Thunderbird Two, dragged themselves back to the lounge...

"John..." John found himself hauled by the arm into Scott's room. "I want you to do something for me."

Curious, John looked at his eldest brother. "What?"

"Will you keep an eye on Gordon? This divorce is obviously affecting him more than he's letting on."

"I'd noticed. But why me?"

"He seems to accept you talking to him. You've seen how he reacts towards me."

"We've all seen. What on Earth happened between you two?!"

Scott made a dismissive gesture. "That's not important."

"Not important! The pair of you didn't talk for months! It might be important if I want to make sure I don't make the same mistake."

"You won't," Scott grunted. "I'd guarantee it..."

"Are you sure? He nearly bit my head off three times before we'd even left American soil!"

"But at least you are still talking… Will you look out for Gordon?"

"Of course I will..." John hesitated. "In return, I want you to do something."

"What?"

"Forget about Gustav."

Scott stared at him. "Huh?"

"We all know how much you don't like this persona Virgil's taken on; including Virgil. He's let you get away with your comments because it's you, but even he'll have his limits. And in the not too distant future when time's getting short and our tempers are getting shorter, you'll say one negative thing too many and he'll erupt quicker than this volcano we're on. And if you two blow yourselves apart you'll destroy this family. And if the family's destroyed, that'll destroy International Rescue. And if International Rescue's destroyed, then the world will have no chance of survival."

"Thanks for not putting me under any pressure."

John chuckled.

Scott sighed. "It's not that I don't like Gustav. It's that he's not our brother! You do realise that that's Virgil's real hair, not a wig?"

Shocked, John stared at him. "What?"

"See what I mean. That's not our Virgil."

"I know it's not what we expect of him. But do I have to remind you that we spent seven years of our lives pretending to be those hedonistic playboys lazing around our tropical paradise with no regard for the outside world? You can't get more fake than that." Scott made no reply and John patted him on the shoulder. "Look, maybe he's even greyer than you and he's trying to hide it."

"John..." Scott ran his hands through his hair. Then he shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe I'm turning into a cantankerous old man."

"Don't say that! You're not that much older than me!" John regarded his brother's downcast face. "You're not old, Scott."

"Aren't I? When I think about what we've got to achieve and how long we've got to do it, I feel about one hundred."

"And I feel one hundred and fifty. At least you're still fit and have got some muscle." John's playful punch to Scott's abdomen was blocked.

"Don't do that," he was told.

"Forget the way Virgil looks. I think he's shown today that even beneath that blue hair and everything, he's still Virgil and he's still going to give this challenge one hundred percent. I mean, look at us! I've gained weight and you're going grey..."

"Don't remind me," Scott growled.

"But that hasn't changed who we are underneath. So we're older! We're also wiser." Scott still didn't look happy. "What's really wrong?"

Scott hesitated. "I don't know if I'm the one to lead us."

John frowned. "Scott?"

"Everyone's changed. I mean: you're one of the most powerful businessmen in the world..."

"Only by default."

"And you're my boss." Scott paused. "Virgil's a stranger, Gordon bites my head off as soon as I open my mouth, and Alan's not a kid anymore. He's married! Now I've got to consider Tin-Tin as well as him."

"You've always considered Tin-Tin."

"But what if I'm the wrong person to take control this time? Who's to say that one of you won't do a better job?"

"Is this Scott Tracy talking? Is this the man who has got one of the best radio receivers in the country so that he can listen in on emergency broadcasts? Is this the man who still tries to formulate plans of action as if he were still in charge of International Rescue?"

Scott was silent. He'd regretted letting his family know about that particular hobby, as it had given his brothers nearly as much fuel for teasing him as his leaching hair colour.

"Scott," John continued, "it's precisely because things have changed so much that we need you in control. You leading us is going to be the one bit of stability we've got as the world literally crashes around our ears. And if you were to suggest this to anyone presently waiting for us in the lounge, or Dad, there's not one person who would say that you're not the man to lead International Rescue. Besides," John offered his brother an engaging grin, "there's not one of us who'd want to take your place."

Scott grunted. "Just make me a promise," he requested. "If I look like I'm going to stick my nose into Gordon's private affairs, pull me out."

John nodded. "Deal."

There was a sound in the hallway. "What are you two doing hiding in here?" Virgil asked.

Scott responded almost too quickly. "Just discussing what we've got to do to before we become fully operational."

"Does that include fitness tests? Brains wants to give each of us full medical examinations."

John spread his arms wide in a self-depreciating gesture. "Fail."

"He also wants to siphon off some of our blood in case we decide to spill it at any point."

"Fair enough," Scott conceded. "It's what we did before. Just as well I'm going to miss tomorrow's blood bank appointment."

"That's one of many reasons why I'd never get a tattoo or do drugs," Virgil admitted as they headed towards the lounge. "It might not be much, but I know that by donating blood regularly I'm helping at least one person."

John gave Scott a meaningful glance. "See?" he hissed.

When Scott Tracy took his seat at the head of the digital table, there was no sign of his earlier insecurities. "Well, now that we've got some idea of what we're up against, does anyone want to pull out? If anyone does I want to assure you that there will be no recriminations. We've all moved on in seven years, and we've all changed. We're older," he glanced at John, "and hopefully wiser. It's not reasonable to expect that we're all going to be willing to risk our lives one more time."

"Father never expected us to all be part of International Rescue first time around," Virgil recollected, drawing an ornate letter V on his sheet of digital paper. "But that didn't stop us from joining." He finished the upwards stroke of his initial with a big tick and pushed it towards the centre of the table. "I'm in."

"Even dealing with all the pressures of the Mariana Trench has got to be better than dealing with all the pressures from Marina." Gordon tried to put a fancy tail on his letter G and failed. So he drew a plain and simple tick on his sheet of paper. "I'm not as artistic as Gustav here," he confessed as he flicked the page out onto the table.

"I wish I wasn't starting with such a handicap," John admitted, "but that's not going to stop me from doing all I can." He pushed his J and tick to the centre of the table.

"Alan," Scott began, "we'd understand if you and Tin-Tin…"

Alan held up his hand to interrupt him. "You might understand, but we wouldn't. Tin-Tin and I have already discussed this, and we've agreed that no matter what sacrifices it may entail, we've got to do what we can." He drew a tick on a digital page.

Tin-Tin drew another tick beside her husband's. "And that's a mutual decision."

"Thanks." Scott smiled at the bespectacled man at the other end of the table. "I hope you're going to say that you're with us Brains, because we're going to be lost without you."

Brains blinked at him. "I n-never considered _not_ helping." He ticked the sheet of paper in front of him.

"I don't suppose that there is a lot that I can do," Lady Penelope admitted as she inscribed LPC-W on a piece of paper. "But I would like you all to know that if you do require my talents, I am available." She ticked the page.

"An' that goes for me an' all," Parker agreed, ticking the page that had been passed to him by his employer.

"We won't advertise our intentions just yet," Scott advised. "In case we get people's hopes up unnecessarily; but when we do go public, I would hope that any criminals who might be after our secrets will be more interested in saving their own necks than trying to get to us. But I know we can count on you to keep your ears and eyes open to support us."

"Of course, Scott." Lady Penelope inclined her head. "And you? Are you prepared to, to quote yourself, _risk your life_?"

Scott drew an S on his sheet of paper. "Before I do…" and he received surprised stares from almost everyone at the table, "I need to know... Do you still want me to coordinate everything?" He didn't look at John. "I've sort of taken control up till now, but if anyone thinks that someone else could do a better job, then I don't mind stepping aside."

"We've let you take control because we expect you to be in control," Virgil told him. "Because we _know_ you _can_ take control."

"Yeah," Alan agreed. "You've always bossed us around in the past, so why change the habit of a lifetime?"

"Are you all sure?" Scott clarified. "Things are going to get tougher and more stressful before we'll be ready to act. And we're going to need a clear chain of command. No second thoughts down the line. No second guessing me…"

"Oh, for Pete's sake!" Gordon snapped. "Are you going to tick that piece of paper or aren't you?!"

Scott ticked the piece of paper.

Virgil doodled on a white page. "What would you have done if we'd said we wanted Tin-Tin to take command?" he asked, and Tin-Tin uttered a little exclamation of surprise. He grinned at her. "She's shown she's capable of keeping her head and marshalling us all when we're losing ours."

"I would have endorsed your decision fully." Scott gave his sister-in-law an appreciative smile and got himself a clean sheet of paper. "Okay… Now that we know we're all on board, we'd better start giving out assignments. We're going to be stretched thin. Brains... Do you want to put your energies into designing and building the detonators?"

Brains inclined his head. "I-I would appreciate that, Scott."

"Right." Scott made a note. "Will you need Tin-Tin's assistance?"

"Yes."

Scott wrote Tin-Tin's name beside Brains and the heading 'detonator'. Then he wrote 'Thunderbird Four'. He hesitated and then looked at Gordon. "Can we leave you in sole charge of repairs to Thunderbird Four, Gordon? If we could spare someone else we would. Don't forget that if you need help you can ask."

Gordon nodded. "Yeah, that's okay."

Scott stared at him for a moment as if shocked by the lack of complaint; then he turned to his brother in the adjacent seat. "I know she's going to be a big job, Virgil, but can I leave you with taking care of Thunderbird Two?"

Virgil was already jotting down notes and ideas. "Not a problem. So long as I can call on Gordon when I need an extra pair of hands, and he calls on me when he needs help."

Gordon patted him on the back. "Guaranteed."

"Thanks." Scott put their names in the required columns. "That'll leave us three," he indicated himself, John and Alan, "to prepare Thunderbird Three for flight. Once she's operational we can go and check out Thunderbird Five."

"She's going to be more than a five minute job," John reminded him. "All her controls are probably iced up. We're going to have to bring her online again slowly; giving all her electronics time to warm and dry out. Only then will we be able to run her diagnostic programmes. We're likely to be up there for several days."

"Which means that we're going to have to take enough food to sustain us for several days," Alan commented. "And bedding." He shivered. "Our mattresses are going to be frozen solid! That's assuming that Thunderbird Five's still liveable. The pseudo-gravity generator's probably not working."

Scott made a note. "If worst comes to the worst we'll camp in Thunderbird Three."

John looked across the table to the engineer. "Are we going to need you to detonate the siezite on Thunderbird Five, Brains?"

"N-No." Brains looked apologetic. "I, er, thought that the vacuum of space might cause the siezite to behave in unexpected ways, and I was also concerned about the potential for, er, damage in the explosion."

"So, we're going to have to open her manually." Scott laid down his pen and looked at the group. "I know we'd planned to, but we won't fly out tonight. We're all tired, and some time to think about what plans need to be made and what supplies need to be brought back with us tomorrow won't hurt. We'll fly back to the States first thing in the morning. Is everyone okay with that?"

He listened to the murmurings of assent and got to his feet. "Good. Let's go see about making some dinner."

Virgil picked up a tablet PC. "I'll be down in the equipment room checking out the supplies."

Gordon picked up another computer. "I'll help you, Virg."

"Thanks."

"Thank you, Parker," Lady Penelope acknowledged as he held her chair out for her. "Perhaps you would be so good as to take my bags to my room?"

"Yes, m'Lady." With her bags already stored in her bedroom, Parker realised that her ladyship wanted him to make himself scarce. With a bow and a "'Scuse me, Mister Alan," he made a dignified exit.

Lady Penelope turned to the youngest Tracy, who'd hung back as if he'd wanted a word with her. "I believe it will be a stressful few months for you all. I do so wish that we could do more to help."

Alan glanced about to check that he could speak without being overheard. "There is something that I'd like you to do, Penny," he whispered. "But I can't explain now. I'll give you a call when I get the chance. Is that okay?"

"Of course, dear boy." Lady Penelope smiled at him. "I shall await your call."

_To be continued…_


	4. Chapter 4 - Double Trouble

**Chapter Four: Double Trouble**

John Tracy stood in his old bedroom on Tracy Island. After dinner the group had had a discussion about what was going to be needed to get them through the next three months and what everyone's plans were for tomorrow. Then they'd turned in, knowing that they had to make an early start the following morning.

John had reached for the remote that would draw his blinds when he stopped himself. Stepping up to the window he drew back the net curtains and stared outside.

He caught his breath.

Light pollution and work had conspired against him taking the time to indulge his passion, and the intervening years had almost caused him to forget the wonder of the night skies. Yet here he was staring out to where the sky seemed black and remote and filled with tiny, beckoning, pinpoints of light.

Above him he could see hundreds of stars. Hundreds and hundreds of his old friends. He could almost hear them calling to him like a Siren; compelling him to step outside and join them.

On impulse he turned, grabbed a jacket, and marched out of his room.

It had been years since he'd visited Tracy Island and it seemed even longer since he'd used his observatory. Almost breathless with anticipation, he pushed a button marked _Obs'y_ and listened as the monorail rumbled along the track in his direction. The vehicle stopped at his station and he stepped inside knowing that he should be heading off to bed to sleep, not on a jaunt across the island through an active volcano. With a slight sense of trepidation, and a delicious shiver of expectation, he set the monorail in motion. As he settled in for the short ride he wondered why he'd taken so long to come home…

Home?

Tracy Island was Alan and Tin-Tin's home, not his; so why, John wondered, had he called this home instead of his apartment in the States? It wasn't as though he'd visited this part of the world all that often during the last seven years. The villa and its surroundings were too far away for his father to travel to in comfort, so all family gatherings had been held at Jeff's house.

Yet this was home?

John wondered if his brothers felt the same way.

Scott and Virgil, while they both lived in New York City, had their apartments so far apart geographically and stylistically then they may as well have been in different countries. John had often stayed at his elder siblings' apartments when in town on business and he'd decided that each brother's place spoke volumes about its owner's personalities.

Scott's penthouse apartment, when you first walked into it, gave the immediate, incorrect, impression of clutter. Then, when you stopped and took the time to look around, you discovered that what you were looking at was a carefully controlled utilisation of each space and surface. Scott had shunned open plan living; his opinion being that rooms like the kitchen were designed for one thing and one thing only and should be kept separate from everything else. While this made each room relatively small, they all had picture windows, giving Scott ample opportunity to see the skies when he wasn't flying in them.

In contrast Virgil enjoyed an open-plan studio apartment. It too was several floors up and had large windows, but this was to ensure that the artist had plenty of natural light to work by. The kitchen, living area, bedroom were all contained in this simple, clutter-free, single room. But John knew there was another room hidden off to one side, as if, like its owner, it was keeping its real personality concealed from the world. This room was Virgil's combined den and workshop. He may have stated that he wanted to get away from all things technical when he left International Rescue, but that hadn't stopped him from indulging those interests. A workbench would invariably be hidden under several projects that he had on the go at once. Sketch books lay everywhere. None of these contained drawings relating to Gustav's work, but were filled with plans; inventions, and designs for stillborn ideas for new machines for International Rescue. Bizarrely, this room also housed Gustav's wigs and John had always got a fright when he would turn and find a torsoless head gazing blindly at him.

Even more different again, Gordon's houseboat had been decorated in the style that Alan had dubbed _nauseatingly nautical_. John had quite liked it as it had not only suited a houseboat, it had also suited Gordon. Gordon had sought John's advice when naming it and together they'd decided on _Whaititiri-manu whā_, a New Zealand Māori phrase meaning Thunderbird Four. Gordon had wanted to keep that link with his old life, but in such a way that it wouldn't arouse suspicion. By using a relatively obscure language of a Pacific peoples he was limiting the number of individuals who would understand its meaning, and for those who did, he was able to say that he'd always admired International Rescue.

But then Marina had added her influence. John had only visited the houseboat once after Gordon's marriage and had no desire to return. The décor had gone from nauseatingly nautical to, in John's opinion, simply nauseating. Marina had also wanted to change the houseboat's name to something she could pronounce, but Gordon had managed to put his foot down, telling her that it was bad luck to change the name of a boat. Fortunately she'd believed him.

Alan, when he wasn't living on Tracy Island, lived much of the year in a trailer. Its décor was what Gordon had dubbed (in retaliation to Alan's dismissive description of the houseboat) _Malaysian Motor-head Mania_; a mixture of pictures, fixtures, and fittings to do with Alan's racing and Tin-Tin's ancestral homeland. John didn't know if Alan ever thought about International Rescue, but tellingly he had dubbed his racecar TB3.

And what, John mused as the monorail moved smoothly through the mountain, did his apartment say about him? It was comfortable enough and there were some homely touches. His favourite piece of furniture was an easy chair that Jeff had given him to relax in after a hard day at the office. Scott had given him several rare astronomy books that graced the shelves next to the brief guide to the universe written entirely in Klingon and the complete works of Shakespeare in Na'vi. Gordon had given him those as a gag gift, but John appreciated the way they melded his two interests of astronomy and obscure languages. Virgil had painted a star scene that graced one wall. It was a Virgil Tracy original, which meant its sale value was lower than a Gustav, but to John it was priceless. Alan had given him a chess set where each piece was a representation of an astronomical body, but John had never found time to play it.

All those personal touches that graced John's apartment had been given to him by his family, but John had added nothing to make his apartment his home. Following his earlier reflections on how his brothers' homes were reflections of their personalities, John wondered if this meant that he had no personality except when he interacted with those he cared about?

The realisation that this might be true gave him a sharper jolt than the monorail as it gently eased to a stop.

Sickened with the way he'd become a complete non-entity, John exited the monorail and at once felt his heart lift.

Ahead of him, silhouetted against the starry sky, was his prized observatory. He stepped inside and started the chain of events that brought life to his outlook on the universe. As he waited for everything to warm up after seven years inactivity, he went back outside and, his heart pounding with anticipation, walked over towards the edge of a cliff to where the black Pacific Ocean spread out as far as the eye could see. Here was a long, broad, backless seat, and John lay down on its lichen covered boards; spreading his arms wide to bask in the rays of hundreds of tiny suns as he gazed towards the heavens.

Crux, Orion, Pleiades, Scorpius. These were his friends. This was his identity. This was where he should be, looking upwards towards infinity, rather than downwards at a balance sheet. He let his fears and concerns float away out over the Pacific Ocean as he relaxed underneath the inky-black, sequin-studded sky; letting out a sigh of contentment and imagining his stale and repressed personality being expelled with it. He felt his tensions disappear. It didn't matter that the world was going to end in four months; the stars would still be there.

Getting to his feet he ambled back into the observatory. The computer had successfully booted up and a gentle hum told him that the motor that controlled the angle and direction of the telescope was operational. All that remained was for him to tell it what to look at. He entered a code into the computer and experienced a shiver down his spine as the roof opened up above him.

Since that was where the telescope was pointing, he started by examining the moon waxing near the horizon. Greatly magnified he could see the whole disc; the slither of a crescent of light in sharp relief to the remainder in shadow. Individual features leapt out at him. He saw the Sea of Tranquillity where man had first laid foot on the moon, and he picked out the reflected sunlight from the moon base that his father had helped establish all those years ago.

Now he had a whole sky to examine, so where should he start? On a whim he entered a set of coordinates in the computer, and felt a tingle of anticipation as the roof rotated and the telescope redirected itself until it was nearly on the vertical. Pressing his eye to the eyepiece he saw black sky.

He was not discouraged. Assuming that it had not been destroyed somehow, he was looking directly at Thunderbird Five. The fact that he was unable to see anything meant that her non-reflective coating still hid her position from prying eyes.

John felt a delighted chuckle well up inside of him. With any luck he'd be up there soon…

Back to his second home.

But first he wanted to see something in that theatre of the sky. Checking the final entry in the computer he told the telescope to focus on the same sector that he'd observed the last time he'd visited the observatory. The roof swung around and the telescope lowered itself slightly until it was fixed in place.

Supremely content; despite the fact that world was due to end in four months; this island was due to be ripped apart in three; and that he and his brothers were about to embark on an adventure that had no guarantee of success; John looked at the picture on the computer screen. Jupiter had moved into this sector, but the orientation of the stars hadn't changed, and neither had…

John looked closer. Something wasn't quite right. He flicked back to the historic photograph. Worried, he returned to the one that was seconds old. He put them side-by-side and examined them in detail…

He sat down at his desk and, surprised that his passwords were still active, searched through international astronomical databases.

Everything was confirming what he had suspected, but John needed more. He dialled a number on the videophone.

"Dexter Mullins…" The man at the other end of the video link blinked in surprise. "John? John Tracy? Is that you?"

"Yes, Dexter, it's me."

"How long has it been?"

"About seven years."

"Seven years!" Dexter parroted. "Seems longer." He grinned. "I see you're getting fat on the pig's back. How are you?"

"I'm fine. And you?"

"Still here, so I guess that counts for something. What's brought you back to the world of night?"

"Uh…" John hadn't prepared any excuses so he dredged up the one that Scott had suggested for Alan. "My brothers and I have decided that we want to spend the planet's last few months together, so we're back on Tracy Island. Today's our first night here and I thought I'd fire up my telescope."

"And you've forgotten how to use it?"

John chuckled. "No. That's not why I've called."

"Then what can I do for you, John?"

"I've been checking the databases and I noticed asteroid 2070SB…"

"Ah…" Dexter lost some of his joviality. "You mean 'Arnie'."

"Arnie?"

"After the actor."

"Huh?" John managed to refrain from scratching his head. "Ah, yes, I guess so," he prevaricated, not quite sure which actor the vintage movie buff was talking about. He gave a quick rundown of his summation of what he'd learned so far. "Am I reading the data right?"

"Have you ever read the data wrong, my friend?" Dexter responded. "There wasn't a better astronomer inside the Agency or out of it. How many discoveries have you made? I can't understand how you could leave your own private observatory behind. If I had your family's money I would have become a hermit on that island of yours, forgotten about the outside world, and whiled away my nights gazing at the stars."

"Well, you know how it is…" John treated his associate to a wry grin. "Someone had to mind the family store."

"And you drew the short straw?" Dexter laughed.

John reminded himself that his colleague's seemingly careless attitude concealed a hardworking, dedicated astronomer. "Has anyone been alerted about 2070SB?"

"We've told the World President, but she came to the conclusion that everyone's got enough to worry about with Doomsday. She's decided not to worry the world unnecessarily."

John frowned. "Is anyone doing anything?"

Dexter shook his head. "What can be done? We're monitoring it of course, but the way things stand, in another four months it'll cease to be a problem anyway. My advice to you is to make the most of that observatory of yours in the time you've got left, and keep your telescope out of that patch of sky."

John managed a smile. "Thanks for the advice."

"Consider it a gift. And if you manage find something else new and exciting; you might like to reciprocate by remembering your old friend here and not keeping the glory all to yourself. I wouldn't mind having my name going down in the annals of history, even if history's going to be cut short."

John chuckled. "No promises, but I'll keep you in mind. Give my best to the whole gang."

"Will do. Don't wait another seven years before you report in."

"Roger that. Good bye, Dexter."

The videophone screen went blank and John stared at it in thought. This new and disquieting bit of information was going to put a whole new slant on their plans.

With a sudden burst of life he ran back to the monorail and sent it top speed back to the house. Not caring if he woke anyone, he ran through the hallways and barrelled into Scott's room, confident that his brother would still be awake.

He was wrong. "Wha'…?" Scott, rudely awakened, blinked against the sudden bright light. "John? Id's…" he stared bleary-eyed at his clock, "afder midnigh'." He nuzzled back into his pillow. "Go bed…"

"No!" Trying to regain his breath, John rocked his brother by the shoulder. "We need," he gasped, "to have," _gasp_, "a meeting!"

"'ave it in the mornin'…" Scott told his pillow.

"We need to have it now! It could change everything!" John pulled Scott's bedclothes off his reluctant brother and ran out of the room.

With a sigh of exasperation, and accepting that he was now fully awake, Scott levered himself upwards until he was sitting on the side of his bed. As he shoved his feet into his slippers he was surprised to hear the alarm that had been International Rescue's call to action. Not wanting to give the appearance that he'd been caught napping; he grabbed his robe and jogged out to the lounge.

John was bending over the digital table, muttering something to himself as footsteps running down the hall heralded the arrival of other members of the party.

"What's wrong?"

"What's going on?"

"Which pod will we need?" Virgil pulled himself up short as he remembered that they hadn't needed a pod for seven years. He ran his hand through his hair and then noticed that almost everyone was staring at him. "What?!"

"Erm… Is that your real hair?" Alan asked.

"Yes, it is."

"Oh…" Alan glanced at Tin-Tin. "We thought you were wearing a wig," he explained.

"Well, I'm not!" Feeling peeved by the unwelcome attention, Virgil tried without success to tuck his shoulder-length, sky-blue hair behind his ears. "Is that all you woke me for? To see if I'm wearing a wig?"

Scott forgot his earlier promise to John. "We've got more important things to worry about than your lack of fashion sense, Virgil."

"Fine," Virgil grumbled. "In that case I'll go back to bed." He scowled at Gordon, convinced that their early morning wake-up call was the fault of the clown of the team. "That's if the joke's finished."

"Don't blame me!" Gordon snapped. "You weren't the only one who was woken up! I'd almost managed to drop off and then some idiot decides that it would be a laugh to set off the alarm!" He folded his arms and glared at Alan.

"It wasn't me," Alan protested. "Right, Tin-Tin?"

"Yes," she agreed. "It wasn't Alan. Remember we followed you into the lounge, Gordon." She rested her head on her husband's shoulder and closed her eyes. "Wake me when we're allowed back to bed, Honey."

Gordon wasn't about to let the issue rest. "Then whose fault is it?!"

Lady Penelope patted a yawn. "I am sure that it is daylight back in England, and I know that I haven't done nearly as much work as the rest of you, but my body clock is telling me that I should be asleep."

Parker didn't attempt to stifle his yawn. "Can't we 'ave a meetin' in the mornin'?" he grumbled.

"What's going on, Scott!" Gordon demanded, directing his anger at his eldest brother. "What's the big idea?"

Scott shrugged and indicated John who was still cursing the digital table under his breath. "Do you want to let us all in on your secret, John? Or can we go back to bed until you've got the table working?"

"No... Got it! Come and look at my photos!" Two pictures were displayed on the table side-by-side and everyone crowded around to see what was so important.

"Well, this is exciting," Alan deadpanned when he saw the uninformative greyscale images. "Let me guess. It's one of those psychiatric tests where you look at the ink blots and say what you see?" He glared at John. "And what I'm seeing is someone whose lifespan is going to be shorter than four months if he doesn't hurry up and tell us what's so important it couldn't wait until the morning!"

"This!" John indicated the table as if it made everything clear. "This is what's important!"

"Is your camera broken?"

"What?!" John spluttered

"John…" Trying to hold back a looming headache, Scott pinched the bridge of his nose. "It's late. We've travelled a long way. We've spent hours working on our equipment. We've got a lot to do over the next few months, and we're tired… What is 'this'?"

"This," John indicated one side of the table, "is a photo I took seven years ago of these coordinates." He indicated the numbers on screen. "While this is of the same sector taken tonight. Look at the difference!"

"Spot the difference?" Gordon snarled, "If you've got us up for a stupid children's game, John, then I'm going back to bed." He took a step away from the table.

"Wait!" John grabbed him by the arm. "This is serious!"

"Serious! We don't even know what we're looking at!"

"You're looking at asteroid 2070SB!"

Alan pointed to a black dot on one greyscale picture. "That blob's bigger than the other."

"Exactly! That's 2070SB!"

"Ah…" Everyone stared at the two photos; trying to get their tired minds to understand what it was that was so worrying.

Virgil threw his hands up in surrender. "You say that's an asteroid, John, but I still have no idea what I'm looking at."

John stared at him incredulously. "Don't you understand?"

"No," Gordon informed him, "We're not all astronomers!"

"Oh..." Realising that the enormity of the situation was lost on his family and friends, John took a moment to consider how he was going to explain his discovery in the most basic way possible. "Let me start from the beginning."

Tin-Tin yawned. "Thank you."

"This," John indicated the seven-year-old image, "is asteroid – 2070SB. It's the last thing I photographed before we left the island in 2072. This…" his finger moved across the table until it rested on another dot, "is the same asteroid as seen in the sky tonight. It's moved."

"So?" Gordon sneered. "Asteroids are known to move around, aren't they?"

"Yes, they are, and this one's changed its orbit. I spoke to Dexter Mullins; he's a world expert on intra-solar system asteroids and he's confirmed what I feared. 2070SB is on course for a collision with the Earth!"

"What!?" Scott exclaimed. "When?"

"This time next year, when the Earth's orbit places it back in this position."

"So are you saying," Virgil clarified, "that even if we manage to stop Doomsday from doing its worst, the planet's doomed anyway?"

"No, that's not the way these things work. I'm saying that there's a strong probability that 2070SB is going to collide with the Earth. It might narrowly miss us. It might take out the moon…"

Gordon sucked in his breath. "That could be nearly as devastating. It could change the ecosystem of the planet. With no moon we'd have no tides. It would even stop the way the Earth bulges 30 centimetres a day..."

"H-How big is the asteroid?" Brains interrupted.

John remembering that most of those present weren't well versed in astronomical terminology, kept it simple. "Just under two kilometres at its widest point. If it scored a direct hit, Earth would be pulverised." John hesitated. "It could potentially wipe out life as we know it."

"What h-if h-it's not a direct 'it?" Parker asked. "What h-if it only slightly glanced us, like?"

"That would depend on the angle of entry; speed on entry; place of impact; various other factors... But it is possible that a glancing blow could knock us out of orbit."

"What does this Dexter guy say about the likelihood of the Earth being hit?" Scott asked.

"He said that Arnie…"

"Arnie?!"

"He's nicknamed 2070SB Arnie. He's a fan of old action movies," John explained. "Anyway, according Dexter's reports he's 85 percent certain that Arnie will have some impact on our planet."

Stunned by this information everyone stared at him.

"85 percent…" Scott breathed. "Are you telling us that even if we manage to minimise the damage from Doomsday and the world survives, there's an 85 percent chance that we'll all be killed this time next year anyway?"

John gave a grim nod. "Especially if the Earth's crust is weakened because we don't manage to totally negate Doomsday..."

Everyone sank onto the nearest seat in numb shock. The knowledge of what they were going to have to do to save the world was starting to weigh them down, and this additional information threatened to crush them completely.

"Is there anything we can do?" Alan asked. "John…? Brains…?"

A phone rang a little tune.

"Oh, lor, that's h-all we need," Parker moaned under his breath. "H-It's Lord Cow-barn Saint Anne Boleyn."

Lady Penelope withdrew her mobile phone from the pocket of her robe. "I am so dreadfully sorry," she apologised, "but I keep this with me at all times in case my present employers ever need my assistance." She managed a little smile. "They're not imaginative enough to think of supplying me with a powder compact... However..." the phone trilled again, "this call is from Ralph and he has a totally unprofessional interest in my whereabouts."

"Penny..." Scott groaned. "Can you shut that thing up? With all due respect, we've got more important things to worry about than your private life."

Lady Penelope's eyes lit up as the phone persisted in playing its little ditty. "Then we will dissuade him from pursuing me once and for all. Pretend we're having a party."

He stared at her. "A party?"

"Yes! Virgil, could you play the piano?"

"Yeah, sure..." He stood and started walking over to the white baby grand. "But I doubt it's in tune..."

"That won't matter. Ralph is tone-deaf anyway. Please everyone, make a lot of noise. Sound like you're enjoying yourselves!"

"Enjoy ourselves?" Gordon grumbled. "One way or another, the world's going to end; we can't do anything to stop it; and you're asking us to enjoy ourselves?"

"Come on, Gordon," Tin-Tin cajoled. "You only have to pretend."

"'Ere..." Parker had extracted some glasses from the drinks cabinet. "Clink these."

Virgil started playing an upbeat tune and cringed as the piano twanged. "Ouch."

"Rhubarb, rhubarb," Parker intoned. "Rhubarb, rhubarb."

John stared at him. "What on Earth...?"

"H-If we all say it, it'll sound like h-a 'ole lot of people talkin'," Parker explained. "Come on, Mister John. Rhubarb, rhubarb."

"This has got to be one of the stupidest things I've ever done," John admitted. "If I wasn't doing it for you, Penny..." He sighed. "Rhubarb, rhubarb."

Feeling like idiots, everyone joined in a desultory chorus.

"For Pete's sake!" Parker exclaimed. "Put more life inta h-it!"

"Here," Alan was fiddling with the digital table's computer. He managed to find an audio file of a party in full swing and turned the volume up to shouting level.

"Thank you, dear boy." Lady Penelope finally answered the phone. "Ralph, Darling! How are you...? I am _so_ sorry that I took so long to answer but Gordon kidnapped my phone. He's such a tease." Gordon rolled his eyes and muttered under his breath. "I'm sorry, Ralph, it's awfully difficult to hear what you are saying, let me just move over here... What...? We're having such a _wonderful_ party, you know. Everyone's simply _full_ of joie de vivre... I beg your pardon...? Where am I? Oh! At the home of some simply _wonderful_ people. You'd be amazed to see who is here. The crème de la crème of American society, and they are all _so_ handsome and entertaining," she gushed. "Who...? Ah..." She glanced at the Tracys. "There's an absolutely _fearless_ test pilot; the CEO of one of the world's _foremost_ companies; an _innovative_ avant-garde artist; a _stunning_ Olympic gold medallist; a simply _gorgeous_ world champion race driver; a _brilliant_ rocket scientist; an engineer with both looks _and_ brains; and a reformed safe-cracker who tells the most _marvellously_ daring stories. I am having the most _wonderful_ night and I'm hopeful it will get even better... If you know what I mean..."

Virgil glanced at Scott, noticing that his elder brother was looking uncomfortable at where Lady Penelope's tale was heading.

Not that she was getting the chance to say much more as she listened to Cockburn-Saint-John's whining voice. She mouthed a silent "help!"

Alan decided that it was time for him to get back into the rescue business. "Penny...!" He called. "Come and get another drink."

She lightly covered the mouthpiece. "Thank you, Alan, darling. I shall be right with you. Save the next dance for me, would you...?"

"How about one, just the two of us, on the beach out under the stars?" he responded in a suggestive voice, and gave an apologetic shrug when everyone stared at him. He gave a scowling Tin-Tin a light kiss on the temple. "Sorry," he whispered.

"Now, Ralph, I must go... Yes, I agree that one hopes to find that someone special to spend one's final days with, and between you and me," Lady Penelope lowered her voice as if she were about to let him in on her confidence, "I think there's every chance..." She held the phone away from her ear as Cockburn-Saint-John spluttered his indignation. "Ralph... Ralph...!" She managed to interrupt his ranting. "I'm sorry you feel that way, Ralph, but..." She listened as he spluttered some more. "I know it won't do my reputation any good, but, quite frankly, who cares? The world is going to end, Ralph. One may as well enjoy..." there was an audible click from the earpiece of the phone, "it... Oh. How rude. He hung up." She pocketed the phone. "Now where were we?"

Alan pushed a button on the digital table and the cheerful sounds of the party were replaced with a depressing silence.

"Penny," Scott said with feeling, "I'm sure I speak for every male here, that none of us want to be known as 'the other man' in your love triangle."

"Especially not my husband!" Tin-Tin exclaimed.

Lady Penelope gave a graceful, but dismissive, wave of her hand. "There is no 'love triangle'. As far as Ralph Cockburn-Saint-John and I are concerned, there isn't even a love pairing. He is a friend. A very possessive friend."

Scott gave her a wary look.

"Can we get back to grown-ups' business?" Gordon asked. "What are we going to do about this asteroid?"

Scott turned to the 'brilliant rocket scientist' who was still looking a bit stunned at being grouped together with the 'handsome and entertaining' Tracys. "I hate to add a bigger burden to what we're already asking of you, Brains," he began, "but can you think of anything we can do to stop this asteroid or at least divert it from its present trajectory?"

Brains shook himself awake. "P-Perhaps you would allow John, Alan and me to, er, discuss this amongst ourselves before I answer your question?"

"Sure, Brains. Take as long as you need."

"So long as it's not longer than a year," Gordon muttered.

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

Two and a half hours later found them most of them still moping in the lounge. Scott, desperate to have a plan of action, but without the necessary knowledge to be involved in the planning process, was pacing up and down beside the patio doors. Gordon had got sick of waiting and was killing time under lights in the pool. Virgil, trying not to make any noise to disrupt the planners, was attempting to tune his piano without actually playing it. Lady Penelope and Tin-Tin were quietly gossiping. Parker had grown tired of supplying everyone with endless rounds of coffee and was slumped into one of the more comfortable chairs; his head back and snoring. And around the digital table, three heads were bent low, poring over photographs, diagrams, schematic drawings, and star charts.

At last Brains straightened and rubbed his back. He blinked at the other occupants of the room as if he was surprised to see them there. "We have, er, a solution."

Scott pulled open one of the doors, closed against the tropical winter night. "Gordon!" he shouted. "We're ready!"

"Give me a minute to get out of my wetsuit…"

By the time Gordon had changed back into his pyjamas and had charged up the stairs, the two astronauts and the engineer were ready to present their findings.

"W-We believe that there is something that International Rescue can do to, er, divert this catastrophe," Brains explained.

"What are we going to do?" Gordon asked. "Blast Arnie to smithereens?"

John shook his head. "If we did that, there would be every possibility that a body of this size would simply shatter into hundreds of smaller pieces; any one of which, should it find itself within our gravitational pull, could cause havoc to the Earth."

"So, what's the solution?" Scott asked.

"2070SB must be m-moved from its present course," Brains hold him.

"How?"

"I'm going to take Thunderbird Three and attach a rocket booster to the side of the asteroid," Alan explained. "Then I'll fire the booster remotely and, hopefully, we'll alter Arnie's present course so that it'll be caught up in Jupiter's gravitational field."

"Space bodies regularly crash into Jupiter, so if we miscalculate, it's unlikely to affect the planet long term," John added.

"Why Jupiter?" Scott asked. "Why not nudge it back into orbit with all the others in the asteroid belt?"

Alan felt a quiet pride that he was the one who had to explain the details of a mission to his eldest brother; even if the plan he was explaining was going to take a long time to execute and had no guarantees of success. "While Thunderbird Three won't have to use a lot of fuel on the journey to and from the rendezvous, just an occasional course correction, she will need a long burn to push her beyond Earth's gravitational field and to get her up to maximum cruising speed. She will need another extended burn to bring her back to cruising speed for the return journey. That's all before we consider the fuel usage needed for docking with Thunderbird Five and course corrections during re-entry."

Scott nodded his understanding.

"Lining up the booster so that it can manoeuvre Arnie to the optimum angle and velocity that will keep it in orbit around the sun would use more fuel than we think we can spare. This could leave Thunderbird Three's fuel reserves too low to make any unexpected course corrections."

"Alan's right," John agreed. "It will be much more efficient to send 2070SB in the general direction of Jupiter and let the planet's gravitational field dictate the asteroid's final destination."

"Plus," Alan added, "I don't want to waste any more fuel than I have to. Thunderbird Three's going to have to sustain me for at least four months."

His family reacted with varying degrees of horror. "Four months!"

Alan shrugged. "That's a rough estimate."

"That's a long time alone!" With an effort, Scott squashed his concerns. "When are you planning to lift off?" He circled the digital table until he could see the calendar displayed there. "September 25? That's only two months away."

"Two months!?" Virgil ran his hand through his hair, which had fallen over his face. "Can we make a rocket big enough to shift a lump of rock that size in two months?"

"I think so," Brains admitted. "The rocket won't need to be especially b-big or powerful, but it will need enough fuel to allow Alan to make any necessary course corrections remotely. B-B-But it will be a complicated build."

"And," John added, "if we launch much after the 25th, the relative orbital positions between Earth, Jupiter and 2070SB will make the task virtually impossible. We're aiming to have the booster operating on November 27."

"That means that you'll be doing the Dead Sea Transform deployment alone, Virgil," Scott analysed. "Any issues with that?"

"That will mean a few tweaks to the life-support system on board The Mole to ensure that it can run with only one operator," Virgil admitted. "But that shouldn't be a problem."

Tin-Tin took Alan's hand. "Can I come with you?"

"Are you sure you want to come? It'll be dangerous."

"It will be no more dangerous than fighting Doomsday, or even simply waiting here to see if your brothers are successful. I've done space rescues before and I may be able to help."

"We're going to be a long way away from home for a long time."

"So long as I'm with you I don't mind..." Tin-Tin looked into her husband's eyes. "Don't you want me to be with you?"

"Of course I do!" Alan kissed her on the forehead. "Thanks, Honey. Having you with me will make the job much easier."

Not happy, but accepting that there was little that they could do about the situation, Scott continued to work through the changes to their plans. "Thunderbird Three's our only means of transportation between here and Thunderbird Five. So you'll have to drop John off first, Alan, before you carry on to rendezvous with Arnie." He looked at his eldest brother. "Which will leave you up in Thunderbird Five for a lot longer than we'd originally planned, John. Four months is longer than any tour of duty you've ever had. Will you be able to handle it?"

"What's the difference between me being stuck in an office all day and me being stuck in a satellite all day?" John asked. "So long as we don't lose communications between here and Five, and I'm able to carry enough supplies to keep me going for four months, I'll be fine." He smiled. "I'll being able to indulge myself in more hours of astronomical observations than I've managed in the last seven years. I can't think of anything better… " He lost his smile. "Though talking of communications reminds me. Jupiter's surrounded by an intense radiation field called the magnetosphere; it's similar to Earth's van Allen belt. The magnetosphere is going to interfere with all communications between Thunderbird Three and Earth for at least two months of the mission; including the period when they're dealing with 2070SB."

Scott frowned. "Will we have any way of contacting Three?"

"No. And even if there was; that far out from Earth there'll be a noticeable time lag between the sending and receiving of messages. Even when looking through an optical telescope there could be up to a half hour delay between when the event happens and when it'll be visible on Earth… That's assuming that we can see the impact and it's not on the far side of Jupiter or that some other body gets in the way."

Scott let out a tension-filled breath and looked at the young couple next to him. "You're going to be isolated from all other human contact for at least two months. You're going to be trapped together for four months. Do you think you'll be able to cope?"

Alan gave a confident nod. "We'll cope."

Scott ran his hand through his hair. "I think we've done enough talking tonight. "He looked at his watch. "And I'm sure we'd all like to be fully awake when we explain our plans to Father tomorrow."

Gordon looked at his watch. "You mean today."

Scott ignored the interruption "So we should all go to bed now."

He led the way out of the room.

_To be continued..._


	5. Chapter 5 - Goodbye World

**Chapter Five: Goodbye World**

"Gordon…" with an unfamiliar and unwelcome feeling of trepidation, Scott knocked on the door to his brother's room. "Can I have a quick word?"

Gordon, his expression weary, but open and welcoming, looked up from where he was tying his shoelaces. "Yes, Scott?"

Scott relaxed slightly at his brother's apparent good humour. "I don't want to tread on your toes… But I was thinking about when you tell Father about your divorce. When would be best for you? Before we tell him about our plans, or afterwards?"

"Oh, er…" Gordon hesitated as he thought. "I think I want to tell him first. Get it out of the way."

"Okay," Scott nodded. "And would you rather the pair of you were alone, or do you want some or all of us with you to support you?" He wished he wasn't sounding so unsure of himself. "I mean, if you'd rather I wasn't there, but everyone else was; or you only want one of us; or you'd rather have a couple of us; or you don't want…"

Gordon held up his hand. "Okay, okay, I got the picture…" He looked down at his shoes as if he were checking the laces were done up properly. "I… I think I'd like you all there… Including you…" He looked back up. "That's if you want to."

"Of course I want to be there, if that's what you want."

"It is."

"Okay."

"Thanks."

There was a moment's uneasy silence.

"Gordon… You know we're all going to be there to support you through your divorce, don't you?"

Gordon managed a chuckle. "You're assuming that we all live long enough to see it go through the legal processes."

Scott managed a wry grin of his own. "Yes."

Gordon looked his brother in the eye. "I know."

"I'm not trying to run your life, but, and tell me to butt out if you want to, are you sure you still want to get divorced? I know that I tried to talk you out of the marriage to start with, but if you have second thoughts about divorcing Marina, or you decide that you want to make the decision after we've finished what we've got to do, then I'll back you one hundred percent."

"Thanks… I'll admit that it's been preying on my mind. I barely got any sleep last night…"

"I thought you looked tired."

"But I know that divorcing Marina is the right thing to do. I simply don't love her any more. At least if we start the ball rolling now, she won't have any doubts that the marriage is over, and will feel free to do what she wants, without feeling encumbered by an AWOL husband in what possibly will be the last few months of her life."

"I hope she realises that you were thinking of her when you made the decision."

"Knowing Marina, she probably realises that she's only got a few months to try to work out how she can bleed every last cent out of me. She'll be ruthless once she knows that International Rescue is going to attempt to save the world."

Scott only just managed to hide his surprise at Gordon's apparent about face. "Don't worry; we're not going to let Marina get more than she's entitled to." He turned for the door. "I'll go and let everyone know your plans. We'll all be in the lounge when you're ready to leave."

"Scott!"

Scott turned back. "Yes?"

Gordon seemed embarrassed. "Thanks for your support. I… I don't deserve it."

"Hey, what happened happened in the past," Scott reminded him. "You're still my little brother and I want to help you as much as I can. And if I get too…" he tried to think of the appropriate word, "…bossy, just let me know and I'll back away."

"Don't do that," Gordon begged. "We're going to need your bossiness over the next few months."

"I appreciate your vote of confidence." Scott opened the door. "We'll see you in the lounge."

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

Jeff Tracy's home, externally, looked like what you'd expect the home of a billionaire to look like. Nestled in palatial grounds, it rose up at the end of a long driveway, exuding an aura of wealth and exclusivity.

It was the exclusivity that had attracted Jeff to the property. Not because of a snobbish desire to set himself above his fellow man, but because it enabled him to hide his crippled body away from the rest of society. Before his stroke, he'd been a skilled orator, unafraid to stand in front of a stadium full of people to inspire them with a rousing speech. Now, with only his nurse and his family able to understand him, he shunned contact with others for fear of embarrassing himself and his visitors.

Scott rang the door to the house. He doubted that Jeff would have expected such a courtesy, but as this house had never been his home, he'd always felt that his father should be accorded this respect.

Nurse Sara opened the door and her face lit up when she saw her employer's sons and daughter-in-law on the step. "I don't think your father was expecting you today," she admitted as she stood back to let them into the house. "It will be a wonderful surprise for him."

"How is he today?" Scott asked.

"He's well and will be much better after seeing you all."

"Let's hope so." Sara detected a grim undertone in Scott's reply. "Where's he hiding?"

"Where he always is at this time of the day; in the summerhouse reading the morning papers. Would you like me to ask Mr Kyrano to bring you all some coffee?" Sara, well used to the way that Scott always took the lead, directed the question to him.

"No, not yet. Some of us won't be staying for long."

The nurse was disappointed. Her patient always seemed much happier after a visit from his family.

"We know we can trust your discretion," Scott continued, "but we have something personal we have to discuss with him. We'd appreciate some privacy."

"Of course! Nothing serious I hope."

"I'm getting divorced, and these guys are all here to support me when I tell Dad." Gordon offered the excuse with no qualms or hesitation. It was the truth and the belief that she knew the reason for their visit would ensure that the nurse would keep her distance.

"I am sorry to hear that, Gordon," Sara exclaimed. "Marina was…" She hesitated, trying to think of something positive about the woman who had never failed to increase her patient's blood pressure.

"Yep, that sums Marina up," Gordon quipped, and Sara reddened. "It's all right. I know she's not everyone's favourite person. Dad's going to be pleased that we're separating." He squared his shoulders. "Come on. Let's get this over and done with."

The summerhouse was a little latticework-walled building in the middle of the expansive lawn at the rear of the property. It was big enough to seat the Tracy family with ease and many a family gathering had been held within its walls. Kyrano's gardens circled the structure far enough away so that conversations could be held without fear of being overheard, and so that anyone approaching would be seen long before they could intrude on the discussion.

Jeff was deep in contemplation of one of the nation's dailies when the group approached across the noise-deadening grass. His hoverchair was parked against the wall, where Sara had left it after she'd assisted him into his seat, and a small control panel recessed into the edge of the table housed an intercom ready to summon assistance. He looked up in surprise when Scott knocked on the summerhouse's frame.

He smiled. "_What are you all doing here?"_

"Come to see you, of course," Scott replied. "Anything of interest in the papers?"

"_Only the usual."_ Using his stronger right hand, Jeff reached across his body and closed the paper.

He looked at his sons shrewdly. He knew them like the back of his hand, and he could sense there was something important that they had to tell him and wondered if he already knew what that was. He reflected that the last time they'd wore those expressions had been one terrible day when they'd broken the news to him that they were planning on dissolving International Rescue.

It had taken Jeff a long time to get over the announcement. He could understand the reasons given as to why the decision had been made, but couldn't shake the deep-seated belief, and associated shame, that the whole thing had been his (and his debilitating stroke's) fault.

He was therefore surprised when the rest of the group kept back to let Gordon step forward and claim the chair on his father's right. Alan was the next to move and he sat next to his brother. Then the rest of them shifted closer, as if they were forming a protective cocoon around their second youngest brother.

Jeff eyed Gordon with the kind of speculative gaze he used to use on a potential business proposal.

"Dad…" Gordon laid a hand on Jeff's arm. "I have something to tell you." He glanced at his father and then, unable to face him any more, looked away.

There was an extended pause as Jeff waited with long-practised patience.

After a minute Scott placed a reassuring hand on Gordon's shoulder and Jeff was relieved to see that Gordon accepted it without rancour or comment. Whatever had happened that had caused the rift between those two; it had clearly been patched up.

Alan broke the silence. "Do you want us to tell him, Gordon?"

Gordon shook his head. "Dad…" and this time he managed to lock eyes with his father. "I've told Marina that I want a divorce."

Jeff said nothing, but questions chased one another through his mind. What had caused Gordon to make this decision? Had his son done something that made him feel that he could no longer stay in the marriage? More plausible; had Marina? How much thought had gone into this decision? They'd only been married seven months; had the pair of them done all they could to make the marriage work? Or were they merely throwing it away as Jeff would discard this newspaper when he'd finished with it? At least Kyrano would find good use for the paper in his garden, but what good could come from the separation of two lives that had thought they were meant to live together as one for ever more?

At least there were no children involved.

Then Jeff wondered if Gordon had found himself a good solicitor to ensure that Marina wasn't awarded more than she was entitled. There was no way in heck that he'd let that irritating, obnoxious, condescending, little money-grubber get her hands onto any of _his_ money…

"Dad…?" Gordon peered anxiously into his father's eyes, which had clouded over when he'd made the announcement. "Are you all right? I know you said it would all end in tears, and you were right about that, and it's not that I hate her or anything like that, but I think it's the best thing to do, what with the possible end of the world and everything, and it'll be fairer on Marina, and me, if we start legal proceedings right away and…"

He stopped his breathless monologue when Jeff gave him a lopsided smile and managed to swing his weaker left hand over so that it was sitting on Gordon's. The limb was almost paralysed and Gordon got a shock to realise that rather than feeling cold and dead, it was warm and alive. _"Is this what you really want?"_

Gordon nodded. "I've put a lot of thought into it… I've barely thought of anything else."

"_Have you considered a trial separation first?"_ Jeff hated suggesting this; he wanted that woman out of his family's life. But in his mind marriage was a contract between two people that was meant to last forever. The contract shouldn't be broken without good reason, and the fact that he held a low opinion of one signatory had no bearing on whether or not it should be upheld.

"No. But I think it'll be fairer on Marina if we make a clean break of it. If she's only got four months left to live, let her enjoy it the way she wants to, without me hanging around her neck like an albatross."

Jeff's eyes slid across to the newspaper's headline. **Could International Rescue do anything?** it blared, as had nearly every other media publication. It was almost a concerted attack by the world's press to try to draw International Rescue out of retirement. But, Jeff wondered, did Gordon's words mean that they couldn't, or even wouldn't, try?

"We're all right behind Gordon," Scott said and, as everyone else nodded, Jeff could see that he meant it figuratively as well as literally.

"_Do you need a lawyer?"_

"I haven't contacted one yet," Gordon admitted. "I wanted to tell you first."

"_If you want to engage one of my lawyers, or if I can help in some other way, just ask. I'll be right behind you too."_

A smile of relief blossomed across Gordon's face. "Thanks, Dad."

Jeff saw Scott's hand squeeze his brother's shoulder before the elder Tracy claimed the seat next to Alan, directly opposite their father. The rest of the family took it as an unspoken invitation to find seats of their own.

Jeff glanced across at Virgil. He knew that wasn't a wig on his son's head. _"Get your hair cut,"_ he demanded.

"Yes, Sir."

Knowing that Virgil had no intention of heeding his demands and satisfied that his paternal duty had been done, Jeff turned his attention back to Scott. There had to be more to this meeting than Gordon's admission. _"Well?"_

Scott looked about furtively. "Can we talk? Is there any chance we'll be overheard?"

Jeff almost laughed at his eldest's caution. It had been many years since he'd needed to worry about industrial espionage or had held any fears for International Rescue's secrets. _"The only bugs around here are in Kyrano's garden."_

Scott smiled at the joke, before becoming serious. "We've just come from the island." He tapped the newspaper headline. "We're going to try."

Jeff nodded. _"So you think you can do something?"_

"We don't know for sure, but we've got a plan. Brains is working off hypotheses, so there are no guarantees."

"_How are the Thunderbirds?"_

"Thunderbird Three looks okay, but…" Scott ran through the list of damage to the other craft.

Jeff looked grim. _"Can you repair them all in time?"_

"It's going to take a lot of work, but yes, we think we can."

"_What's the plan?"_

With no embellishments, but not hiding the dangers they were going to be facing, Scott told him. "But what you don't know, and we only found out last night, is that it's not only Doomsday that we've got to worry about." He explained about asteroid 2070SB.

Jeff was alarmed by the news. _"And this asteroid is going to hit the Earth next year?"_

"Probably. Leaving September 25th, Alan and Tin-Tin are going to take Thunderbird Three and attach a rocket booster to it to try to deflect it into Jupiter."

Jeff looked at his daughter-in-law who held his gaze unwaveringly. He wasn't happy at the idea of her endangering her life, but knew better than to speak out against it. When she wanted she had a will of iron the equal of any of his sons, and appeals to her father to try to change her mind would be in vain, especially since Alan appeared to be in full agreement.

"They'll be gone for about four months," Scott was saying. "Which means that John'll have to spend that long in Thunderbird Five."

Jeff shifted his gaze to his second eldest. _"That's the longest you've ever been alone in space."_

"I know. I'll be okay."

Scott shifted uneasily. He'd debated with himself over whether or not to give Jeff the full story, and had decided that his father would want to know the worst. "To keep things interesting, Brains predicts that Tracy Island volcano is going to erupt in three months…"

"_Three months?! But the volcanic field is extinct!"_

"Apparently it's all related to Doomsday. We've been feeling foreshocks and we think that's what caused the damage to the Thunderbirds."

Jeff nodded. That made sense.

"Everyone's on board and we're all committed to doing what we can, but we're going to have to work hard. Harder than we'd ever done before." Scott paused. This was going to be the hardest bit of all. "It means that we won't have any spare time to visit you."

Jeff felt numb. His visits from his sons were what kept him going and stopped him from falling completely into a pit of despair. With a supreme effort he pushed down the feelings of sadness and isolation that were already threatening to swamp him.

"But we'll still be able to phone you," Alan piped up, sensing his father's depression. "We know you'll demand a daily debriefing."

"And we'll need to be in contact with you just to keep our sanity," John added.

"Yeah," Gordon agreed. "We're going to go stir crazy stuck on the island with Alan and with no chance of escape."

Scott regained control of the conversation. "We've given ourselves today to get our affairs in order. I'm going to hand in my resignation to Tracy Aviation and go and see Stewie. Gordon's going to see the lawyer and get the divorce proceedings underway. Alan's going to tell his team he won't be racing…"

"If he wants to I'll let Mike Rosken take my place," Alan added. "He's got talent and it'll give the kid a chance to show what he's made of."

"Gus…" Scott caught his mistake. "Ah… Virgil's going to check that his latest exhibition is being set up the way he wants it."

"Maybe you could go and see it?" Virgil suggested. "Let me know how it's going?"

Jeff nodded, but, like his demand to Virgil to cut his hair, no one really expected him to do what he'd been asked.

John glanced at Scott and received a nod indicating that it was his turn to take the lead. "I have a problem, Dad."

Jeff pulled himself together. _"A problem?"_

"Yes. Thunderbird Five's going to take a lot of work to get her operational again. I'm not going to be able to keep the business going _and_ get everything ready for September 25th. I need to find someone that I can trust to take control of Tracy Industries, so I'll be free to concentrate on International Rescue."

His curiosity piqued, Jeff turned to him. _"Who do you have in mind?"_

John grinned. "You."

Jeff stared at his second eldest, wondering if there'd been some delayed damage to his hearing. "Mih?"

"Yes, you!"

Jeff looked dumbfounded. As stunned as he had been the day that Gordon had brought home this tramp of a woman and announced that they were going to be married. _"Me?"_

"Why not? Can you think of anyone better?"

"_But I can't talk properly."_ Jeff hated admitting to any weaknesses, but this was a fact that couldn't be overlooked.

"That's all right. Robert can be the public face of the company, but you'll be the driving force behind the scenes. My secretary, Emma, will be your assistant and all correspondence will go through her. She's wonderful…" John realised that what he'd just said wasn't exactly professional. "That is, she's been a great help to me and I know you two will get on well. If you agree, I'll give her a call now and tell her to bring all the important files around this afternoon and the three of us can go through them together and bring you up to speed. How does that sound?"

"_Me?"_

Gordon tapped his father on the arm. "What's Tracy Industries without a Tracy at the helm?"

"Dead in the water," John responded. "How about it, Dad? Are you game?"

Take control of his company again? It was a stupid idea. It wasn't feasible. It wouldn't work. The markets would rebel. Customers would flee in droves. It would spell the death knell for the business…

Jeff pulled himself together. It was a challenge. It would give him an interest beyond this property's boundaries. It would give him a sense of purpose. It would help relieve John of some of the burden he was carrying and leave him to concentrate on helping his brothers save the world! He would mean that he, Jeff Tracy, had a small role in combating Doomsday!

"_All right, I'll do it."_

John's face opened up into a wide smile. "Great! I'll call Emma and Robert now and let them know about our plans. Excuse me…" He pulled his cell phone from out of his pocket and moved outside the summerhouse so he could make the call without intruding on any further discussions.

"The public version of why we're leaving our present lives and retreating to Tracy Island is that we've decided that we want to spend the planet's final months together," Scott explained, "reliving the playboy lifestyle… It leaves you out in the cold though."

"_I've demanded that I take control of Tracy Industries again,"_ Jeff told him. _"Just to prove that I can still do it. Because if the world is going to end it won't matter if I make a mess of it." _

"While all the while we know that the world's not going to end and that you're going to lead Tracy Industries on to bigger and better things!" Alan told him and Jeff smiled at his youngest's morale boosting speech.

"We're going to wait before we tell the World President that we're reforming," Scott added. "We don't want to get people's hopes up until we have some idea of whether or not we have a chance of success. We might start work in earnest and discover that the equipment is in such bad shape it will be impossible to get them operational in the three months we have available to us. We still haven't been inside Two…" John re-entered the summerhouse. "What did they say?"

John pocketed his cell phone. "They're both shocked, but willing. I'm going to have to give Robert a full debriefing tomorrow. Can you guys handle one day without me?"

"Your work won't start in earnest until we get to Thunderbird Five anyway," Scott told him. "So one day won't hurt."

Jeff folded up his newspaper. _"Virgil!"_ he commanded. _"Get me my 'chair."_

Virgil, obeying this order, leapt out of his seat and drove his father's transportation over so it settled on the floor next to where Jeff was sitting. Then he reached out to assist the invalid into the hoverchair. With a growl Jeff waved him clear and attempted to transfer himself in to it unaided. Virgil backed off with his hands raised in mock surrender and a grin to his brothers. It looked like if nothing else, they'd managed to reignite Jeff Tracy's independent spirit.

Like the leader of a wagon train and with the command of _"Kitchen!"_ Jeff waved his family onward.

Kyrano was just removing some baking from the oven when the group arrived. His face lit up, especially when Tin-Tin hurried forward. "Why are you all here?" he asked, placing his tray on the bench so he could receive her kiss of greeting.

"We couldn't resist the lure of your baking," Alan told him, swiping a bun. Juggling it until it was cool enough to be eaten; he let out an indignant, "Hey!" when Gordon grabbed it out of mid-air and took a bite.

Ignoring his youngest sons' antics, Jeff placed the newspaper on the table. He pointed at the headline. _"The boys and Tin-Tin are going to try."_

Kyrano beamed. "I knew Inter-national Rescue would not fail the world."

Scott had claimed one of the freshly baked buns for himself. "We can't guarantee anything, Kyrano, but we're going to give it our best shot."

"_They're going to be spending the next three months getting the equipment ready,"_ Jeff explained. _"Kyrano, if you are willing, I'd like you to go with them."_

There was a multitude of protests. "We can't do that, Dad!" John exclaimed. "You need him!"

"_It goes without saying that I'll miss your company,"_ Jeff continued as if he hadn't heard the protests, _"but I can make do with any old cook and gardener. Our kids are going to be busy getting everything ready and they're not going to have the time or energy to look after themselves. I'd appreciate it if you'd be there to keep an eye on them all and make sure that they eat properly. Also they say that they'll call me every evening, but I know that they won't always have the time or inclination. I want you to be my eyes and ears."_

Kyrano bowed. "It would be an honour and a privilege to serve Inter-national Rescue again. But I will not leave here until I am assured that a suitable replacement chef has been employed." He turned to Scott. "At what time will you be leaving?"

"We've all got things we've got to do, but we'll be back later this afternoon," Scott told him. "John's not leaving until tomorrow."

"Then I will prepare enough meals for you all for a week. Mister John can take them when he leaves tomorrow."

"Do you think you'll be able to employ a replacement cook?" Virgil asked. "How many people are going to want to start a job when they think they've only got four months left to live?"

"_I'll make it worth their while,"_ Jeff growled.

Scott looked at his watch. "Those of us who are flying out had better get moving," he instructed. "Are you coming, Virgil?"

Virgil picked up his bag. "I'm ready when you are."

"I'd better get moving too," Alan admitted "to give Mike a chance to get over the shock and get a feel for the car. Do you want to come, Honey, or would you rather stay here?"

Tin-Tin smiled at him. "If I may use your father's phone, I would prefer to stay here and start ordering supplies. I can meet you at the track later."

"_Use the one in my study. You won't be disturbed there. Gordon? Do you want the number of a lawyer?"_

"Uh, yeah," Gordon looked a little embarrassed. "And once I've spoken to him then I'd better go and hand in my notice at the research institute."

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

On the flight to New York, Scott and Virgil had made plans. Virgil would contact their old suppliers (if they were still in existence) while Scott cleared out his desk and tried to make his peace with Stewie. Then, while Virgil slipped back into his Gustav persona and oversaw the final touches to his exhibition (and hid his blue hair from those who knew Virgil Tracy), Scott would do the rounds, collecting the orders his brother had made earlier.

His desk now bare, his work colleagues stunned, and his former boss feeling a combination of dismay and relief, Scott knocked on the door to Stewie's house. It was opened by his young friend's grandmother, who greeted him with a big smile. She'd never quite been able to believe how lucky her grandson had been to be paired up with such a personable, wealthy, attentive Big Brother. "Scott! Come in!" she exclaimed. "Would you like a cup of coffee?"

"Ah, no thanks. I can't stay for long. Virgil's waiting for me out in the truck. I had to tell Stuart something before I left."

"Oh…" She looked past his shoulder out to the hired vehicle. "Would Virgil like to come in and wait?"

Scott fixed her with a big smile that felt forced. "He's fine. He's got lots of phone calls he has to make."

"I suppose he's finalising everything for his exhibition."

"Ah… Yeah… Is Stuart in his room?"

"Yes. You know where it is, Scott. And if you change your mind about that coffee, just let me know."

Scott had a feeling that before the afternoon was out, he'd want something stronger than coffee. He knocked on Stewie's door. "Hi."

The tall, lanky teenager with the mop of unruly black hair was seated at his desk. He treated Scott to a big grin when he saw him. "Hiya, Big Bro."

"Hey, Little Bro. Watcha doing? Studying?"

"Yep. I'm going to cruise through that certificate."

Scott felt a warm glow of almost paternal pride. "Of course you will. You're as good a pilot as I was at your age."

Stewie's face was alight with pleasure at the compliment. "And then once I'm done we can go out and party!"

"Ah, yeah…" Scott hesitated. "About that…"

Stewie lost his smile. "What?"

"I'm sorry, Stewie, but I won't be able to make it."

"You can't make the party?"

"No… I won't be in the States on Wednesday… I… I'm going to be on Tracy Island. I'm leaving this afternoon."

"Tracy Island! Why?"

"Ah…" Scott wished they'd come up with a more acceptable story. "My brothers and I want to spend some time together."

A hurt look crossed Stewie's face. "But you'll be able to come back won't you? You'll come back when I get my private pilot's certificate?"

"I'm sorry, Stewie, but I can't."

"You can't?!" The younger man was starting to get angry. "Why not?"

"Because my brothers and I… That is… We…"

Stewie's eyes flashed. "You'd rather spend time with them than with me!"

"They are my family…"

"And you're supposed to be my Big Brother! How long are you going to be away for?"

Scott was feeling overwhelmed by the feelings of guilt. "Until after Doomsday..."

"Until Doo... That's four months away!"

"Yes..."

"You can't do that! You signed a contract to say that you'd visit me regularly!"

"And if I could I would..."

"I don't believe you!" Stewie hissed. "You don't want to see me any more!"

"Yes, I do, but…"

"If you don't want to be my Big Brother, then fine, you don't have to be. I'm letting you off the hook one year early."

"No," Scott protested, feeling as if a knife was ripping him apart inside. "That's not…"

Stewie turned his back. "Get out!"

Scott took a step forward. "Stewie… Please… Listen to me…"

"I said, get out!"

"Stuart!" It was his grandmother. She looked between her grandson and his Big Brother. "What's going on?"

Stewie pointed an accusing finger at Scott. "I want him to leave my room! I don't want to see him again!"

"Something's come up," Scott explained. "I won't be able to make it on Wednesday."

"Oh…" She seemed genuinely disappointed. "Why not?"

Stewie spun around. "His brothers are more important to him than I am!" he spat.

"Stuart," she reprimanded. "You know how close Scott is to his family."

"One day! Couldn't he put _me_ first for one lousy day? For _my_ birthday?! I'm only going to be 17 once! I may never have another birthday again!"

Scott made another attempt at reconciliation. "Stewie, if it were humanly possible I would be here. If I could fly halfway across the Pacific Ocean to be with you and still do what needs to be done on Tracy Island, I would. I've been with you every step of the way through your flight training and nothing has given me more pleasure than seeing you succeed…"

"You, you, you," Stewie sneered. "It's all been about you, hasn't it? I'm just another trophy to you, aren't I?!"

"What? Trophy…? No… I…"

"You're just some old guy who thinks that because you've got money you can pick and choose who you play with until you're sick of 'em and then you just throw 'em away!"

"Stuart!" his grandmother snapped. "Apologise to Scott!"

"NO!" Stewie turned his back on the two adults, picked up his notes and tossed them into the bin.

Scott looked at his watch. Time was passing and they still had a lot to do. "I've got to go," he admitted. "Stewie, I know you don't want to believe me at the moment, but I am sorry. Will you give me a call and let me know how you did, on Wednesday? I'll keep my cell phone close by."

Stewie, his face buried in a football magazine, didn't so much as grunt.

His grandmother escorted Scott to the door. "I am sorry," she apologised.

"Don't be," he responded. "It's my fault." He looked back in the direction of the teenager's room. "Even if I can't be there, I still want him to have a party. You'll send me the bill?"

"Scott, you don't have to pay for everything for him."

"Yes, I do. I want him to have a celebration when he passes. I at least owe him that."

"Are you sure you won't be able to make it?" she asked. "You've been such an important part of Stuart's life these last six years. I shudder to think what would have become of him if you hadn't been there."

"He would have been all right," Scott reassured her. "He's a good kid. He's just sore at me at the moment…" he looked back down the hallway towards the shut bedroom door. "And I don't blame him." He tried to smile. "I'll see you later, Mrs K."

-F-A-B-

Virgil checked his notes and then dialled a number. It rang three times before someone answered. _"Good afternoon. Mastic Machinery."_

"Good afternoon," Virgil responded. "Could I have your sales department, please?" He waited a moment longer as he was transferred.

"Good afternoon. Sales."

"Hi. This is Virgil Tracy of…"

"Virgil? It's Ben Honeycutt. It's been ages since we've heard from you. How are you?"

Virgil chuckled. "I'm fine, Ben. And how are you?"

"Oh, you know how it is, still grinding away nine-to-five. What can we do for you?"

"Do you still stock your m12 by 150 hargon bolts?"

"Hargon?! We stopped stocking them about four or five years ago."

"Oh," Virgil replied, disappointed. It looked like they'd be wasting time trying to find a new supplier. "That's a pity."

"We went out of them because we now stock something better. Have you heard of herium?"

"Herium? No, I haven't."

"You have been out of the engineering scene for a while!" Ben chuckled, and Virgil had to agree with him. It was a fact that was beginning to cause him some concern. "Herium's got twice the tensile strength of hargon, but only half the weight."

"Okay," Virgil said, with some misgivings. "In that case we, I mean my brother Scott, will be around to pick up two hundred m12 by 150 herium bolts later this afternoon. If they're suitable for our needs we'll get you to send us a larger order later."

"Two-hundred M-twelve by one fifty herium bolts," Ben enunciated. "Do you want washers and nuts too?"

"Yes, please. Can you put them all on purchase order V-0042, assuming that we've still got an account with you. Or would you rather Scott paid when he gets there?"

"Let me check…" Virgil could hear Ben typing into a computer. "Tracy… Yep, you're still in the system, so we'll put it on your account. What are you making this time?"

Virgil spun the official line. "My brothers and I have decided to spend the four months before Doomsday together on the island and I thought I'd make the most of the opportunity to build some of the designs I've come up with over the last few years." This wasn't strictly a lie, he told himself. Some of the plans that lay on his workbench might yet find service with International Rescue.

"Okay, Virgil. Your order's in the system. Tell Scott to quote sales order number S-O fourteen - twenty five - thirty eight, when he gets here. That'll mean he won't have to hang around for so long. And trust me, you're going to love herium. All of Tracy Aviation's competitors use them." Ben laughed.

Virgil saw the door to Stewie's house open and his brother leave. Scott's head was down and his shoulders were slumped, and it didn't take an almost telepathic link between the pair of them to tell Virgil that things hadn't gone well. "I'll keep that in mind, Ben," he said, rushing to finish the call before his brother reached the car. "If we purchase some more from you, you'll know that we love them as much as they do." He said goodbye as Scott opened the door and collapsed on to the seat. "He didn't take it well, huh?"

Scott shook his head and put the key in the ignition.

"Give him time, Scott. He'll get over it. We all do eventually."

Scott put on his seatbelt and started the truck.

Virgil realised that his brother didn't want to talk about what had happened in the house. He held out his tablet PC. "I've tried to list all the suppliers in such a way that you'll cover the least amount of ground between them," he explained. "And I've written what you're getting from each place, the purchase order number, and in some cases the sales order number to quote beneath the name of the company… Okay?"

Scott took the tablet, looked at it, nodded, and handed it back.

He didn't say another word until he'd dropped Virgil off at his place.

-F-A-B-

"I'm going to drive for Tracy Racing?! Oh wow! Thank you, Mr Tracy!"

Alan chuckled at the 18-year-old's enthusiasm. He'd once been like that; young, talented, keen, full of self assurance, and with no sense of his own mortality. That was until he'd survived a few narrow scrapes and witnessed how Gordon's accident had devastated his family. "How many times do I have to tell you, Mike, that my name's Alan. When you start calling me Mr Tracy, I start wondering what my father's doing here."

"I know," Mike looked embarrassed. "It's just that you've been my hero for as long as I can remember..." and Alan suddenly felt old, "and I can't quite believe that _you_ want _me_ to drive for you. Are you sure you've made the right decision? I know there are older drivers out there with more experience than me..."

"And you'll never get the experience if you don't get the chance to show what you can do," Alan interrupted. "I was lucky. I had a father who could afford to support me when I was starting out, and now I'm hoping to give you the same chance. I'm not expecting you to win every race right off the bat, but you're good enough that you won't embarrass yourself and you'll do the team proud. And as you get more experience I'm sure we'll see you at the top of the podium."

Mike glowed at the compliment. "What are you going to be doing for the next few months, Mist, er, Alan?"

"Taking a trip down memory lane. My brothers and I spent seven years kicking back on my father's tropical island and we aim to spend our last four months doing the same."

Mike lost some of his joie de vivre. "Do you think we're all going to die?"

"Do I think we're all going to die?" Alan hesitated. "Honestly, Mike, I don't know. But something tells me that a miracle's going to happen and that this planet we live on isn't going to wipe us all out." He grinned. "And when that happens, you'd better be prepared to vacate that car, 'cos I'll be back... And then maybe, just maybe... this will become a two car team."

He hadn't thought that Mike could have got any more excited, but he was wrong. The young man's eyes were practically on fire in excitement. "Me? Race alongside you!? Oh, wow! Mr Tr, ah, Alan! Thank you!"

Alan looked at his watch. "Let's do a couple of practise laps so you can show me what you've made of... Go on..." He grinned at Mike's excited face. "Don't forget that even when I'm not here I've told our manager to keep me informed of everything that goes on."

"I won't forget." Mike grabbed his hand and started pumping it. "Thank you, Alan. Thanks for everything!"

"You're welcome, Mike. Just remember to keep your head and that just because people think the world's going to end soon, that doesn't give you an excuse to be reckless. I don't want to be dragged away from my tropical paradise just because you've smeared yourself all over the track. Okay?"

Mike nodded. "Okay. I won't let you down," he promised.

"I know." Alan thought of the work that was ahead of him. "And I'll try not to do the same to you."

Mike looked confused. "Huh?"

Alan chuckled. "Don't worry about it. Just relax and enjoy the ride. Now, let's go and do those laps. I haven't got much time and I still have a phone call I want to make before I leave."

-F-A-B-

Scott had regained a little of his composure by the time Virgil exited the truck. "All I've got to do is go to these places and ask for our orders?"

"That's all. Even an engineering numbskull like you should be able to do that without too much difficulty."

The attempt at cheering his brother up didn't work. "Okay," Scott agreed. "I'll meet you back here when I've got everything. Will you be ready by then?"

"I should be. I'm only going to be checking that the exhibition looks okay. It'll probably take me longer to put all my paraphernalia on." As he closed the truck door, Virgil expected Scott to make some comment about his choice of costume, but instead his brother stared out through the car's windscreen. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. I'm fine. See you soon." Without another look, Scott pressed down on the accelerator, spun the wheel, and the truck peeled out into the traffic.

Virgil watched him go. Then he made a decision. Rather than heading up to his apartment, he headed down into the attached garage, where he let himself into his car. Following the route they'd just travelled, he drove back to Stewie's place. Once there he hurried up the path to the front door, where he knocked.

Stewie's grandmother answered the door. "Hello?"

"Hi, Mrs K." Virgil smiled at her as he removed his sunglasses, and wondered not for the first time, why he'd felt the need to change his appearance so much. "It's me. Virgil Tracy."

"Oh! Virgil!" Surprise was quickly followed by embarrassment. "I'm sorry; I didn't recognise you with the blue hair."

"Don't worry about it. This is what I wear for my alter ego. Scott did tell you about Gustav?"

"Yes, he did…" The elderly lady hesitated. "Ah… What can I do for you?"

"Do you think Stewie will talk to me? It's not Scott's fault that he can't make it next week, and I want to try and convince him of that."

Stewie's grandmother looked relived. "I wish you would. He won't listen to me and I don't like the idea of him and Scott falling out. Scott's been such an important part of Stuart's life these last few years."

"And Stewie's been important to Scott," Virgil told her. "Ah… I'm sorry, but I don't want to rush this, but I'm due at Gustav's exhibition and I don't have a lot of time."

"You'd better come with me then." Virgil was led down to a closed door. "Stuart…" Stewie's grandma knocked on the door. "There's someone here to see you."

"Who is it?"

"It's Scott's brother, Virgil."

"I don't want to see him."

"Please, Stuart. Talk to him."

"No."

Virgil decided to speak up. "Stewie…" he began, "I won't take up too much of your time, but I want to explain why Scott can't make…"

The door was flung open and Stewie stood there. His chin was jutting out in an approximation of manly pride, but his eyes were red. "Why should I talk to you?"

"Because I would rather that you were mad with me than with Scott. It's not his fault that he can't make it on Wednesday."

"Not his fault?" Stewie stomped back into his room, and with a nod of thanks to 'Mrs K', Virgil followed him. "I thought this was a free country. I thought Scott was an adult; able to make his own decisions."

"He is. But part of being an adult is accepting your responsibilities, even if honouring those responsibilities isn't what you really want to do."

"Responsibilities? What about his responsibilities to me? He promised me he'd be there when I took my test."

"I know, and he feels bad that he has to break his promise, but we made him promise that he'd stay with us," Virgil lied, desperate to shift the blame from his brother. "Look... I know how you feel..."

"You know how I feel?!" Stewie sneered. "Yeah, right. You've got no idea how I feel."

Virgil kept his cool. "Actually I do. For years Scott and I had planned about what we'd do to celebrate when I finally got to fly solo. Like you did, I was going to take the examination on my 16th birthday and then, when I passed, we were going to have a party too. Only it didn't happen."

As he'd hoped, he'd aroused the teenager's interest enough to listen. "Why not?"

"Scott got accepted for some pre-Air Force training. At first I was excited for him. I thought it was a great opportunity and I knew that he was going to enjoy the experience. Then I realised that it meant that he wouldn't be home on August 15th. I couldn't stop him from going, and I knew he felt bad that he was going to miss being there for me... But that didn't stop me from behaving like a complete idiot."

"You did?"

"Yes. That evening Scott called to wish me a happy birthday and to find out how I did with the flight. Now, I could have behaved like an adult and talked to him, but instead I decided to punish him by refusing to speak to him... I knew he regretted not being there. I knew there was no way that he could have been there, but I still went and ruined the day for both of us..." Virgil paused. "I've never forgiven myself for doing that, Stewie." He looked at the teenager earnestly. "Don't make my mistake. You'll only feel guilty for the rest of your life."

"But you were only 16. I'm going to be 17!"

"17's almost an adult. Don't you want to behave like one?"

"I thought you four were all adults too. Not little kids who needed your diapers changed."

"You know Scott, and you know what his priorities are. It's always been family first and you a very close second." There was that sneer of disbelief again. "I know it seems selfish to you, but the four of us have decided that we want to spend our final months with our big brother."

Stewie muttered, "Babies" under his breath.

Virgil persisted. "Before he met you, the five of us lived together on Tracy Island. They were some of the best years of our lives and we want to try to relive that. And if Scott wasn't there it wouldn't be the same."

"Not even for one day?"

"We've put so much pressure on him that Scott feels that he can't escape his duty to us."

"What about his duty to me?" Stewie demanded.

"Can't you forgive him and blame us instead?" Virgil begged. "I think I know Scott better than anyone and I can tell that he's feeling bad enough as it is."

"You think you know him, do you?" Stewie taunted. "If you think you know him so well, did he tell you that he split up with Farrah?"

Taken aback at the apparent change of topic, Virgil hesitated. "Ah, yeah… Yes, he did."

"When?"

"He told me yesterday."

"Yesterday?" Stewie laughed. "Do you know when it happened?"

Virgil was beginning to feel uncomfortable at where this was leading. "No."

"Now, let's see..." Stewie made a play of trying to remember. "It was a little while ago... If I remember correctly it was about the time of Gran's birthday... We were going to go out to celebrate and Scott didn't want to come because the husband gave him a black eye. The poor guy was devastated and he told me all about it. He came to _me_ for support, because he said he couldn't trust anyone else…" Enjoying the feeling of power and superiority he felt, he turned to face Scott's brother. "It happened eight months ago." He studied the older man's reaction with some satisfaction.

Astonishment closely followed by disbelief, preceded the wounded expression that settled on Virgil's face. "Eight months?"

"Yeah."

"Eight months?" Eight months and Virgil never knew the pain his closest brother had been through. How many phone calls? How many emails? How many texts? How many family get togethers had happened in that time and yet Scott had never told him.

And just how close were they if he'd never realised that something was troubling Scott...?

"He told me he couldn't tell you," Stewie was jeering. "He told me that he didn't know you anymore. He told me I was the only one he could talk to!"

"He did?"

Stewie's delight at the pain he'd caused left him. He wasn't a mean-spirited kid, just angry that the most important man in his life had deserted him, and so he'd tried to punish one of those responsible. By the look on Virgil's face he'd succeeded beyond his expectations... And he hated himself for it. "Virgil..."

Virgil studied his watch, trying to hide his churning emotions. "I've got to get going. Scott and I are flying out to the island soon." He turned for the door and then remembering the reason why he'd come, half turned back, unable to look at the teenager. "Uh... Think about what I said, Stewie. This isn't Scott's fault."

"Virgil..." Stewie repeated, desperate to make amends. "What I sai..."

Virgil was equally desperate to leave, and he turned from the young man as Stewie took a step forward. "I'd better go... I hope you'll give him a call... I'll let myself out. I'll... See you later. Uh... Bye." He hurried out of the house.

Stewie slumped into his chair...

Virgil's original plan after he'd been dropped off home by Scott, had been to apply his Gustav disguise, head over to the art gallery to give his approval to the way his exhibition was shaping up, and then to head back home to meet up with Scott again. But his visit to Stewie's had changed all that.

He arrived at the gallery without any recollection of driving there. Angry with himself for driving recklessly and still upset over Stewie's revelations; he marched into the building and through to the office.

"Gus?" His manager looked up in surprise from the girlie magazine he was reading. He quickly hid it beneath a more appropriate periodical. "I thought you weren't going to be able to attend the show?"

"I'm not. I just want to see it. That's all."

"You're going to love it." The manager's voice was as oily as his hair, and Virgil wondered why he'd ever approached him. Then he reminded himself that it was because he wanted someone far removed from the world of Virgil Tracy, but with enough contacts that he had a chance to be accepted into the art world. "Come and see what we've done, Gus."

Virgil seethed. Gus wasn't his name. "Don't call me that!"

"Ah... Okay..." Nonplussed, the manager led the way into the main gallery. "Here we are, Gus... Ah, sorry, Gustav... What do you think of it?" He indicated the hall with a grand gesture.

Virgil looked around at all the paintings he'd slaved over that graced these walls. What did he think of it?

He hated it.

It represented how much he had changed over the last seven years and how far he'd drifted from his family.

Spying an empty trolley, the type used for transporting carefully crated artworks from one part of the gallery to another, he grabbed it. Pushing it over to the nearest painting, he tore the canvas down from the wall and threw onto it onto the cart.

"Hey!" his manager exclaimed, horrified by the way his commission was being ripped out from under his nose. "What are you doing, Gustav!?" He rushed over to stop the wanton destruction. "Stop it! You'll damage them!"

"Get out of my way!" Virgil pushed him clear, and hauled at the next painting; which was tossed on top of the first.

"Gustav! Think of what you're doing!"

"I know what I'm doing!" Another painting was consigned roughly to the trolley.

"You can't take that one! Mrs Pullman is going to pay thousands for that one!" Mrs Pullman was a wealthy trophy hunter whose latest target was Gustav, and had no scruples about spending a small fortune in order to buy her prize. Virgil had found himself trying to strike the balance between being friendly with a noted patron and avoiding her grasping hands and none too subtle hints. If she'd known the artist was really one of Jeff Tracy's sons she would have bought the entire collection just to stake a claim on him.

"Mrs Pullman is an ignorant woman who wouldn't know a work of art if it was hanging in Le Louvre." Several more paintings were consigned to Virgil's trolley.

"You're breaking our contract. You at least owe me the equivalent of the commission I would have earned from this exhibition!"

"Is that all you care about? Money?! The world's going to end and you're worried about your pay cheque?" Virgil hauled his smartphone out from his pocket and transferred an obscene amount from his account into the manager's. "That should be enough to cover your expenses for this show and to let me out of the contract. As far as I'm concerned our association is over!" He returned to his attack on the paintings.

The manager fired up his own smartphone and gaped at the large sum that had suddenly appeared in his bank account. "Where'd you get that much money from?"

But Virgil had cleared out the gallery. He pushed the trolley out to his car and loaded the paintings inside; jamming them in wherever they'd fit and not caring if he caused any damage. Then he pushed the trolley against the wall of the building, climbed into the driver's seat and, without a look back at the life he'd just left, accelerated away. Once home he threw the paintings into the lift, stabbed at the button to his floor, and when the doors opened on his apartment, dragged the artworks inside and tossed them into a corner. "I'll show him I haven't changed," he muttered. "I'll show him I am still Virgil Tracy. I'll show him I'm still his brother." He picked up a pair of scissors. "I'll show him I'm still me." He stormed into the bathroom. "I'll show him he can still trust me."

He looked in the mirror. A blue-hued hairy stranger stared back. He lifted the scissors...

His cell phone rang and he answered it. "Scott?"

"I'm outside, Virgil..." And, with a jolt, Virgil realised that it had been months, if not years, since Scott had called him Virg. "...are you ready to go?"

Virgil stared at the stranger in the mirror again. "I'm ready."

He hung up the phone, dropped the scissors on the cabinet, and walked out on his old life.

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

"Hiya, Penny." Alan smiled at the lady on the other end of the phone line.

Through the videophone's camera Lady Penelope graced him with a smile of her own. "Hello, Alan. How did your father take to the news?"

"I think he was pleased we're going to attempt something. He got a bit of a shock though, when John suggested that he take over the Tracy Industries again. For a moment I thought he was going to refuse."

"But he didn't?"

"No. He said he'll do it because it'll reduce the burden on John, but we know that he couldn't resist the challenge."

Lady Penelope gave a knowing nod. "That's what Jeff needs. Something to stimulate him."

"It's done that. He was already showing signs of being more independent."

"That's good, Alan. I'm glad. I shall pop over on occasion to, er, check up on him."

"Thanks, Penny. We'd all appreciate that. It's going to be hard not being able to visit him ourselves. He's asked Kyrano to move back to Tracy Island to keep an eye on us."

"That is an excellent idea," Lady Penelope approved. "I will admit that I did wonder who was going to look after you all."

"I've got to admit that I did too. And Tin-Tin's going to love having her father around again."

"Yes, she will. Now, Alan, if I am not intruding into private family matters, how did Jeff react to Gordon's news?"

"I think the only thing that stopped him from getting really physically excited is that he can't. He tried to play it cool for Gordon's sake, but I could tell that he was really pleased." Alan hesitated. "It's because of Gordon that I've called you, Penny."

"Is this the call you promised?"

"Yes. I'm in my trailer at the track because I know we won't be disturbed here and we'll be able to talk freely. You've seen how this divorce is affecting Gordon. He's wound so tightly we could use him to launch Thunderbird Three to Thunderbird Five. Scott's scared to approach him."

"If you will forgive my prying; what happened between Scott and Gordon?"

"We're as much in the dark as you are," Alan admitted. "Gordon hasn't told me and I'm pretty sure Scott hasn't discussed it with Virgil. We all decided that since they seem to have patched up their differences we're not going to worry about it. Maybe they'll tell us after the divorce has been finalised… Which brings me to why I've called you. I'd like you to do a little spying for me."

He saw the light of intrigue ignite in her cool blue eyes. "Spying?"

"On Marina. The way Gordon is at the moment he's liable to agree to any demands she makes, just to make the divorce as painless as possible while he worries about Doomsday. Now, I'm not saying that she doesn't deserve anything, Gordon entered the marriage with his eyes wide open and plenty of warnings from the rest of us, but that doesn't mean that she's entitled to any more than her fair share."

"But if that is the case, Alan, what can I do about it?" Lady Penelope enquired.

"John confided in me that Gordon told him on the flight over that he suspected Marina was having an affair. If it's true it could skew the judgement in Gordon's favour."

"And you want me to find evidence of this affair?"

"If you would. I could hire an ordinary private investigator, but I trust you and I know what you can do. There isn't a private eye anywhere who could do a better job."

"I appreciate your confidence in me." Lady Penelope's forehead creased in a light frown as she considered the task ahead. "It may not be the done thing, but in my present employment I have opportunities for investigation that would not be open to others..." She smiled at her friend. "What do your brothers say to me doing a bit of, er, sleuthing?"

"I haven't discussed it with them. I don't want Gordon to know what we're doing and the more of us who know, the bigger the chance that he'll overhear something he shouldn't. Besides everyone's got enough to worry about without wondering what you'll discover."

Lady Penelope nodded. "Then I shall keep it between you and me, Alan."

"Thanks."

"Yesterday, I got the feeling that you were a bit shocked at the idea of restarting International Rescue," Lady Penelope admitted. "How do you feel about it now?"

"Still shocked," Alan grinned. "But the idea's growing on me. As much as I love racing, it was never as fulfilling as International Rescue. And trying to save the world? That's the ultimate!"

"And Thunderbird Three? How is she?"

"I called Brains before I called you. He's finished analysing her diagnostic readings and he thinks she's space ready."

"You will be flying up to Thunderbird Five soon?"

"As soon as we've unstopped her launch bay, which'll hopefully be in a week. John won't be heading back to the island until tomorrow, and he wouldn't be happy if we went up there without him. I think I'll try a test ignition of Three's engines tomorrow, just to confirm that she doesn't blow up on us." Alan laughed.

Lady Penelope could see that, even in the short space of their conversation, a change had come over her friend. He seemed brighter; vibrant; more alive. "I believe that you are looking forward to the flight."

"The more I think about it, the more I am. I feel like..." Alan thought for a moment... "I know this sounds silly to say about a spaceship, and I trust you won't repeat it to anyone, but I feel like we're reconnecting… as if we're falling in love all over again..."

-F-A-B-

"Hello, Tin-Tin," Alan's manager greeted her. "Are you looking for your old man?"

Tin-Tin had finished all her phone calls and had decided to meet her husband at the track. "I suppose so. Have you seen Alan?"

"I think he's in your trailer. I wanted to see him about something, so I'll walk over there with you."

The pair of them fell into step. "What did Mike think about becoming the principal driver?" Tin-Tin asked.

The manager chuckled. "I don't think the kid's come back down to earth yet. He practically did the first couple of laps of the track without the car."

"Do you think he's up to it?"

The manager thought for a moment. "Far be it for me to tell my boss's wife what I think of his decision, but I think Mike will do okay. He's got a few rough edges, but I've seen video of Alan's early races and he was the same. Now that someone's giving Mike some responsibility, I'm sure he'll come on in leaps and bounds."

They arrived at her home away from home and Tin-Tin opened the door. Just in time to hear Alan saying "...I feel like we're reconnecting… as if we're falling in love all over again…" She saw her husband jump when the door opened.

"Oh! Hi, Tin-Tin." Alan was trying to sound casual. "What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to say goodbye to the team before we left," Tin-Tin admitted. Her eyes fell on the attractive lady whose image smiled back at her from the videophone. "Hello, Lady Penelope."

"Hello, Tin-Tin dear. Alan and I have been having such an interesting conversation, but now I must go. I have things to do. I will talk to you later, Alan."

He favoured her with a warm smile. "I'll look forward to it, Penny."

"Goodbye, Tin-Tin."

"Goodbye, Lady Penelope."

"Bye, Penny. Catch you later." Alan switched off the videophone and turned to the manager. "Did you need me for something?"

The manager was almost smirking. "I wanted to talk to you about increasing Mike's rate of pay... If you're free."

"Uh, yeah. I'll be with you in a moment. Are you ready to go, Honey?" Alan asked Tin-Tin. "If you want to you can head back to Dad's and I'll meet you there."

"No. I don't mind waiting..." Tin-Tin paused. "What did Lady Penelope want?"

Alan hesitated. He didn't want to air his family's dirty laundry in front of the manager, and he definitely couldn't mention anything about International Rescue. "She, er, wanted to know what we've got planned for the next few months."

Tin-Tin said nothing. She'd known Alan practically all their lives and she knew when he was lying.

He was lying.

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

John Tracy looked at his watch. "Emma should be here soon."

Gordon grabbed his brother's wrist and stared at the expensive timepiece. "Is that the time?! I'd better get going or else I'll miss the appointment with the lawyer." He dropped John's arm and turned back to their father. "I'll come back and see you before we head off, Dad."

Jeff gave a solemn nod. "_I hope_ _Crawford is able to offer you some good advice."_

"So long as he gets this divorce out of the way quickly and painlessly I'll be happy... See you later, John."

"Bye, Gordon."

But Gordon didn't escape the house immediately. He opened the door to leave just as Emma Janes, her arms laden with books, bags, and files, was trying to push the doorbell. "Hi," he grinned. "You must be John's right-hand-woman." He extended his hand. "I'm Gordon."

"Uh, yes... Hello, Gordon..." Emma, thinking that he was being polite, tried to release her hand so that she could shake his. Several files cascaded to the ground.

Gordon chuckled. "We can leave the formalities till after you've dropped this stuff in a more suitable location." He swooped down on the grounded files, and then flicked a switch that opened an intercom between the front door and his father's office. "Get your butt out here, John. You've got a damsel who needs saving from her tyrant of a boss. He's treating her like a packhorse." He switched the intercom off before either of them heard his brother's irate response.

John came down the hall at a trot. "Sorry about that, Emma. I see you've met the family's tame idiot." He took Gordon's files, and then transferred some more from Emma's arms to his own. "I thought you had an appointment to go to, Gordon."

"I do. Good to finally meet you, Emma." Gordon extended his hand to Emma and this time she was able to shake it properly. "Don't let this guy drive you too hard."

"Goodbye, Gordon," John said.

"And don't worry about our old man. He growls like a dog, but underneath he's a pussycat."

"Goodbye, Gordon," John repeated and heard a sound behind them. "Emma, this is Kyrano: family friend and cook extraordinaire. Kyrano: This is my secretary extraordinaire, Emma."

Kyrano stepped out from behind the trolley he'd been pushing and bowed. "Welcome, Miss Emma." He took her remaining books and placed them on the trolley. Then he added John's pile to the load. "I will take these to the office. Mr Tracy has asked that you relax in the lounge before you meet. Would you care for coffee? Tea?" Emma, glad of some fortification before she faced the upheaval to her working life, accepted the coffee. "If you would care to follow me..." Pushing the trolley ahead of him, Kyrano led the way down to the lounge.

Gordon hadn't left. As he watched the secretary follow Kyrano down the hall, he eyed her up and down before nodding in approval. "Sack her, Johnny."

"Goodbye, Gordon." John pushed him outside and shut the door on him.

He joined Emma in the lounge. "Thank you for taking this on at such short notice. I really appreciate it."

Emma smiled at him. "That's all right. They say that a change is as good as rest, and hopefully all this upheaval will take my mind off Doomsday."

John accepted Kyrano's cup of coffee. "How much do you know about my dad?"

Emma bit her lip as she thought about how much she should reveal. "I probably know as much as anybody else. That he was an astronaut until his wife died..." She blushed as she said this. In keeping with employer/employee conventions they'd never discussed John's history and she didn't know his feelings on his mother's death. "Then he... started his civil engineering company and, as they say, the rest is history."

John nodded. That much could be found in any online encyclopaedia. "You know that he passed the business into my care when he had a stroke eight years ago?"

"Yes." There had been times over the years when Emma had fallen into conversation with long-term employees of the Tracy business and they'd given her a more in-depth insight into the company's founder and his family. They'd all spoken highly of the man who'd formed the company and each, without fail, had expressed regret at his sudden illness and subsequent incapacitation. They liked and admired the son who'd taken up the reins, but no one could replace Jeff Tracy.

John continued. "The main thing to remember is that his mind is as sharp as it ever was. Don't ever think that anyone could pull the wool over his eyes, because he'll soon prove you, and them, wrong. He hasn't played an active role in the business over the past seven years, but I've kept him in the loop and he's offered me advice when I've needed it."

"Okay."

"But..." Here John paused. He didn't like admitting his father's limitations, but if Emma was going to be working closely with Jeff she needed to be aware of what she was going to face. "The stroke knocked him badly. He used to be confident, outgoing, and a force to be reckoned with. He loved a challenge, whether he was exploring a new world, facing a hostile opponent across the board table, or," here John managed a grin, "trying to keep the five of us in line."

Emma sat and listened. This tallied with what she'd been told.

"But the stroke affected his motor skills. He's got limited mobility on his right side and even less on his left. I've had eight years of learning, but to someone who doesn't know him, he's quite hard to understand when he speaks..." John hesitated. "Make that very hard. He knows this and it's made him, um..." He tried to find the right words. "…reluctant to be seen in public."

"But, John, if he finds it so hard to speak, how will I understand him?"

John smiled. "I know one or two things about communications, so I've rigged up a couple of devices to help you both. You'll manage."

Emma sipped her coffee and thought about what he'd told her. She had to admit to a certain amount of trepidation at the thought of meeting Jeff Tracy, and John's admissions had done nothing to alleviate it. "John..." She tried to look at him, but found it easier to concentrate on her coffee. "Do you have to go?"

There was no hesitation in his reply. "Yes."

Emma managed to look up. "Why?"

Suddenly John Tracy, who usually seemed so calm and sure of himself (apart from last year when she'd 'inadvertently' found herself standing beneath the mistletoe at the firm's Christmas party) was uncomfortable. "Er... My brothers and I have made a pact."

"A pact?"

"We've agreed that we're going to spend the last four months together on Tracy Island."

"Doing what?"

"Erm..." Was he blushing? Why would he blush? "Have you finished your coffee? Dad doesn't like to be kept waiting."

Emma wanted to know more. "But won't you and your brothers want your father with you on the island?"

John seemed more sure of himself now. "He's wants to prove that he's still capable of running his business. And if he fails, and the world ends, it won't matter."

Emma felt herself bristle. "Is he forcing you out of the company?"

She was surprised when John laughed. "No. Definitely not. I had a hard time talking him into it." He took her cup from her, put it on the table, grasped her gently by the elbow and stood, taking her with him. "Time you met the owner of the company you've worked for for the last six years."

Emma hung back. "Are you sure we'll be able to work together?"

"You'll be fine. He knows his limitations and he knows how to work within them." John still had hold of her elbow and he rotated her about so that they were face-to-face. Then he took hold of her other arm so that she couldn't turn away. It was the closest to an intimate touch that they'd experienced, (apart from last Christmas) and Emma wondered what he had in mind.

"I trust you, Emma," John admitted. "I wouldn't ask you to do this if I didn't believe that you and Dad could work together... Or if I thought you'd hurt him in any way."

Horrified at the idea, Emma stared at him. "I wouldn't!"

"I know. That's why I'm comfortable leaving him in your hands." John sighed, and for a moment the strong, independent man was replaced by a lost little boy. "He's my hero. I think he would be my hero even if he weren't my father."

Emma blinked in surprise. This comment seemed totally unrelated to their conversation. But as she looked into John's eyes she could see the love and respect that he held for Jeff Tracy.

"Look after him, Emma."

Charged with this request, Emma could do nothing but nod. "I will."

John smiled. "Thanks." He gestured towards the door with his head. "Come on."

Despite all that she'd just been told, Emma's mental image of Jeff Tracy was that of a robust, handsome man. There were a number of his portraits scattered throughout the headquarters of Tracy Industries and its various branches, and it was almost as if that picture was seared into her brain. She had once suggested that at least some of those portraits should be replaced with photos of John, but he'd negated the suggestion; reminding her that it was still his father's business, and that with Jeff's picture on the wall, he felt that he was forever being watched to stop him from doing anything stupid.

So it was with this image of a man fit and full of vitality firmly fixed in her mind that Emma stepped into Jeff Tracy's office.

"Emma," John hadn't let go of her elbow and he guided her forward, "I would like to you meet my father. Dad; this is Emma."

Jeff struggled to his feet and extended his stronger right hand. "'m blizd d' mid y', 'ma."

Emma felt her smile freeze on her face. This wasn't wasn't the man who'd helped colonise the Moon, almost single-handedly raised five sons, and created one of the most successful businesses on the planet. This was was a grey-haired old man, barely unable to stand unaided, with one hand flopping by his side and the other, looking as fragile as a butterfly's wing, outstretched towards her. She steeled herself and accepted his hand. "Good afternoon, Mr Tracy. It's nice to finally meet you." She was surprised to discover an unexpected warmth and strength in his grip.

"Zi' dow'."

"Here," John brought up a chair and indicated that Emma should sit in it.

Her smile now warm and genuine, Emma thanked him as she sat down.

Trying not to show how relieved he was to get off his feet, Jeff did the same. "W'r d' y' wa' d' zdr, Go?"

"I suppose we'd better start by introducing Emma to the communication interface."

Jeff looked surprised that he'd forgotten the device. Around his right index finger like a ring was an object which jutted out past his knuckle. Curling his fingers into a fist and using the flattened end, he typed into a keyboard. An electronic voice announced: **""I type and this talks.""** He screwed up his face. _"Couldn't you have come up with something that sounded less like a machine?"_

"I tried, remember? You said it made you sound like that television star you couldn't stand."

"_Better than sounding like a robot."_

"I haven't had time to work on improvements; your business has kept me too busy. Once we're through the next four months I'll see what I can do about improving the system. Maybe I'll get some old recordings of you and synthesise your voice."

"_That would be an improvement."_

"But I'll only be able to do it if you two make a success of this and free me up to have the time to work on it."

"_Then Emma and I'll have to make this a success."_

Emma looked between the two men, only partially understanding one side of the conversation. John noticed her bemused expression. "Start typing, Dad. We can't leave Emma out in the cold, it's not very gentlemanly."

"Zwe, 'ma." Jeff typed. **""Sorry, Emma,""** the machine enunciated.

John picked up the first file. "Now... This is the Murchison contract..."

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

The flight back to Tracy Island was quiet. Both Scott and Virgil were so wrapped up in their individual thoughts that neither of them realised that the other was equally subdued.

It wasn't until they'd touched down on the Pacific Island and Scott had taxied the aeroplane into the hangar that Virgil spoke. "I'm sorry I wasn't there for you when you split up with Farrah."

"Huh?" Scott seemed surprised by the admission. "Oh... Don't worry about it. I knew you were busy so I didn't want to worry you. Come on, we'd better unload all this stuff." He disappeared into the back of the aeroplane.

Any opportunity for further discussion on the subject vanished as Alan and Gordon joined them to help unload the selection of raw materials that Virgil had ordered earlier that day. Finally the aeroplane was empty and bags of fastenings weighed down a workbench.

Virgil picked a couple up. "I'll make a start putting these into some sort of order so we won't waste any time tomorrow. Let me know when it's dinner time."

"It won't be long," Alan told him cheerfully. "Tin-Tin's cooking."

Virgil had only been at his task for ten minutes when he received a call over the intercom. "Dinner's ready, Virgil," Scott told him.

"I've nearly finished sorting these out," Virgil replied. "I'll be up when I've finished."

"Okay."

Virgil continued sorting, methodically pouring each bag into a container and labelling it.

Scott hailed him again. "Your dinner's getting cold."

"I won't be long. I'm nearly finished."

"Don't be too long."

Virgil finished his self appointed task and headed out of the storeroom, intending to head up to the villa.

Thunderbird Two, still nestled on the back of the four elevator cars, seemed to reproach him for not doing more to help her. Her three-part tubular legs lay forlornly where they'd fallen onto the hangar floor and he decided that it wouldn't hurt to discover which sections were reusable and which would need replacing. Grabbing a laser level Virgil approached the first leg...

"Virgil..." it was Tin-Tin on the other end of his wristwatch telecom. "We've finished the main course and we're starting on dessert. Are you coming up?"

"Oh, yeah." Virgil had forgotten about his evening meal. "I'll be right up."

"I'll put your dinner in to heat up again."

"Thanks, Honey." Virgil picked up a marker pen and inspected it. He was surprised to discover that it was still usable after all this time. He marked the topmost section of the leg with a large cross. Then he lined up the middle section with the laser. This one looked okay, so he inscribed it with a tick. He only had the narrowest section to go in this leg, so he started inspecting it as he had the other two. It wasn't bad, although there was a slight defect where the foot had twisted millimetres off the level. He sat back on his heels and regarded the section, before marking it with a question mark. It would be better if it was replaced, but in the meantime it would be a low priority...

He got to his feet and moved towards leg number two.

"Virgil!"

Virgil started when he heard his name. He turned to face Tin-Tin. "Why are you down here?"

"We've all finished." Tin-Tin held out a plate filled with slightly overcooked food. "So I've brought down your dinner."

"I'm not hungry."

"You are going to eat!" she told him. "You've got a lot ahead of you and you've got to keep your strength up." She forced the plate into his left hand and, keeping a firm grip on his arm, dragged him back so he could lean up against a workbench. "Now eat!"

"I can't eat if you've got hold of my arm!" Virgil protested.

"Even if you weren't ambidextrous you'd be able to use your other hand to hold your fork," she retorted. "And I'm not letting go until you've eaten everything on that plate!"

Virgil gave in and started eating.

After she was sure that he'd had a couple of mouthfuls, Tin-Tin adjusted her grip so that she still had hold of his left arm, but that it was more of an embrace. It was a gesture such as a sister might make towards her brother, and neither of them thought of it any other way. "You seem sad, Virgil... What's wrong?"

He speared at a vegetable. "Nothin'."

"Are you disappointed that you're going to miss seeing your exhibition?"

"No," he admitted. "I'm fed up with that life."

Tin-Tin watched him as he ate some more. "Are you upset over Thunderbird Two?"

He didn't stop eating. "We can fix her."

"Is it because you've split up with Kasey?"

Virgil shook his head and consumed a piece of chicken.

Tin-Tin had lived with the Tracy family long enough to know when something was amiss, and she had a fair idea what was troubling him. She sighed and laid her head on his shoulder as she watched the fork travel up and down. "Is it because of Scott?"

Virgil pulled himself free and put the plate on the workbench. "I'd better get back to work."

Tin-Tin watched as he headed back over to leg two...

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

Emma was trying. Honestly she was, but even though Jeff was typing out much of what he said, or else John was interpreting for her, she was still feeling lost. She had to escape and she wanted to explain to John why without hurting Jeff's feelings. "Um... John..."

He smiled at her. "Yes?"

"Where is the..."

"Oh!" He looked horrified when he realised that he'd neglected to point out one of the most basic amenities. "Sorry. Down the corridor and on your right."

"Uh..." She tugged at his sleeve. "This is a big house. Couldn't you show me?"

"Sure thing. Back soon, Dad."

"'gi."

Emma escaped into the hallway. "John, I'm sorry, but I can't do this!"

"Sure you can. You know all the contracts..."

"It's not that. It's your father. I'm sure he's a lovely man, but I haven't understood a word he's said all afternoon!"

John frowned. "Not even with the artificial voice?"

"It helps, but his typing is so slow. Something that you and I could cover in ten minutes is taking an hour! Do you have to leave tomorrow evening? Can't you stay for a bit longer? At least until I can understand some of what he's saying?"

John felt a pang of guilt. "I'm sorry, Emma, but I've got to leave tomorrow. We've got a lot to do."

"On a tropical island? What are you going to be doing? Counting coconuts?!" Emma realised that she was beginning to sound slightly hysterical and she checked herself. "I'm sorry. Forget I just said that."

"That's okay..." John took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, but I can't change my plans... Will you at least try to work with him for a week? If you still think it's going to be totally hopeless then I'll try and think of something else."

Emma nodded. It was a compromise. "I'll try for a week. I am sorry, John. I want to help."

"I know... Shall we go back in?"

"I will in a moment. Where did you say the...?"

John pointed. "Through that door there."

"Thanks."

John returned to the office, a frown on his face.

"_What's wrong?"_

John sighed. His father could be too perceptive sometimes. "She's concerned that she can't understand you."

Jeff looked grim. _"I wish there was something I could do about that."_

"She'd be fine if she had the time to work with you without any pressure, but we haven't got that time. I've managed to convince her to hang in there for a week."

Jeff regarded his second eldest son. He'd seen the way he'd interacted with the young woman. _"You like her, don't you?"_

"Yes. She's like my right hand."

"_I don't mean professionally. I mean are you two in a relationship?"_

"NO!" John exclaimed. "No way! That would be totally unprofessional."

"_But you're attracted to her?"_

"Well..." John gave a sheepish grin. He couldn't keep anything from his dad. "Yeah, I am. But I've made a point of not letting her know that. I can't. Not while I'm her boss."

"_You're a good man, John. Sometimes too good for your own good."_

"And if I had started a relationship with her, you would be telling me off for behaving unprofessionally."

"_Quite probably..."_ The door opened and Emma entered the room. "'lo, 'ma."

Emma gave him an uncertain smile. She'd used it a lot in the course of the afternoon. "Sorry about that."

"We're all only human," John reminded her. "And that includes me. Back in a minute."

Emma and Jeff were left alone. Jeff smiled his lopsided smile at the young woman. **""Sorry this is so hard on you**_,""_ he said as he typed.

Emma listened to the electronic words and tried to relate them to the sounds he'd just made. "Mr Tracy, please forgive me if this is impertinent, but can we try something else? What if I were to sit next to you so I can watch you type and listen to you speak at the same time? That way I'll hopefully learn to relate what you're saying to the words I'm hearing."

Jeff nodded. He liked people to be straightforward and John's secretary certainly qualified. He nodded and Emma pulled her chair around so that she was sitting next to him.

Jeff curled up his fingers. "Mi n'm s Gf," he said as he typed **""My name is Jeff.""**

Despite all her concerns, Emma suddenly felt a burst of affection towards him. Here was this man who'd been to the moon and done all sorts of other breathtaking things, trying to teach her how to understand what he was saying. Overcome with a sense of empathy, she placed her hand on his arm and smiled at him.

Jeff smiled in return. _"I can see why John's so attracted to you."_

Emma smiled that uncertain smile.

"Hello, hello..." They looked towards the door. "I'm only gone two minutes," John teased, "and you've already got my secretary on your knee."

**""We're trying another way of communication,""** Jeff told him as he typed.

"Good. Anything that works..." John winked at Emma. "Within reason... Now where were we?"

**""Charitable causes expenditure.""**

"Okay," John began. "You know that my first year in charge I had to cut Tracy Industries charitable spending back to ten percent of what your expenditure had been." He seemed apologetic. "I hated doing it because it hurt a lot of worthy causes, but I had to ensure that the company survived. But, as you know, each year that the company's gotten stronger, I've increased that spending accordingly. It's almost back to the level it was eight years ago."

**""Good.""**

"The problem is that I'm concerned that when I take my leave of absence Tracy Industries income will drop back to the level it was seven years ago."

Jeff nodded. **""I'll keep that in mind. You've done well these last eight years, John. I don't want to upset the applecart. Are there any priorities you'd recommend?""**

Emma looked between the two Tracys as they became absorbed in their discussion. They were as serious about donations and sponsorship as they had been for all the other aspects of the business. Clearly giving away their hard earned money was as important to them as earning it had been, and her heart went out to both men... One who was trying to battle his frail body so he could recapture the world he'd once controlled. And the other...

Emma knew that she was going to miss John Tracy.

_To be continued..._


	6. Chapter 6 - Beginning Again

**Chapter Six: Beginning Again**

It was the day after John had returned home to Tracy Island. Actually "day" was a bit of a misnomer as the first beams of the sun had barely had time to caress the waters of the Pacific Ocean before the silence was broken.

"You're dedicated." Gordon sat on the edge of the pool. "What's with you guys? You're already swimming. Virgil's already doing weights in the gym. You're going to take all the fun out of being a slave driver."

John stopped swimming and clung to the side of the pool. "I've got - a long way - to go - to get fit," he gasped, "and not much…" He gulped; trying to get more air into his oxygen-deprived lungs, "…time to do it in."

Brains had given them all complete physicals over the last few days and had discovered few surprises. Gordon was the only one of the Tracy brothers who'd managed to maintain the level of fitness that he'd enjoyed when he'd last worked for International Rescue. Scott and Alan had both kept fit for the benefit of their respective jobs, but were below their peak. Virgil, as he'd said, had lost a lot of his upper body strength, hence his early morning workout.

But it was John who'd got the biggest fright. Tracy Industries, as part of the contract with all employees, ensured that every person who worked for the organisation was given a yearly check-up by a doctor. Everyone except for the firm's boss; who, as much by good management as by luck, had succeeded the last few years in being out of town each time it had been his turn. Even Emma hadn't persuaded him to take better care of himself. It had taken the possible end of the world to do that, and John had been shocked to see how much he'd deteriorated.

Gordon looked at his brother's heaving shoulders. "How many laps have you done?"

John shrugged. "I don't know. I've lost count. Five? Six?"

Gordon sat on the edge of the pool and patted the tiles beside him. "Come up here for a minute."

With a few grunts and groans as he levered his weight out of the pool, John obeyed. "Okay, I'm here. What do you want to talk about?"

"I want you to take it easy. I don't want you rushing things."

John frowned. "Why? You told me that I needed to start working out as soon as possible."

"Yes, I did. And I gave you a set routine to follow. How many laps did I ask you to do?"

"Four... But Gordon...!"

"But nothing! I've seen your blood test results and you're well on the way to doing something catastrophic!"

John studied his hands. "I know."

"I'm not easing you into this because I'm being soft on you, John. I'm doing this because I got a hang of a fright when Dad had his stroke and I don't want to see that happen to you!"

John looked up. Gordon was sounding anxious, and John realised that his poor condition had repercussions beyond his own body. "I'm sorry I didn't listen to you."

Gordon took a deep breath to get his anxiety under control. "So you're not as fit as the rest of us. So what? You're still going to be a lot more use to International Rescue upright, instead of confined to bed or worse."

"I hope so."

"I know so! Besides, we've got three months before you head off to Thunderbird Five. That's plenty of time to get you into a condition where you won't give the rest of us heart failure if you attempt to run more than two steps."

John nodded. "It's just frustrating that I can't pull my weight."

"So we'll get rid of that excess weight you're carrying and then you'll find it easier to pull..." Gordon managed one of his famous impish grins. "You can practise on Emma."

John chuckled, relieved that his brother was joking again. Then he remembered his promise to Scott from four days ago. "How about you, Gordon? Have you heard any more about the divorce?"

He'd half expected his younger brother to jump down his throat, but instead Gordon shook his head. "Apparently the courts are strained to breaking point. Tons of people have decided that if the world's going to end, they want to die free from marital ties."

"You'd think that since 'the world's going to end' that they'd work out a way to fast-track the system."

"I would have thought so too. But apparently a lot of the courts' staff have decided that they've better things to do in their final days than listen to other people's woes, so they've quit. The judicial systems are mired in serious crimes, and petty things like divorce are on the backburner. My lawyer's saying that any new divorce requests aren't going to be finalised until well into the new year. So I'm just going to stand back, let things proceed at their own pace, and try to keep well clear of Marina."

"I admire the way you're keeping so calm over all this."

"I'm not really," Gordon admitted, rotating his shoulders. "I find it hard to sleep for thinking about it." He slipped into the water before his brother could comment. "Think about what I said, John."

John snapped off a salute. "Yes, Sir!"

Gordon chuckled. "You'd get drummed out of WASP for a salute like that."

"I'd be out of WASP a long time before we got to that stage." John smiled down at his brother. "Don't worry. From now on I'll follow your orders to the letter."

"Good." Gordon set off on the first of many laps of the pool...

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

_Thursday 13__th__ July 2079_

Physicals out of the way, final inspections of the equipment completed, and maintenance plans formed, everyone settled into a routine of exercise and equipment rehabilitation.

Day four rolled around and, deep in the heart of Thunderbird Three, Scott checked his watch. In the States it was still the 12th, and taking into account their respective time differences, Stewie should have finished sitting his private pilot's certificate by now. Scott had sent his Little Brother emails over the past week, but had had no response. Clearly Stewie had taken his wish to disassociate the pair of them to heart and Scott hoped that the bombshell that he'd dropped less than a week ago hadn't caused his young friend to abandon his aeronautical plans.

He looked at his watch again. He'd been working for hours and a break wouldn't hurt. He could take the time to make a phone call...

But he could only hope that Stewie would take the time to talk to him.

He jogged up to the house and poured himself a cup of coffee from the coffee machine. It wasn't as good as one of Kyrano's freshly made specials, but it did when you didn't have much time to savour a steaming hot brew. Taking a sip, he hurried down the hall to his room where he would be assured of some privacy. He didn't want the humiliation of being told to get lost by a 17-year-old made public.

As he approached the sleeping quarters he was surprised to hear a videophone ringing. He was even more intrigued to discover that it was the phone in his room. Intrigue turned to outright astonishment when he realised that the caller was Stewie.

Scott hesitated a moment before answering. How should he handle this? Bright and cheerful? Or cautious and enquiring? He made his choice: "Happy birthday, Stuart."

Stewie didn't look like a 17-year-old who'd passed a much anticipated test. He didn't even look like someone who was enjoying that one day of the year that was special to him and him alone. Instead he looked subdued and self-conscious. "Hi, Scott."

"Er..." Scott didn't want to broach what had the potential to be a delicate subject. "How's your day been?"

"Good."

"How's your grandma?"

"She's fine."

"Spent some time with your friends today?"

"No."

"No? Are you going to have a party later?" No reason why Stewie couldn't still have a birthday party, even if it wasn't going to be a celebration at the same time.

Stewie nodded. "You haven't asked me if I got my certificate."

"Well... After the last time we met, I wasn't sure if you were still going to sit it."

A slow smile blossomed on Stewie's face. "I passed."

"You did what!" Scott felt as if the weight that had been on his shoulders had been replaced by a helium balloon. "Yes!" He punched the air. "I knew you could do it!"

"Yeah, well, I did it with your help," Stewie admitted.

"You did all the hard work," Scott corrected. "I merely guided you in the right direction. Oh, man! This is great! I haven't been this happy since... since... Since you flew solo!" He flopped back in his seat; a huge beaming smile on his face. "This is great, Stewie," he repeated.

Stewie turned as if he'd heard a sound. "Gran's calling, so I'd better go. We're going out to celebrate and I thought I'd better let you know I passed before we left."

"Where are you having your party?"

"We're not. Gran and I are going out to dinner. I'm saving the party until after Doomsday when you'll be able to join us. You helped me, Scott. If it wasn't for you we wouldn't be celebrating and I want you to be here to enjoy the celebration with me."

Scott, much to his surprise, felt a lump form in his throat at the young man's statement. "You can count on it... And, Doomsday or no Doomsday, I won't miss it this time. I'll make sure of that!"

Stewie turned again. "She's still yelling," he said wryly, "so I'd better go. Keep in touch, Big Bro."

"Yeah. You too, Little Bro."

Stewie reached out as if he was going to disconnect the phone connection, but he stopped before his finger hit the button. "I'm sorry about the way I behaved the other day."

"And I'm sorry I had to break my promise. I really wish I'd been there today," Scott admitted. "But thanks for calling. The mark of a real man is one who is brave enough to admit his mistakes..." he screwed up his face, "and big enough to forgive another's. I don't think that you need me as a Big Brother anymore..." He looked at the teenager hopefully. "But maybe I could stay on as your friend?"

"You betcha!" Stewie grinned.

"Stuart!" An exasperated grandmother opened the door and looked into the teenager's room. "Are you coming or not?! Oh! Hello, Scott!"

"Hi, Mrs K."

"I'm coming, Gran. I just called Scott to tell him the good news."

His grandmother looked relieved. "I'm sorry I have to rush him, Scott, but we've got an appointment."

"So I hear... Go on, Stewie..." Scott's big grin got even bigger. "It's never a good idea to keep a lady waiting."

"Guess I'd better." Stewie reached out for the disconnect button again. "Oh, yeah. Will you say thanks to Virgil for me?"

"Virgil? Yes, course I will."

"Thanks. Bye." And _call ended_ appeared on the videophone's screen.

Scott didn't immediately vacate his seat. He took a moment to reflect on what he'd just been told. His pride in the young man was welling up inside him to the point that it was overflowing; and he had to wipe his eyes on his sleeve to clear his vision.

Then he got to his feet. He had work to do.

On the way back to the kitchen to get rid of his coffee cup he bumped into Virgil. "Guess what!"

"What?" Virgil asked, wondering why his brother looked like the proverbial cat that had got the cream.

"Stewie passed his certificate!" Still overcome with happiness, pride, and various other emotions, Scott wrapped Virgil up in a brief but warm bear hug, spilling coffee on the carpet. "And he rang _me_ to tell me!"

"That's great!"

"Yeah, isn't it! I'm going to tell the others."

Scott had nearly reached the door to get rid of his cup when he remembered something else. "Oh, yeah, Virgil!"

Virgil turned back. "Yes?"

"I nearly forgot. Stewie said to tell you thanks." And Scott was gone.

Virgil smiled as the door closed behind his exuberant big brother. "You're welcome."

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

That evening John sat at his computer. He had no qualms about leaving Tracy Industries in his father's capable hands, but he'd been in charge for long enough that he felt a kind of parental responsibility towards it. He checked all the various economic indicators that measured the company's health, and was pleasantly surprised to find that it was doing well.

Then he switched over to another programme. It was a news feed that he'd programmed to search out the names of his brothers. Sometimes it had seemed that this was the only way he'd been able to keep up with what they were doing.

Scott, Gordon, Alan and himself were all mentioned in a minor article about the way that Jeff Tracy's sons had taken themselves back to their father's island to relive the life of debauchery they'd enjoyed seven years earlier. John chuckled, he could imagine several ways of describing their current lifestyles, but debauched wasn't one of them.

There was a further note in one of the more salacious tabloids about how the former Olympic gold medallist had walked out on his wife and demanded a divorce.

Jeff Tracy's middle son, as far as the mass media was concerned, had disappeared off the face of the Earth.

Then John found an article that did mention Virgil; or at least Virgil's alter ego. As he read it, John lost much of his good humour.

He fingered his old International Rescue watch. "Scott… Could you come to my room for a moment?"

It took five minutes for the eldest Tracy to make an appearance. "What do you want, John?"

"Read this." John pushed himself away from the computer screen.

Scott took the seat. As he read a frown formed on his face, the creases growing deeper the further he dove into the article. "This can't be him. Can it?"

"This guy clearly thought it was."

"But none of this makes sense."

"That's why I called you. When could it have happened?"

"I don't know. He was going there after we parted company and I didn't notice anything strange about his behaviour before or afterw…" Scott saw a figure pass down in the hallway. "Virgil!"

Virgil peered through the door. "Yes?"

Scott beckoned. "Come here a minute."

Virgil did as he was told. "What's up?"

"John found this article in the news," Scott told him. "We were wondering if any of it was true."

Virgil claimed the seat and read the text, providing a commentary about various passages for the sake of his brothers. "_Artist destroys own exhibition_…_Prominent manager in the art world_… Ha! If it weren't for me he wouldn't be known outside his own street… _'Gustav had called me and said he was heading out of town for a while.'_ Well, that's true…_ 'I was hard at work and looked up…'_ Hard at work! He was reading a magazine that if Grandma had caught any of us reading we wouldn't have been able to sit down for a week..! _'I got a huge surprise to realise that he was standing there…'_ I'll bet he did… _'He looked half-crazed…'_ I must have been to have him as a manager. _'Then he raced through the gallery and tore down his paintings. He's destroyed priceless artworks…'_ What a load of…"

"So you didn't tear them down?" Scott asked.

"Yes, I did."

"You did!?"

"There're all back at my apartment. But there's no way they'd qualify as 'priceless artworks'. I'm hardly Van Gogh or Picasso." Seemingly oblivious to the consternation he was causing in his two elder brothers, Virgil turned back to the screen. "_'I'm going to be thousands of dollars out of pocket…'_ That liar! The amount that I paid to get out of the contract should keep him swimming in that greasy hair cream of his until well into next century!"

"Virgil," Scott interrupted. "Why did you destroy your paintings?"

Virgil became defensive. "I didn't _destroy them._ I just removed them from the gallery with less care than usual. Why shouldn't I? They are mine!"

"But why?"

"Because I'm sick of the sight of them!"

"Virgil…" Scott repeated shaking his head in disbelief, "assuming we're successful, by the time we've finished here your exhibition would be over."

"And then someone would take them down and store them away any old how," Virgil told him. Seemingly unaware of the irony of his statement he turned back to the screen and continued reading.

Totally bemused, Scott looked at John…

...Who decided that it was time he joined in the discussion. "But, Virgil, excuse me if I seem stupid, but I still don't understand why you've canned your exhibition. You've been painting those pictures for months, if not years. Plus you've been looking forward to that exhibition for ages. Every time I've spoken to you that's practically all you've talked about!"

Virgil glared at him. "Things change and people change, all right! They were important to me then, but I've got more important things to worry about now. Besides; what does it matter what I do with them? If the world ends they won't mean anything anyway. They're certainly no great loss to humanity. Now, will you both be quiet and let me finish reading?"

Just as bemused as Scott, John sagged against his dresser and watched as his younger brother finished reading the article.

"_Gustav's manager finished this interview with a final comment. 'I've seen it all before and I could see it coming this time. A promising artist falls in with the wrong crowd and loses his talent, his mind, and his life to drugs…_" Virgil stared at the screen and reread the passage."Drugs? He thought I was on drugs? How could he think that!? Where's he been?"

"You said he wasn't the brightest star in the sky," John offered.

His words did nothing to calm an incensed Virgil. "But he had the nerve to say that I was on drugs!? How dare he?! I'll sue him for libel! I'll make him sorry he ever suggested that." Furious, he leapt to his feet. "I'll take back every penny I gave him and more!"

The way he was getting wound up had John worried that the furnishings in his room were in imminent danger. "Virg, calm down! He doesn't know what he's talking about."

"I say he doesn't," Virgil snarled. "He says he knows me, but he doesn't know me at all! He doesn't know the real me!" He spun around and found two brothers staring at him. "Don't look at me like that!" He stormed out of the room.

Scott and John glanced at each other, then John let out a pent up breath. "That was… erm… interesting…" He frowned. "He really took offence to that drugs bit, didn't he?"

Scott decided that John deserved an explanation. "That's why he and Kasey broke up. Narcotics were more important to her than Virgil was."

"Poor Virgil…" John looked reflectively after his departed brother. "It's odd that his manager thought that he was on something."

"Yes," Scott agreed. "It was."

"There's no way there could be anything in it could there..." John caught himself. "No. Forget I said that. Virgil wouldn't."

"But he's been living in a totally different world to what we know," Scott reminded him.

"Yeah, but he's still got his feet on the ground."

"Who knows what influences he's been exposed to? There's Kasey for a start."

"Scott, I still think the idea's unthinkable."

"But you thought it."

"And I wish I hadn't. Forget I said anything. I'm tired and I'm not thinking straight." John yawned and stretched. "I'm going to bed. Shut the door on your way out, would you?"

But when Scott had left John worried that maybe he'd planted a seed that should never have been watered...

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

"We've been working on Thunderbird Three for six days straight and she's ready for liftoff," Alan noted. "When are we heading up to Thunderbird Five?"

Scott checked a tablet PC. "Let's see... You and I gave blood on Monday. John did it this morning..."

"He managed to get his iron levels up then?" Gordon asked as he reached for the bread for his sandwich.

"High enough that Brains felt safe in draining a pint out of him," Scott remarked. "We'll give him a full day to recover and then I think we'll be able to leave on Sunday."

"Where is he anyway?" Virgil cut through his sandwich. "He's missing lunch." He picked up his plate and mug and went to stand.

"You're a fine one to talk about missing lunch," Tin-Tin scolded. "Thunderbird Two's seen more of you than we have. Now sit down and eat!" She grabbed Virgil by the shoulder and pushed him back into his seat. "You'll only give yourself indigestion!"

Virgil looked at her in surprise. "Yes, Ma'am!"

Tin-Tin reached across the table and pulled the tablet out of Scott's hands. "And you can leave that alone for five minutes!"

"Tin-Tin!" Scott protested.

"Your grandmother wouldn't let you read at the table and neither will I!" Tin-Tin put the tablet under her chair out of reach. "And where is Brains? I told him lunch was ready."

"It probably went in one ear and out the other," Alan suggested. "You'd better make him something and take it to him when you head back."

"What am I? Brains' slave?!"

"No, of course not!" Alan held his hands up in surrender. "It's just that you're the only one heading in his direction after lunch."

"And you're the only one he'll listen to," Gordon added. There was a sound by the door. "Ah, here's one of those MIA."

"John?" Scott took in his brother's paler than usual complexion. "Are you feeling all right?"

John looked terrible as he leant on the back of Tin-Tin's chair. "I don't want to worry anyone," he began. "But…" His hand went to his chest and he swallowed. "I'm not feeling too gooo..." What little colour that was left in his face drained away and, without even hearing Scott's command of "catch him!" he hit the ground faster than a marionette whose strings had been cut.

"Get him into the recovery position," Scott ordered. "Virgil! Go get Brains and bring back a stretcher."

"Right!" Virgil took off at a run.

Gordon gently rolled his brother over so he was on his side and his airway was clear. "John… Johnny… Come on, man, wake up… Please!"

Alan crouched down. "Let him get some air, Gordon. He'll be all right..." He realised that John was already showing signs of coming around. "See. I told you."

But Gordon was back down next to his brother. "Take it easy, Johnny," he begged. "Don't move. We'll look after you."

John groaned.

"That's it, John. Wake up..."

"Get out of the way, Gordon," Scott demanded. "Here's Brains."

"Come on..." Tin-Tin eased a worried Gordon away. "Let Brains look after him."

"But this is my fault..."

Brains crouched next to the downed Tracy brother. "C-Can you hear me, John?"

"Yeah..." John tried to open his eyes and then shut them tightly. "Think 'm goin' be sick."

Alan found him a suitable receptacle.

"Are you feeling any pain?" Brains asked.

"No... Jus' dizzy."

"Th-That's good."

John tried to open his eyes again. "Good?" he gulped as he clamped them shut again.

"Relax. We'll take you to the, er, infirmary," Brains told him and looked to Scott.

Who took the hint that he was expected to take control of the situation. "Put the stretcher against his back, Virgil. Do you think you'll be okay lying on your back, John?"

John, his eyes still glued shut, nodded, and breathed deeply as they rolled him onto the stretcher.

Scott took hold of the handles by the patient's head and indicated that Virgil should take those at their brother's feet. "Just relax, John; Virgil and I have got you, and if you think you are going to be sick, Alan's got a bowl. Okay?"

John put his arm over his eyes to block out the light that was forcing its way through his eyelids. "Yeah..."

It didn't take much effort to carry him through the house and into one of the infirmary's beds, after which the Tracys were shooed back out into the hall.

Gordon, wringing his hands together, started pacing up and down in front of the door. "This is my fault."

"It's not your fault, Gordon," Virgil told him.

"I worked him too hard. I pushed him further than I should have." Gordon got to the end of the hall, turned, and started trekking back. "This is my fault."

"I thought you were going too easy on him," Scott noted. "I don't think it's your fault, Gordon."

"But if I hadn't pushed him..."

"You didn't push him," Alan interrupted. "John pushed himself because he didn't want to hold us back. This isn't your fault, Gordon."

"I saw his test results. He wasn't in good shape." Gordon began the return trip. "I shouldn't have worked him so hard..."

Scott intercepted his distressed brother's pacing. He placed both hands on Gordon's shoulders and looked him in the eye. "This - is - not - your - fault!" he enunciated. "Now relax. John only fainted. He gave blood this morning and it was too much too soon."

Gordon looked hopeful. "Do you think so?"

"I'm sure that's all it is. Brains will give him something to make him feel better and before you know it he'll be up and pushing himself too hard again. Now relax! You're making us more nervous than John's collapse did!"

"I am?"

"Yes," Virgil confirmed. "You are."

"Sorry." Gordon managed a weak smile. "I'm sure you're right, Scott."

"You know darn well I am! Now, are you going to stop beating yourself up over this?"

Gordon nodded. "Okay."

"Good." Scott released his grip and stepped back.

Gordon managed to stand still for a couple of minutes before he started pacing again. But since he'd stopped berating himself, no one passed comment.

At last the door to the infirmary opened and Brains stepped out. "He's fine," he said. "Just a mild case of iron deficiency coupled with low blood press..." He was shoved out of the way before he had the chance to finish his sentence.

Gordon raced over to his brother's bedside. "Are you all right, John?"

Still looking pale, but otherwise bright and alert, John was propped up in the bed. "This is embarrassing," he grumbled. "We've all got work to do and here I am swooning like the heroine in a romantic novel. Why can't I get up?"

"Because Brains says you need the rest," Virgil reminded him.

"I'm all right."

"Sure you are," Alan scoffed.

"Tin-Tin," John begged. "Tell Brains I'm okay."

She folded her arms and glared at him. "I most certainly will not!"

John decided to have one more attempt at appealing to his doctor. "Can't I get up, Brains?"

But Brains wasn't given the chance repeat his prescription. "No you can't," Scott snapped. "Now lie back and relax like you've been told to do."

"But I'm wasting time lying here!"

"And you make us waste time arguing with you," Scott countered. "You're not getting out of that bed until Brains gives you the all clear!"

"I'm sorry, John," Gordon apologised.

John ignored him. "If you're all going to tie me to this bed, then get me something constructive to do!"

"Like what?" Alan asked.

"Get the communications modules out of the Thunderbirds and I'll check them over."

Scott rolled his eyes in exasperation, but he had to concede that it wasn't a stupid idea. "Any issues with that, Brains?"

"I c-can't see any problems," Brains admitted. "As l-long as you sleep when you get tired," he warned his patient.

"Deal! Now stop wasting time, you guys; and go and get them for me!"

"Come on, Fellas," Alan sighed. "The sooner he gets his toys the sooner we'll all be able to get back to work."

"Bring me electronics toolkit number 12, Virgil," John ordered.

"Right."

Gordon placed his hand on his brother's arm to get his attention. "I'm sorry, John."

"Sorry?" John frowned at him in confusion. "What for?"

"I pushed you too hard, too soon."

"Huh? No, you didn't."

"Are you sure?"

"I fainted because my body is a traitor to the cause," John explained. "It didn't like having a pint of blood drained out of it this morning. I didn't flake out because of you."

"We tried to tell him," Virgil explained. "But he wouldn't listen."

"This wasn't your fault, Gordon." John gave his brother a reassuring pat on the hand. "And I'm fine. Don't worry about me. When I'm finally released from this prison I'm going right back on that schedule you set me."

_To be continued..._


	7. Chapter 7 - The Grind

**Chapter Seven: The Grind**

"T minus ten and counting."

"Affirmative, Tin-Tin," Alan confirmed. "All systems are go for launch in ten minutes."

Even though he'd just done it, Alan ran his eyes over Thunderbird Three's control panel to check all was well. It was an instinctive gesture, born out of many years of flying the spaceship to Thunderbird Five. This time however the launch wasn't a hurried affair. It was the first time that Thunderbird Three was going to leave Earth's gravity in seven years and no one was prepared to rush it.

"She's looking good." Alan grinned at his wife's image on the monitor connected to launch control in the lounge. "Nearly as good as you, Honey."

"Sweet talker," Tin-Tin chided with affection. "Just remember that you're married to me, not Thunderbird Three."

Assured that no one else was listening, Alan leered at her. "Say... Tin-Tin... When we get back from Thunderbird Five, why don't you and I have a celebratory reunion party...? Just the two of us... You could wear that black nightie..."

"Why, hello, Gordon…" Tin-Tin glanced in the direction of the patio that looked down over the swimming pool. "What are you doing up here?"

Alan blanched. "Gordon! He didn't hear me did he?" he hissed.

Tin-Tin laughed. "I was joking, Alan. Gordon's still in the blast room with the others." She checked the chronometer on the wall of the lounge and watched as the second hand moved up to the vertical. "T minus nine..."

Down in the passenger launch cabin, Scott grimaced at John. "The suspense is killing me!"

John agreed with him. It was two days after he'd fainted and Brains had decided that he was strong enough to withstand the forces he'd have to endure to leave Earth's gravity - and had supplied him with a carton of mega-strength iron tablets to fortify him during the following days. Everyone else had had a suspicion that if John had been grounded, he would have mutinied, or at least stowed away on board Thunderbird Three. "I'll let you into a secret, Scott. I'm scared I'll black out."

"Yeah," Scott admitted. "It's been years since we've done this. I never had any problems with being down here in previous launches because I never had time to think about it. This time I've still got another," he looked at his watch, "eight point five minutes before I can even unfasten myself from this chair."

"At least you're used to sudden accelerations. The fastest I've had to move these last seven years was the time I spilt my freshly made, very hot, coffee on my trousers ten minutes before I was due to meet the CEO of one of the biggest construction firms in Europe to discuss a multi-billion dollar cooperative agreement. I was a lucky my pants were made out of Tracy Textile's latest and greatest invention!" Now sounding like a sales rep detailing a wonder product, John continued. "Self-cleaning, rapid-drying, Tracon. Guaranteed to bounce back from any liquid emergency as good as new."

Scott laughed.

"T minus eight..."

In a blast-proof bunker just off Thunderbird Three's launch bay, things were equally dull and stressful. Virgil, Gordon and Brains, dressed in fire-retardant suits, were ready to dash to the rescue should the spaceship go up in flames. In the meantime they were cooling their heels and hoping that their services wouldn't be needed.

"Boy, this thing's hot," Gordon pulled at the neck of his suit and fanned his face with his hood. "I thought they were supposed to be fire-retardant, not fire-starting. I'm burning up!"

Brains went to a nearby water-cooler and poured out three cups. "Th-There you are." He handed one to Gordon. "Th-That should cool you down."

"Thanks." Gordon accepted the cool liquid and held it against his overheated forehead. Then he gulped down a huge mouthful; on which he gagged. "That tastes like we haven't changed the water since the last time Thunderbird Three launched!"

"Oh..." Brains took a tentative sip and screwed up his face. "You m-may be right. It hasn't been a h-high priority."

"Maybe we should change that priority list."

"T minus seven."

Virgil cast a concerned eye over the console that displayed Thunderbird Three's readouts and was marginally reassured by what he saw. "It's hard to believe that we used to be so blasé about Thunderbird Three launching; almost as if sending a rocket into space was as common as driving a car to the shops. Now I think I'm more knotted up inside than I was the first time we launched her."

"Me too," Gordon agreed. "I'd be happier if we'd had longer to test her. Heck, I'd be happier if we had longer full stop! This first week's flown."

"Tell me about it," Virgil agreed. "When I think of everything we've got to do in only three months…" He shook his head.

Gordon sympathised. By his workstation Virgil had tacked up several lists of things to do. One was headed "Urgent" – underlined twice in red. One was headed "important", one "necessary", and one "if time". It had seemed to Gordon that every time he'd gone past these lists the "Urgent" column had gotten longer while the others had shrunk.

"Wh-What stage are you up to with your repairs to Thunderbird Four, Gordon?" Brains asked.

"I've programmed the computer with schematics of the panels I'm going to need for both skins," Gordon told him. "Now that the sheets of cahelium have arrived I'm going to start cutting today. With any luck I'll have the internal hull ready by the end of the week and, depending on what hiccoughs I come across, I'm hopeful I'll be able to relaunch her in the middle of next month."

"Don't forget to let me know if you need help with anything," Virgil reminded him. "How far have you progressed with the detonators, Brains?"

"Tin-Tin and I are, er, working on the acoustic concussion generators. Th-The virtual simulations are working well and I am, er, hopeful that we will start assembling a prototype th-this afternoon."

"It sounds interesting," Virgil admitted. "I wish I had the time to see what you're…"

"T minus six."

"…doing."

The minutes ticked by. "T minus five minutes and counting," was followed by "T minus four and then "T minus three."

Alan heard Tin-Tin say "T minus two… Start ignition sequence."

"Starting sequence," Alan responded, and flicked a few buttons on the control panel. "All systems green… Applying power to engines." Slowly he pushed forward on a lever.

In the passenger launch cabin Scott and John felt the vibrations build up beneath them.

They heard Tin-Tin's voice through the intercom. "T minus one and counting… Fifty seconds to launch… Forty Five seconds… Forty…"

Scott wriggled in his harness to make sure he was braced against his seat, and then pulled the straps tighter. "Ready, John?"

"It's too late to back out now, even if I wasn't."

"…Thirty seconds to launch…."

Fire fighting equipment strapped firmly to their backs; hoses grasped firmly in their gloved hands; fire-retardant hoods down and sealed firmly to their suits; Brains, Gordon and Virgil counted down the seconds.

"…Fifteen seconds to launch… You're clear to go, Thunderbird Three."

"Engines at twenty five percent." Alan pushed the lever further forward.

"…Ten seconds to launch…"

"Thirty percent…"

"Nine…"

"Thirty Five…"

"Eight…"

"Forty…"

"Seven…"

"Forty Five…"

"Six…"

"Fifty percent thrust…"

Everyone joined Tin-Tin in her countdown.

"Five seconds…"

…

"Four…"

"…Seventy five percent thrust…"

"Three…"

"…and holding…"

"Two…"

"…standing by…"

"One…!"

"Full power!" Alan pressed the lever as far forward as it would go. Thunderbird Three trembled as her engines developed full thrust for the first time in over seven years, and then launched herself to the sky.

"We have lift-off!" Tin-Tin grabbed a portable microphone and ran out onto the patio. Thunderbird Three was already a large dot in the sky by the time her eyes had adjusted to the glare of the morning sun. "Goodbye and good luck, Alan."

Alan, pressed back into his seat by the g-forces Thunderbird Three was producing, didn't hear his wife's farewell. His blood was pounding in his ears; adrenaline was coursing through his system; he felt a pressure on his chest and tingling in his extremities. Then he felt free.

He'd forgotten what a buzz a rocket launch could be. These past seven years he'd come to believe that nothing could top a dog fight with another competitor on the racetrack; nothing was better than crossing the winning line first after a hard fought race; nothing in the world could surpass standing on the top of the victory dais…

Nothing except feeling the power of his space ship pushing against Earth's gravity towards the weightlessness of space… Nothing except feeling Thunderbird Three respond to his every command…

Nothing except the knowledge that he was going to be doing something to help others…

-F-A-B-

"Well, we're still in one piece," Scott undid his safety harness, stood and stretched. "Let's get up there."

"Wait!" John caught his arm and held him back. "Give him a moment alone with her."

"Alone with her?!"

"Thunderbird Three."

"Oh!" Scott's frown of confusion cleared. "I thought for a moment you meant that he'd smuggled Tin-Tin on board." He looked upwards towards the flight deck. "I guess we're not in that much of a hurry…"

-F-A-B-

Brains pushed his hood off his head. "The launch, er, went well."

Virgil removed his own hood and smiled at the little engineer. "It sure did, Brains. It makes me think that we might just have a chance at pulling off a miracle and saving the planet."

"Well, in the meantime, I'm more interested in saving my mouth from that foul tasting water," Gordon said. "I'm going to get myself something tastier to drink. Are you two going to join me before we head back to the sweat shops?"

"No, thanks," Virgil said. "I'm going to get into something cooler and then get down to work."

Gordon took a detour through the lounge on the way from the kitchen. He found Tin-Tin standing on the patio; still staring up towards the heavens.

His heart went out to his sister-in-law and he placed his glass on the coffee table before he joined her on the patio. "He'll be back before you know it," he reminded her; giving her shoulders a brotherly squeeze.

Tin-Tin sighed. "I know. It's just that this is the longest we've been apart since we've been married."

"Well, they say absence makes the heart grow fonder. Although I think Marina and I are the exception to the rule."

Tin-Tin sighed again. "I wish my father was here."

"He's still arriving tomorrow, isn't he?"

"Yes."

"Good. I'm drooling so much in anticipation of that first mouthful of his home cooking, that I could fill my swimming pool." Gordon realised that rather than brightening, Tin-Tin seemed to be getting more despondent. "Cheer up. Alan's only going to be gone for a few days. Just think, in three months you'll have him all to yourself. By the time you get back from Arnie you might be asking me for the number of my solicitor."

Tin-Tin managed a small smile. "I could never do that."

Gordon gave her another squeeze. "I'm sure you're right. At least you two started out on the right foot. You were friends before you started your relationship."

His efforts at cheering her up seemed to be achieving the opposite effect. "Oh, Gordon..." Tin-Tin leant into him as she tried to offer comfort of her own. "I wish I could help you."

"Don't worry about me." Gordon wrapped both arms about her. "My problems are all my fault and no one else's. You just concentrate on getting that detonator operational in time." He kissed her on top of her head.

"Oh, yes…" The pair of them turned when they heard a voice behind them. "Alan's barely through the stratosphere and you're already making a move on his wife."

Gordon released Tin-Tin and glared at a smirking Virgil, now dressed in his work overalls and steel toe-capped boots. "Tin-Tin knows I'd never do that."

"That's true," Tin-Tin admitted. "If there's one thing that I'm absolutely, totally confident about, it's that I know I can trust my four brothers-in-law... And Brains," she added as an afterthought.

"But not Alan?" Gordon teased.

"Well..." she teased back. "Maybe I trust him just a little bit."

Relieved that Tin-Tin seemed to be a bit happier, Gordon turned to his brother. "Are you going to surprise everyone and have a shave before Thunderbird Three gets back?"

Virgil, maintaining that they didn't have much time and that every second was precious, had forgone shaving this past week and his face was covered in a thick brown fuzz peaked by his blue goatee. "If Scott can't deal with the way I look then that's his problem not mine," he snapped. He turned on his heel and, sky-blue ponytail swinging angrily, stalked out of the lounge.

Bemused, Gordon and Tin-Tin looked at each other.

Gordon scratched his head. "Who mentioned Scott?"

Tin-Tin was frowning. "Something's been bothering him about Scott for a while."

"I'm beginning to think that it's just as well we're all going to be going our separate ways on this mission," Gordon mused. "Because I think we're going to have to relearn to trust each other. _Really_ trust each other…. And speaking of going separate ways, I must love you and leave you, my Lady." He kissed Tin-Tin on the hand and left her giggling.

He caught up with Virgil in the fastenings store. "Is everything all right?"

Virgil looked surprised. "Yes. Why?"

"That comment you made about Scott had me wondering if everything's okay between the pair of you."

"Just as okay as between you two," Virgil retorted. Then he pulled himself up short. "I'm sorry. Forget I said that." He offered his brother an apologetic grin as he pulled a drawer out from the wall of fastenings and started counting out bolts into a container. Beneath the drawer an electronic device weighed the remaining bolts, calculated the number left behind, and printed the result in red digits on an adjacent display; as a remote computer recorded the tally and calculated how many more could be used before those bolts would need to be replenished.

The brothers ignored the behind the scenes activity. "Did Scott tell you what happened between us?" Gordon asked as Virgil slid the drawer home again.

Virgil shook his head. "No. Scott's very good at keeping things to himself." He moved along to the washers store.

Gordon had heard a note of bitterness in his brother's voice, but decided against the direct approach. He took a sip of his drink and smacked his lips. "I'll say one thing for Marina, I don't know what brand she used, but her cranberry juice always tasted better than any other. Would you like a mouthful?"

"No, thanks. I can make do with water while I'm working. I think we've refreshed most of the water-coolers down here."

"Thank heavens for that." Gordon took another sip and thought. "I was going to start putting the inner hull sheets through the CNC cutter this morning. I wouldn't mind a hand lining them up."

"Sure. Just give me a moment to finish this." Virgil counted the equivalent number of nuts into his container alongside the bolts and washers and slid the drawer home. He indicated the readout which stated that 20,356 nuts were still housed in the drawer. "Did that change?"

"I didn't notice."

Virgil took out a couple more nuts and slid the drawer shut. The readout remained the same. He pulled out the drawer, removed still more nuts, and pushed it home again with more force. The readout remained obstinately on 20,356. "What's wrong with this stupid thing?!" He tried pulling out other drawers before finally, exasperated with the whole unit, slammed his hand against the panel that concealed the computer's workings. The wall of red numbers went blank. "Oh, great! Just great!" He yanked the drawer out again, sending nuts flying onto the floor. "Stupid computer…"

"Calm down," Gordon advised. "It might just need a reboot."

"After seven years it needs more than a reboot! It needs replacing! What if we run out of something because the computer's not giving an accurate reading?!"

"Then we'll get John to have a look at it when he gets home," Gordon suggested. "He'll be happy to be able to do something constructive."

Virgil looked at the nuts in his hand and then dropped them back into their drawer. "I guess so…" He slammed the drawer shut. "Did you say you wanted me to give you a hand?"

"If you wouldn't mind…"

Virgil followed Gordon into the computer numerical controlled equipment room. "How are you doing this?"

Gordon put his empty glass on a worktable. "At the moment I'm concentrating on the internal hull. It's going to be attached to Thunderbird Four's original framework. Then I'm going to lay a honeycomb of hexorhombi between that and the outer shell, which'll be made out of cahelium."

"Light but strong," Virgil approved. "Sounds like a good plan."

"She's got to be strong," Gordon admitted. "When I think of the pressures she's going to have to withstand, it makes my blood run cold. I'm going to be down in the deepest part of the world's oceans, literally miles away from help. At night I close my eyes and I can see the portholes pop out of Thunderbird Four's frame as all that weight of water presses down on top of her. I hear her collapsing about me as she's crushed like an egg. I'll be crushed before Thunderbird Four ascends 50 metres. I'll be helpless as the water rushes in."

Virgil frowned. His brother was sounding more than a little concerned at what lay ahead of him. "_If_ it rushes in," he corrected.

"If Thunderbird Four remains intact enough to get to the surface," Gordon continued, seemingly without hearing Virgil's comment, "I'll either have to ascend so fast that I'll die from the bends; or so slow that I'll run out of oxygen before I reach safety! I can't sleep for thinking about it!"

"But none of that should happen, should it?" Virgil asked. "Not with the precautions you've got planned."

"I'm working from a theory. That's all we're doing this time, aren't we? Working from theories and hypotheses!"

"Good theories, based on hard evidence," Virgil soothed. "It's just like every other rescue we've done."

"No it's not! You don't know what it's like to be overwhelmed by the sea! I don't want to live through that again! I couldn't live through that again!"

"Gordon, the odds of that happening..."

Not listening, or not hearing, Gordon started pacing up and down. "I don't want to go through that pain again; I don't want to relive that helplessness. I know what Neptune is capable of when you invade his territory and I don't want to incur his wrath. Virgil!" Gordon grabbed the front of his brother's overalls. "What am I going to do? I'm going to be diving down to where Neptune lives. I'm going to be facing him again! And he's going to try to crush me! I know he is! He tried once and he failed and I know he's waiting for the opportunity to try again…!"

Virgil, growing more worried about Gordon's apparent growing hysteria, gently prised his brother's fingers free of the blue material.

Gordon let go and started pacing again. "Once you've completed laying your charge you may as well head straight home because Neptune won't want to release me from his clutches! Once he gets you in his grip you're trapped forever. And you can't beg him for mercy. Not Neptune. He wouldn't listen to mere mortals like us. Cahelium and hexorhombi! What good is that against the god of the sea?!"

"Calm down. You're being silly!"

"I'm going to have the full weight of the Pacific Ocean on top of me! All that weight of water on one little submarine! Thunderbird Four and I won't have a chance! I'll never see you guys again!" Now clearly panicking, Gordon grabbed at Virgil's sleeves, bruising his brother's upper arms. "I'm going to die, Virgil. I'm going to die!" Beads of sweat stood out on his forehead and upper lip.

"You're not going to die!" Virgil tried to free himself from the limpet-like hold. "You are not going to die! We'll make sure that Thunderbird Four's strong!"

"Strong!?" Gordon gave a bitter, but hysterical, laugh. "Strong?!"

"Let me go…"

"We've only got four months! Less that that! How can we make her strong in that amount of time? _And_ you've got to get Thunderbird Two ready. And Scott and Alan and John have got to get Thunderbird Five ready..."

Virgil could feel his little brother trembling. "Let me call Brains..." he suggested.

"_And_ you've got to get The Mole ready! And Brains and Tin-Tin have got to get the detonators ready! Detonators! I've got to carry explosives down to the deepest part of the ocean… I..." Gordon wiped his forehead with his sleeve and gulped. "I..." Chest heaving, his legs seemly turning to jelly, he fell against his brother.

"Gordon!?" Virgil exclaimed, alarmed by this sudden collapse. "What's wrong?"

"C… Can't bre…" Gordon gasped.

His arms freed, Virgil grabbed his hyperventilating brother to support him. "What did you say?"

"I… I c-can't" *gulp* "breathe!"

Virgil, struggling with the full weight of a muscular swimmer, was becoming seriously concerned.

Apparently haunted by some otherwise unseen apparition, Gordon looked around wide-eyed. "The… The..." He clawed at his face. "Get it off me!" he shrieked.

"There's nothing there!" Virgil grabbed the clawing hand as several red marks appeared on Gordon's cheek. "Come and sit down."

"Dying!" Gordon moaned, his legs giving way. "I'm dying…"

"No you're not!" Virgil hauled him upright. "Listen to me, Gordon. You are _not_ dying!"

"Help…" *gulp* "Help – me – Virgil."

"I'm trying to. Now listen to me! You are not dying. This is a panic attack. Now, don't try to talk," Virgil advised as he lowered Gordon onto a seat. "Let me feel your pulse." He took Gordon's arm and was not surprised to feel the racing beat. "Calm down, Gordon. Try to take deep, slow breaths."

"I... I..." Gordon gulped again. "Sick..."

"You feel like you're going to be sick?"

Gordon nodded.

Unwilling to leave his brother, who still appeared to need him for physical support, Virgil tipped his nuts, bolts and washers onto the ground and held out the container. "Use that."

Gordon clung to the bowl. "Hot... So hot... I..." He flexed his fingers. "T... Tingling."

Virgil saw the gesture. "Your fingers are tingling?"

Gordon nodded, pulled at his collar and then dropped the container, wrapping his arms about him. "C-Cold." He shivered.

"Can you support yourself for a moment?" Virgil ran across to the nearby first aid kit and pulled a thermal blanket out of it. "Here, wrap this around you."

"Th-Thanks."

Virgil sat next to his brother, pulling him close to try to warm him up. "I'm going to call Brains, okay?" he said, rubbing Gordon's back.

"No!" Gordon grabbed Virgil's watch arm. "Don't..." He took a deep breath. "Don't do that!"

"Gordon," Virgil protested. "Look at you! You're having a panic attack! I can't leave you like this!"

"I... I'll be all... right. I... I'm feeling better."

"Gordon..."

"No," Gordon repeated. "I'm..." he swallowed and tried to take a deep, calming breath. "I'm all right. Honest." The red-head looked pleadingly at his big brother. "Don't disturb Brains. Here..." he stuck out his arm, "take my pulse again." Virgil hesitated and then accepted the invitation. "It's slower... Right?"

Virgil nodded. "It is slower."

"See, I told you there's nothing to worry about…" Gordon swallowed again. "I'm thirsty. Would you mind getting me a drink of water?"

"Will you be okay for a moment?"

Gordon managed a wan smile. "I'll be all right."

Virgil dashed across to the nearby water cooler and filled Gordon's cranberry juice glass. When he returned Gordon had his arms across his knees and had buried his face into them. "Here."

Gordon straightened. "Thanks." Still shaking, he accepted the glass. Water sloshed all over his hands.

"Let me help you." Virgil held the glass steady as he helped his brother to drink. "Feeling better?"

"Yes." Gordon let out a deep breath, closed his eyes, and relaxed back against the wall; pulling the thermal blanket about him as if its embrace added to his sense of security.

"Have you ever had a panic attack before?"

"No…" Gordon opened his eyes. "I've seen them, as you know, but I've never experienced one. I had the symptoms, didn't I? I thought I was dying…"

"Did you really?"

"Yeah. I felt like something was pressing down on my face; smothering me… I couldn't breathe properly." Gordon laid his hand on his chest. "My heart was pounding so hard that I thought it was trying to break my ribs. But what was weird was that while I was fully aware that it was probably a panic attack, another part of me was convinced that I was on the way out. One minute I was hot, the next I was cold. I was shaking. My hands are still tingling a little bit…" Gordon flexed his fingers. "It scared me, Virg."

"You gave me a heck of the fright too, but I didn't think you were dying. I thought you were sick."

"For a moment there I thought I was having a stroke like Dad. One minute I was fine, the next I was out of control. It was as though all my problems were smothering me: Marina, the divorce, Doomsday, diving down into the Mariana, worrying about Thunderbird Four, Tracy Island erupting, being scared for you guys..." Virgil watched closely for any signs of the distress that Gordon had suffered earlier, but there were none. "It was as though everything came crushing down on top of me all at once and there was nothing I could do about it."

"Can I help?"

"Don't worry about me, Virgil, I'm overtired, that's all. I haven't had a good night's sleep since I arrived here. I kind of doze off and then wake up again thinking I've been asleep for hours and then discover that it's only been about ten minutes."

Virgil frowned. "Are you really having that much trouble sleeping?"

Gordon nodded. "Even Brains picked that up when he gave me my physical. He spotted an overdose of some type of hormones in my system or something."

"This could be serious. Can he do anything?"

"I don't want to have to use drugs unless it's really necessary," Gordon explained. Then he shrugged. "I suppose I could always try sleeping in our quarters in Thunderbird Two. I always got a good sleep in there."

"That might not be a stupid idea," Virgil agreed. "Or use a SWSG." The slow-wave sleep generators had helped them have short but restful naps when on long rescue missions.

"If any of them still work." Gordon placed his hand on Virgil's arm. "Please, don't tell Brains. He's got enough to worry about."

"Don't you think we should tell Scott?"

"Not Scott!" Gordon looked alarmed at the suggestion. "We can't tell Scott! He'll only stress unnecessarily. You know what he's like."

"I thought I did," Virgil admitted.

"Huh?"

Virgil ignored the query. "Forget Scott's our brother. He's the commander of International Rescue. Our commander! What would you have said, when you were commander of the bathyscaphe, if you found out that someone had had a similar problem and hadn't reported it to you?"

"I'd have disciplined them. But this is different! We had to live together in a confined space."

"And we're not now?"

"If Scott learns that I temporarily lost it he's going to take me off the squad! There's no one to replace me! No one has the skills I've got, and no one will have the time to learn them."

Virgil had to admit that Gordon had a point. But that didn't stop him from trying to press home his argument. "Gordon, even if this was only a one-off attack, it still wouldn't hurt for Scott, or Brains, or someone to be aware it happened in case it happens again."

"You're someone." Gordon shrugged the thermal blanket from off his shoulders and started to fold it up.

"But…"

"And you're aware of what happened. You're the one who's working in the next hangar. And you're the one who'll be dropping me at the danger zone. So why do we have to tell anyone else?"

"Because…" Virgil tried, and failed, to think of a definitive answer. "All right," he agreed reluctantly. "But you've got to call me the instant you think something's wrong. Okay?"

"Okay."

Virgil indicated his watch. "Buzz me and I'll come running."

"Thanks."

"Even if it's a false alarm."

"Thanks, Virgil. I've got the picture."

"But don't think I'm happy that you're not telling Brains," Virgil grunted.

"Like I said, I got the picture." Gordon stood and started folding the blanket into the smallest package he could. "Are you scared?"

Virgil looked surprised at the question. "Scared?" He took the end of the blanket to help fold it.

"Of what you've got to do?"

Virgil considered his answer. "I'm not scared by the idea that I've got to drill down into the Dead Sea Transform. It's not that much different to what we've done before, and I think, compared to the rest of you guys, I've got the easy job. It's other things that frighten me."

Throughout their years in International Rescue, Gordon had never been aware of any situation where his older brother had expressed any form of fear. "Like what?"

"Like… It's been years since I've done any work on this scale." Virgil waved his hand, encompassing the CNC machines around them. I did some maintenance with the Hawks, but I didn't have time for that once I became the captain."

"Hawks?"

"New York Hawks Aerobatic Team."

"Oh…" It took a moment for this bit of information to sink in. "You're the captain of the New York Hawks Aerobatic Team?"

"I was. I resigned to come here."

"But I saw those guys fly once. They were great!"

"Thanks."

Gordon was shaking his head in disbelief. "You can't be part of the Hawks!" he exclaimed.

"You sound like Scott! Believe it or not, I'm a pretty good pilot!"

"I know that!" Gordon back-pedalled. "I've always known that. I couldn't have trusted you to drop me into the ocean and then pick me up again if you weren't. And I had no issues with your piloting skills when I did that air-to-air transfer from Thunderbird Two to Fireflash. It's just that I didn't know that part about the Hawks!"

"I was keeping it secret," Virgil admitted. "I wanted to surprise everyone sometime, but the opportunity never arose."

"That's a pity, I would have loved to have seen Scott's face when he realised it was you doing those loop-de-loops."

"So would I."

"Anyway, getting back to the present," Gordon dropped back into the seat next to his brother. "So what if you haven't done a lot of large-scale maintenance lately? It's just like riding a bicycle, isn't it?"

"I wish it was. I let my welding compliance certificate lapse about two years ago."

"But surely you don't need a piece of paper to know what you're doing?"

"Don't you believe it. I've already looked up the Internet and my old text books four times to check that I was doing everything right."

"And you were, weren't you?"

"Yes," Virgil conceded.

"See!" Gordon cheered. "Nothing to worry about!"

"But I am worried. I'm the one who's had the formal training. You guys have all got a good… Um…" Virgil thought for a moment. "Basic's the wrong word."

"Informal?" Gordon suggested. "As in a lack of formal training?"

Virgil nodded. "That'll do. You've all got a good informal knowledge of how to do things, especially anything related to International Rescue's systems and your own specialities, but I'm the one who's going to be relied on to do the…"

"Formal," Gordon suggested.

Virgil managed a wry smile. "…work. I'm the one who's got to confirm that your welding's up to the standard required to withstand the pressures of the deep; and I no longer have the certification to show that I've got the expertise to do it. Plus there's so much that has to be done; and so little time to do it. That's what really scares me…"

"_That_," Gordon agreed, "is scary."

And another thing that worries me," Virgil added. "Do you get the feeling that we are lacking the cohesion that we had before?"

Gordon nodded his understanding. "Tin-Tin and I were discussing that before I came down here."

"And what did you decide?"

"That it's just as well that we're all going to be operating separately."

"Yes," Virgil agreed. "It's scary, isn't it?"

Gordon gave a big sigh, and tossed the thermal blanket onto the table next to him. "You've got tons to do and I'm holding you up. You could be having a shave instead of talking to me."

"Just be glad that I take the time to have a shower." Virgil rubbed his bristly jaw. "Why have you got such a thing about me not shaving?"

"That that two-tone look doesn't suit you..." Virgil managed a chuckle. "But let me tell you one thing, Virg..." Gordon turned to face his big brother. "I don't care what Scott thinks. I trust you. I don't care what you look like or what you've been doing. You could have been doing body painting in a nudist colony for the last seven years..." This time Virgil laughed. "...and I would still trust you. I know that you'll give International Rescue one hundred percent."

Virgil smiled. "Thanks, Gordon. Hearing you say that means a lot."

"But I do have one question."

"What's that?"

"I keep wondering who you're hiding from behind those whiskers."

Virgil held Gordon's eye. "I'm hiding from the failure who stares at me from the mirror every morning."

Unprepared for Virgil's sudden brutal honesty, Gordon didn't react when the in-house intercom buzzed them.

Virgil stood. "I'll get that..."

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

Thunderbird Five loomed dark and forbidding, silhouetted against the pinpoints of celestial light. Alan switched on a powerful spotlight and swung it, its beam invisible in the vacuum of space, so it was pointing at the space station.

Like a magic trick Thunderbird Five appeared out of the blackness.

"She looks okay from this angle," Scott stated. "Let's do a slow circuit, Alan."

"Right." His actions as much instinctive as through conscious thought, Alan nudged Thunderbird Three in a slow orbit of her sister ship.

"How does she look to you, John?" Scott asked.

"Dead," was the blunt answer. "She always used to be bright and welcoming whenever I returned home." His brothers noted the "returned home" statement, but didn't pass comment.

Alan adjusted their trajectory so that they were circling about Thunderbird Five's vertical axis. "Anyone see anything of concern?"

"Negative," Scott replied. "Bring her alongside the docking port, Alan. It's time you and I did a spacewalk."

John said nothing. He knew that he should be one of the two attempting the dangerous spacewalk; an idea that had quickly been vanquished when he'd attempted to get into his spacesuit. He could do it up, but it was so tight that walking was uncomfortable and sitting impossible. Even in the weightlessness of space, restricted movements would be a serious handicap.

He watched as his brothers discarded their civilian clothes and pulled on their spacesuits. They could have worn their International Rescue uniforms tucked away in the uniform lockers, but John had an uncomfortable feeling that Scott and Alan, knowing that his uniform was unlikely to fit him, had decided against wearing theirs in order to spare his feelings.

He'd never been one for self-pity. He'd always been different; more intelligent than his peers and less muscular than his brothers, and he'd always accepted that as a part of what made John Tracy John Tracy. But at that moment, and not for the first time, he hated himself and what he'd become.

"She's all yours, John," Alan said, forcing him out of his reverie. "No joyriding off to the nearest nebula, okay?"

John managed a smile. "I've got plenty to keep me occupied, thanks." He checked that his brothers' suits were sealed against the hostile environment that they were about to enter, and then watched as the airlock closed between them.

He was alone in Alan's spaceship, while his brothers worked to gain entry to his space station.

Suddenly furious, he ripped a page out of his notebook, screwed it up, and threw it on the floor. It did nothing to relieve his anger, but he didn't want to risk throwing something harder in case he caused catastrophic damage to what was presently his life capsule and their only way back to the safety of home.

-F-A-B-

"I wish Brains had come up with an easy opening option for breaking into Thunderbird Five," Alan griped, as he clipped his safety restraint to the frame that surrounded the work platform beneath the docking port. "Cutting through this plug so that we can dock Thunderbird Three and then cutting open the airlock to Thunderbird Five without causing any damage is going to take forever."

"True," Scott admitted. "There's a limit to what you can do in a vacuum. Still..." he triggered the ignition sequence that warmed up his acoustic disintegrator. "Let's do it!"

Together the pair of them set to work.

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

Brains, engrossed in the birth of a new tool in International Rescue's armoury, took a while to realise that his assistant was no longer working studiously at his side. In fact she was sitting at the end of the workbench and looked rather pale. "Tin-Tin? Are y-you feeling all right?"

"I'm sorry, Brains," Tin-Tin apologised, and massaged her hands. "But I felt a little tired."

He put down his ruler and moved closer. "Can I get you something to make you feel better?" he asked solicitously.

Tin-Tin shook her head. "I'll be all right. It's just that with the excitement of Father coming to live with us tomorrow, and the stress of Thunderbird Three's launch, and the worry that Thunderbird Five's not going to be able to be recommissioned, and…"

"And Alan leaving?" he asked; surprising her with his astuteness.

"Yes." She blushed lightly, which had the positive effect of returning some colour to her cheeks. "I'm already missing him." She sighed. "And I'm starting to wish that I'd done more work with Alan's racing team. I haven't worked this hard in years. We've hardly stopped for a break this week."

"I'm, er, sorry, Tin-Tin, but we do ha…"

Tin-Tin held up her hand. "I'm not asking for sympathy or that you expect less of me than you do. I'm just taking a while to get used to having my brain switched on for extended periods of time and using my hands so much." She gave Brains a gentle smile. "Maybe, instead of playing the race driver's wife these last few years, I should have been working for you."

"We didn't know that Doomsday w-would happen," he reminded her. "And as much as I would have, er, appreciated your assistance, it wasn't practical." He noticed that she was still massaging her fingers. "Is something wrong with your hands?"

"They're a little tingly," she admitted.

"Paresthesias?" he queried, and frowned. "That c-could be symptomatic of m-many things."

"Or it could just mean that I've been using my hands for longer than they're used to," she corrected. "Don't worry about me, Brains. You've got more important things to do." She slid off her stool. "What are we doing next?"

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

Inside Thunderbird Three John was working too. He could have spent his time stargazing, after all it was the best view of the heavens that he'd had in almost a decade, but he knew there would be plenty of time for unearthly pleasures. Now, he had a job to do.

He had decided days ago that if he couldn't do something practical on this first trip back to his Thunderbird, then he may as well do something that would help his brothers survive what they were going to face in three months time. Therefore he'd loaded the training simulator, used during their International Rescue days for mimicking different rescue scenarios, into Thunderbird Three's control room.

He started by wiping almost all of the existing terrain, disaster, and other data from the simulator's computer memory. He wanted the four scenarios they were going to be training for to be as realistic as possible, and he didn't need a small thing like a lack of memory compromising his brothers' safety.

Then he started programming, with occasional glances at various instruments to ensure that Thunderbird Three wasn't drifting and that his brothers were okay.

Alan and Tin-Tin's rescue was the first, because it was the one closest to his personal strengths. Star charts were easy to download into the computer's memory banks. Jupiter's orbit was carefully programmed so that the gas giant would be where the astronauts would expect to find it. Asteroid 2070SB was created out of photographs and pieced together to form a three dimensional image. Some of this was guesswork, but for an astronomer of John's calibre, the guesswork was based on personal knowledge and verified information.

John sat back, satisfied with his morning's efforts. He still hadn't programmed in the processes of attaching the booster to 2070SB; that would have to wait until Brains had finished designing it and he had a better idea of the device's size and weight. But in the meantime there were three other rescue scenarios to work on.

He decided to start with Gordon's. As he trawled the World Wide Web and numerous educational and research institutions to find the necessary photorealistic pictures, he realised that he had struck a problem. Nowhere could he find up-to-date photos of the Mariana Trench. Mankind had been so obsessed with looking outwards towards outer space the last few decades that inner space, beneath the oceans, had been all but ignored.

Stumped he sat back. But he wasn't prepared to let his younger brother battle the unknown without adequate preparation.

Suddenly inspired, he called Tracy Island. "Brains! Can you put me through to Gordon?"

"O-Of course, John. I think he's down in the CN..."

John grinned. Brains, so caught up in his work, had transferred his call before he'd finished his sentence. He hadn't heard the slight note of concern in the little scientist's voice.

"CNC room."

"Virgil? I was looking for Gordon."

"I..." Virgil glanced over at his brother, who was frowning at him. "I was giving him some help. Er..." Unsure if Gordon was ready to communicate with anyone else so soon after his panic attack, Virgil hesitated. "Can I take a message?"

"Yes. Ask him if he thinks the underwater probes will be strong enough to withstand a trip to the bottom of the Challenger Deep? I want to get some up-to-date pictures for the simulator."

Gordon indicated that he would continue the call. "I heard that, John. I haven't checked the probes out, but assuming that there's no degradation to them, I see no reason why they shouldn't get some good quality shots."

"Good."

Virgil excused himself, indicating by sign language that Gordon should call him when he wanted assistance.

Gordon nodded his understanding and then fixed his full attention on John's call. "The problem is, how do we get the probes to the Mariana Islands and who do we trust to operate them once we get there? None of us can be spared."

John had an idea. "Maybe Lady Penelope would like a northern hemisphere tropical holiday? She can use her yacht for a few innocent cruising expeditions."

"I like the way you're thinking, John," Gordon declared. "Do you want to give her a call and see if she's free?"

"I may as well. I've got more time on my hands than you," John agreed. "How are things going down there?"

"Ah... slowly," Gordon conceded. "We're going to need your skills when you get back. Virgil's gone into a spin because the stock controller's stopped working."

"I thought he sounded a bit distracted."

"I told him to reboot it."

"Knowing him, he's probably rebooting it with those steel-toecapped boots of his," John chuckled. "Tell him not to panic; it'll be one of the first things I check out when I get home."

"Thanks, John. We'll all appreciate that." Before John had a chance to ask more questions, Gordon continued. "How are things going up in space?"

"Great. Alan hasn't lost his touch with Thunderbird Three. I'm working on the simulator while they're outside unplugging Thunderbird Five's docking port."

"How long have they been at it?"

John checked his watch. "Must be close to three hours. We did too good a job sealing her up."

"Yes, you did. And they're making sure that they do a good job unsealing her so they don't damage Thunderbird Three or Five. And now, John, I'd better do a good job and go and check those probes. Don't forget to report in when you've docked or you've spoken to Penny. Whichever comes first."

"Will do, Gordon."

Gordon disconnected the call and took a deep breath as his anxieties gnawed at him. John had no idea how grateful he was that someone was taking his welfare seriously. He knew that the rest of the family cared, but they all had their own concerns, and a tangible example of someone offering to help meant the world to him.

-F-A-B-

"Anybody home?"

John turned to the microphone that was part of the control panel. "I haven't slipped out for a burger, Scott."

"Well, we wouldn't mind 'slipping in' for something less tasty. It's lunchtime! How about opening the external hatch?"

"Opening now." John watched as the lights indicating that the external door was open, then closed, and finally that the air pressure in the airlock was the same as he was experiencing. Then he pushed the button that allowed the internal door to slide open.

"Whew!" Alan removed his helmet and placed it on his pilot's seat. "That's got to be close to the longest spacewalk I've ever done." He rubbed his gloved hands together. "Those acoustic disintegrators start to affect you after a while. My hands are all tingly."

"So are mine," Scott admitted, as he pulled off his gloves.

The acoustic disintegrators were a device that emitted noise at the frequency that would disintegrate whatever it was you desired to remove, without damaging any of the surrounding materials. Out in the vacuum of space it was impossible to hear the sound, but you could still feel it as you pressed the acoustic disintegrator up against the blockage, and John reflected that after three hours it was no wonder that both brothers' hands were feeling irritated. "And I thought my hands were shot after pounding at the keyboard," he admitted. "Ah…" He tried to appear casual. "How much more do you have to do?"

Scott kept a straight face. "I'd say we'll be at it for another three hours."

John felt his face fall. "Oh."

"Until we get into Thunderbird Five proper. We can dock Thunderbird Three any time."

John's face lit up. "You're through?!"

Scott grinned. "We're through. We would have been through twenty minutes ago, but we wanted to make sure that there was nothing remaining that Thunderbird Three can snag on. We don't want to scratch Alan's baby, do we?"

Alan was grinning too. "So what do you say, John. Do you want to have lunch first; or dock Thunderbird Three and then have lunch?"

John did his best to appear calm and unconcerned. "You guys have been working for hours. You're probably starving."

"Oh, we are," Scott agreed. "But I'm sure we won't faint from hunger in the next ten minutes. So, you want to do it, Alan?"

Alan gave a casual shrug. "Sure. Why not?" He shifted his helmet to the floor and slipped into his seat.

"Well, John? Do you want to touch your 'bird?"

John couldn't bear it any longer. "Will you stop teasing me, Scott! Of course I want to touch her! Now stop wasting time and let's dock!"

Scott turned to their youngest brother. "It's over to you, Alan."

"Okay." Alan ignited the engines and swung Thunderbird Three around in a graceful loop so that her nose was pointed directly into the docking port. "Fingers crossed." Carefully, more carefully than he'd ever docked her before, he manoeuvred his spaceship into the circular tunnel that linked the two craft together.

John waited patiently as Thunderbird Five swallowed them up.

Finally Alan cut the engines. "Docking complete." He indicated a circle of green lights that had lit up on the control panel. "We have an airtight seal." He smiled at John. "She's through there," he indicated Thunderbird Three's airlock.

John could feel his heart pounding as he stepped up to the circular door. It slid upwards and he stepped through to the exterior hatch, hearing the internal door whisper shut behind him.

Alan checked the seal again. "Opening exterior hatch."

John heard his brother's voice and barely had time to react as Thunderbird Three's exterior hatch opened, presenting him with his first close up view of Thunderbird Five in over seven years. He reached out and touched the exterior airlock hatch that was the personnel link between Thunderbirds Three and Five. The metal was cold and yet it warmed his heart. He might not yet have the key to the door, but he was finally home. Suddenly impatient, he took a step backwards. "You can let me in again."

When he re-entered Thunderbird Three's control room he was greeted with two puzzled frowns. "Was something wrong?" Scott asked.

"No. I was wasting time standing there looking at a locked door. The sooner we have lunch, the sooner we can check out her interior."

Scott grinned. "Alan, why don't you go and make a start refilling the oxygen tanks, while John and I see what delicacies we've got on board?"

Alan was clearly hungry after his morning's work because he made no comment as he hurried out of the control room.

Scott picked up his oxygen tank and placed it against the wall.

"Scott…"

Scott turned. "Yes?"

"Thanks." John looked slightly embarrassed. "Thanks for letting me touch Thunderbird Five."

Scott picked up his helmet. "I know I'm not the most sensitive of guys," he admitted, tracing the outline of the International Rescue logo on its side, "but your comment about letting Alan have some time alone with Thunderbird Three got me thinking. When we were opening up Tracy Island I was excited at the prospect of seeing Thunderbird One again. I didn't think I would be; I thought I'd left that part of my life well and truly in the past and that it didn't mean anything to me any more. But when the moment came to step through that door…" He shrugged, rotating the helmet in his hands. "And this is only a plane that I'd fly from point A to point B on occasion… But you _lived_ in Thunderbird Five. It was your home, your security, your…" He shrugged again. "I'm no good at words. But you gave up a lot before we shut down International Rescue and I… no, _we_ figured that you deserved the chance to get reacquainted with Thunderbird Five alone." He finally looked at his brother.

John smiled at what had turned out to be quite a long speech. But conversely his reply was short. "Thanks."

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

"Delicious" wasn't a word that John would have used to describe lunch. Not that he cared. He was only hours away from exploring Thunderbird Five again.

"You're not eating," Scott noted.

"I'm supposed to be dieting, remember?"

Scott screwed up his face. "If anything's going to encourage anyone to give up food it's this tasteless garbage."

"Yeah," Alan agreed. "Thank heavens Kyrano's moving back to the island tomorrow. We're finally going to get some real food!"

"Which, fortunately for my diet, we won't be sampling for the next few days," John reminded him. "What with this tasteless food and working in zero gravity, I might be able to move in my spacesuit by the end of this trip."

"The problem with that is that you'll be losing muscle not fat," Scott warned. He turned back to the younger blonde. "So you've got no qualms about living with your father-in-law?"

"None."

John pretended to grimace. "Imagine being married to the daughter of an expert in half a dozen martial arts!"

"And worse still," Scott played along, "knows how to handle a knife!" He gave a dramatic shiver. "It'd make you think twice about having a lovers' quarrel, let alone a full blown argument."

"Laugh all you want, Fellas, Kyrano and I have always got along" Alan told them. "Besides, remember that at least I've got married. I don't see gold bands on your fingers." He enjoyed a brief moment of pleasure at seeing his elder brothers exhibit some discomfort.

Ignoring his returning sense of inadequacy, and the fact that he was missing Emma, John tipped the rest of his lunch into its wrapper. "I suppose we should be grateful that Alan didn't marry someone like Marina."

This time Scott's shiver was genuine. "I don't know what Gordon saw in that woman! I couldn't stand the sight of her!"

"We guessed," Alan drawled.

"She's going to be out of his and all our lives soon, Scott," John reminded him. "Don't go giving yourself an ulcer over her now."

Scott devoted the last of his anger into screwing up his lunch's wrapper and then got to his feet. "Come on, Alan. The sooner we get that hatch opened the sooner we can do some real work."

"And I've got a call to make," John admitted. "I've got a job for Penny."

"Doing what?" Scott asked as he rechecked his oxygen tank.

"Taking one of our probes and getting footage of the Mariana Trench so I can feed the images into the simulator."

Scott, reaching for his helmet, stopped. "That's a good idea. Gordon's clearly worried about his mission. Some practise will help him gain some confidence." He slipped his helmet over his head. "And I won't have any complaints if you do the same for the terrain above the Bentley Subglacial Trench."

"How hard can that be to replicate?" Alan asked and pulled on his own helmet. "It'll all be white."

"That's what worries me. It's all white with an occasional volcano rearing up out of the snow. I'll need to know exactly where each hill is in relation to the trench."

"Don't worry, I'm making sure everyone's terrain is up-to-date. I've already done all I can on yours, Alan. I was going to work on Gordon's next, but I'll hold off now until Penny gets us the pictures. It's relatively easy to get photos of Antarctica and I'll have to do a bit a research to get the correct data for the geological strata beneath the Dead Sea Transform, but I'll make sure you all have plenty of time to practise."

"Thanks, John," Scott said and submitted to having his spacesuit checked for potential leaks. Both he and Alan were going to be working within Thunderbird Three's airlock, but it was wiser to take precautions in case something happened to the seal between them and the airlessness of space.

When he was finally satisfied that his brothers were protected against that hostile environment, John let them into the airlock.

"Give our love to Penny," Alan instructed as the internal door slid shut.

John looked at his watch, calculated the time difference between his location and England, and decided that it wasn't too inconsiderate a time to give her a call.

Lady Penelope answered almost immediately, her smile of greeting warm. "Good day, John."

"Hiya, Penny. I've got a favour to ask of you."

Her eyes lit up. "I can be of assistance?"

"I think so." John explained about his problem with the lack of images of the deepest known part of the world's oceans. "Do you think you can help?"

"I should be delighted, dear boy. If the world is going to end, why shouldn't I treat myself to a tropical holiday? And of course I can get some holiday photos while I'm there. What is the weather like in that part of the world at the moment?"

"Oh, er, I hadn't checked," John admitted. He dialled up a weather web site. "Oh… It says here _stormy_. They're getting the tail end of Typhoon Ita. Is that going to cause problems?"

"Dear me, no," Lady Penelope laughed. "It shall add to the drama. It's always these little excitements that make holidays so memorable, don't you think?"

John smiled at her unperturbed attitude. "I'm sure you'll have a ball."

"I shall do my best."

"Thanks, Penny, Gordon's going to love you for this. We all are. Anything that can help him survive his divorce and everything else has got to be good."

Lady Penelope's eyes narrowed slightly. "What do you know about Marina's background?"

Surprised by the question, John shrugged. "Not a lot. I tried to have as little to do with her as possible, except when I had no option, and I got the impression that she felt the same about me once she discovered that I didn't have a hotline to Dad's fortune." He thought for a moment. "I think her family is from out east somewhere. Why?"

"I'm trying to get a better understanding as to why Gordon married her," Lady Penelope told him. "Just a girl's idle curiosity."

"Well, don't forget that curiosity killed the cat," John warned. "We don't want anything happening to you… I'd better get back to work."

"Goodbye, John."

"Bye, Penny. Oh! And Alan sends his love." John laughed.

Lady Penelope's eyes twinkled. "Only Alan?"

"Penny, you've got my everlasting loyalty and devotion." John signed off.

Lady Penelope sat for a moment, regarding the blank screen of her powder compact. "_Curiosity may have killed the cat_," she quoted. "_But information brought it back_. And I have a feeling that there is a lot of information that I am yet to find. Starting with what's on the bottom of the ocean… Parker!" She rang a heavily embroidered bell pull.

He responded almost immediately. "Yes, m'Lady?"

"Get out the Rolls Royce, Parker, and alert George to prepare the yacht for sailing."

"Sailing, m'Lady? My H-I h-enquire h-as to where we is going?"

"Our first port of call will be Tracy Island. We shall fly there. Then we shall meet up with FAB2 in the vicinity of the Philippines."

Parker bowed his head in understanding. "May H-I ask why we h-are going to the Philly-pines?"

"We are going to have a diving holiday into the Challenger Deep," Lady Penelope responded, and gave a refined laugh at her butler's expression of horror. "Cheer up, Parker. It is all in the name of service to International Rescue."

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

"How's it going, Alan?"

"My back's killing me," Alan grunted; on his knees as he disintegrated the last of the sealant around the bottom of the hatch.

"What's the matter, Kiddo?" Alan could hear the laughter in Scott's voice. "Getting old?"

"I'm not as old as you, Grandpa." Alan retorted as he straightened his aching back. "I'm done." He got to his feet. "Do you want to check my work while I check yours?"

"Good idea." The two brothers changed places and inspected each other's workmanship, occasionally zapping a miniscule particle away from the door.

They'd been working on the interior airlock hatch; the one which led directly into Thunderbird Five's control room. It had been the last line of defence against unscrupulous criminals and general busybodies and, like all the plugged and sealed defences, had done what had been asked of it; including doing a reasonable job of keep International Rescue out of the communications satellite.

Finally Scott stood back. "You've done a good job."

"So have you." Alan rotated his shoulders to try to loosen the muscles. "Is it time to let John in?"

"I think so." Scott switched channels. "Are you receiving me, John?"

"Strength five, Scott."

Scott grinned. This close to his Thunderbird and John was already slipping back into International Rescue mode. "Time to get suited up. We're going in."

"Okay."

John was in the process of struggling into his spacesuit when Scott and Alan returned to the warm air and artificial gravity of Thunderbird Three. "I think I need a shoehorn," he grunted as he struggled to slide the suit up his back.

"Take your time," Scott advised. "We'll replenish our oxygen supplies while we're waiting."

Five minutes later, and after John had submitted to jokes about his lack of mobility in his spacesuit, they were ready to make their first foray into Thunderbird Five. They stepped into Thunderbird Three's airlock and closed the door behind them.

Scott switched on the small but powerful headlamp that was attached to his helmet. "Okay, Alan. Let's do it!"

"Removing oxygen and decreasing artificial gravity," Alan announced, punching a code into a keypad.

John felt his body start to feel a sense of weightlessness for the first time in years. "This is better than going on a diet," he joked.

"Air pressure and gravity neutral." Alan opened Thunderbird Three's exterior hatch.

John, using a low powered jet pack, and closely followed by Alan and Scott carrying a combined heater/dehumidifier between them, floated out of the rocket ship and into the access passage leading to the main body of the satellite. He held a small keypad and he placed this on a panel embedded in the bulkhead and keyed in a code. The final airlock slid open, revealing the interior for the first time in seven years.

John stood at the entrance and surveyed what had once been his control room.

Here lay the lifeless corpse of Thunderbird Five.

She was as cold and as still as a morgue. Gone was the light that had accompanied his daily chores. Gone was the never-ending chatter of the voices of the world. Gone was the warmth and feeling of unquestionable security.

She was dark.

She was silent.

She was dead.

She was cold.

Icy cold. A thin film of ice covered every square inch, as if the spirit of all those who'd visited had shrouded the lifeless steel and electronics. Respiration, both human and vegetative from the hydroponic garden that had long ago been destroyed, had left water droplets in the air and some had frozen upon contact with the cold metal. As John looked around the control room 'airborne' ice crystals sparkled and danced in the movement of his headlamp's light. With no gravity to speak of there were no icicles suspended from the work surfaces or rising up from the floor; just an expanse of shimmering whiteness. It would have been beautiful if he hadn't known that it was deadly to Thunderbird Five's sensitive electronics.

He felt his heart grow cold; nearly as cold as Thunderbird Five.

"Oh, man…" He heard Alan's almost whimpered exclamation in his earpiece and realised that, while Thunderbird Five had always been his 'bird, his youngest brother had spent long enough here to feel the same sort of emotional attachment. Even Scott, whose stays had been sporadic, was clearly numbed by what had become of International Rescue's communications satellite.

John gave himself a mental shake. If they were going to have any chance at reversing the damage within three months, they were going to have to start working straight away. "Are we going to set the dehumidifiers up?" he asked.

Scott appeared to pull himself together. "Alan and I can take care of that. Why don't you have a look around and start taking an inventory of what needs replacing and what can hopefully be repaired. Don't be afraid to list any luxuries you might want; within reason. If you're going to be trapped here alone for four months, you've got to be comfortable."

"And let us know if you run into any polar bears!" Alan joked, trying to boost his brother's morale.

John pretended to shudder. "If _I_ see any, all _you'll_ see is a blur as I run past."

"Don't let Gordon hear you say that," Scott grinned. "He'll add it to your exercise regime."

"If he does that I'll put a shark in his pool," John retorted. "Give me a yell if you need a hand."

"Will do..."

_To be continued…_


	8. Chapter 8 - Reawakening

**Chapter Eight: Reawakening**

"Father!" Tin-Tin ran towards the small but powerful jet.

"My daughter!" Although a man not usually given to obvious displays of emotion, Kyrano swept his daughter up in a warm embrace. "It is good to see you."

"And it's good to see you too, Father," Tin-Tin enthused. "Did you have a good trip?"

"It was most peaceful. Are you well?"

"Oh, yes."

"And Mister Alan..."

"Father," Tin-Tin reproached. "He is your son-in-law. Can you not just call him Alan?"

Kyrano smiled his benign smile. "It is a long-held habit that is hard to break. Did Mister... Did Thunderbird Three's launch go well?"

"I was so nervous. We all were. We were all scared that we'd missed checking something vital. But it was flawless, and she flew up to the sky as if she hadn't been locked away in her hangar for the last seven years. And they've managed to get inside Thunderbird Five! Alan says that she's frozen solid and that they've had the heater and dehumidifier working non-stop since they got there, but everything's still iced up." She stopped to take a breath. "How is Mr Tracy?"

"Mr Tracy is your father-in-law," Kyrano reminded her. "Could you not call him something else?"

Tin-Tin blushed as she laughed. "You are right. It is a habit that is hard to break. How is he?"

"He is thriving on the new challenge, but he is also frustrated. There is much that he can not do."

"Is he missing the boys?"

"He does not say so, but I know that he is. I see it in his eyes." Kyrano gave Tin-Tin a light squeeze. "He misses his daughter-in-law too. As do I."

"And I've missed you, Father. It's going to be so good to have you here with us."

Kyrano chuckled. "I think I hear what my British colleagues at Kew would have called 'cupboard love'."

"Never!" Tin-Tin exclaimed. "But I am looking forward to your cooking. We all are. We finished the last of your pre-prepared meals two days ago."

"How is Mister Brains?"

"Happy," Tin-Tin admitted. "He is happy to be working in his old laboratory again."

"And your work goes well?"

"It is tiring, but I am enjoying myself too. It is so good to be using my skills again!"

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

John knocked the mattress, feeling it hard and unforgiving beneath his knuckles. "It's still frozen solid!" He looked at his younger brother, who blinked against the glare of the headlight.

"I'm not surprised," Alan remarked, shielding his eyes. "We haven't moved the heater in here yet... Can you look somewhere else? You're blinding me!"

John obliged by turning his attention back to his old bed. "If we had the pseudo-gravity generator operational we'd need a drip tray underneath as it defrosted." He rapped the bed again, hearing the wooden sound. They'd installed a portable oxygen generator in Thunderbird Five and it was circulating warm, breathable air throughout the space satellite and sound waves were now able to be heard without the use of radio microphones and earpieces. "This shows you how much moisture you lose when you're asleep... And I'm glad I'm not sleeping on it tonight! A new bed is definitely on my list of must-haves for Thunderbird Five."

"What else is on your list?"

"A new telescope."

Alan laughed, water vapour swirling out of his mouth and reflecting in the light from his headlamp. "Trust you, Johnny. What's wrong with the old one?"

"The same thing that's wrong with everything else in this place. It has ice all through it. The optics are all cracked and fogged up. The mirror looks like the Crab Nebula."

The two brothers floated back into the main control room.

"Good," Scott greeted them. "Time to do the rounds again."

"The rounds" was a tour of the control room and other vital areas removing the full buckets from under the dehumidifiers and replacing them with empty ones. The dehumidifiers had their own method of drawing the water from out of the air and into the buckets, but, without gravity, pouring the liquid into the grey-water tank was something of a problem. They'd solved it by the process of tipping the buckets upside-down within the confines of the tank, lifting the bucket off the resulting blob, and then using a large flat piece of plastic, slightly smaller in diameter than the tank, to push the water down to the bottom.

John, realising that he was finding it much easier to move in his spacesuit, even after only 24 hours in zero gravity, floated down beside the dehumidifier that was drying out the main monitor console. He pulled out the bucket and checked its contents. "Mine's only about quarter full," he announced.

"So's mine." Alan was emptying the dehumidifier by the life-support console.

"And this one's got even less." Scott replaced the bucket beneath the main unit in the centre of the control room. "And I've just checked the power hub and that's almost dried out too. Won't be long and we'll be able to start slowly injecting some life back into this place."

"Starting with the heaters?" Alan suggested. "I know it's not sub-zero any longer, but it still feels cold enough to keep a penguin happy." He rubbed his gloved hands together.

"I'd prefer that we start with the lights," John admitted. "Then we can see what we're doing."

Scott nodded. "I'm with John." He ran his hand through his hair and, with no gravity to tell it to fall back down again, it remained sticking upwards. "Where shall we dry out next?" He looked at John.

"Alan's probably expecting me to say the astrodome so that I can get the telescope functioning again," John replied, "but I think the duplicate control room should be our next priority, at least until we know that this one's operational. Hopefully between the two centres we should be able to cobble together one fully functioning unit. Then the living quarters; it's a little cramped for the three of us in Thunderbird Three. _And then_ the astrodome."

"You know Thunderbird Five better than anyone," Scott grinned. "So up here, you're the boss."

"Thanks. In that case, my first order is that we move these dehumidifiers into the duplicate control room." John realised that only one of his brothers was listening to him.

Alan was standing at one of Thunderbird Five's windows, looking wistfully down to Earth. Clearly he was thousands of kilometres away, probably somewhere in the vicinity of the laboratory on Tracy Island. He didn't respond to John's first call. Or the second.

Scott winked at John. "I think the kid's homesick."

Alan, not hearing the comment, made no response.

"Alan," John tried again. "Hey! Alan!"

"Huh?" Alan finally looked around. "What?"

John floated over so he was at his little brother's side. "Are you okay? You were miles away."

Alan sighed. "Yeah."

"You're missing Tin-Tin?"

Alan looked back out the window so he didn't have to face his brothers. "Maybe a little." He attempted an unconcerned shrug.

"Cheer up," Scott advised. "With any luck we'll be home again before the week's over." He looked out the window himself, towards the Earth's horizon. "I wonder how Father's getting on."

"Once we've got the radio operational, we'll be able to call him up and find out." Alan pushed away from the window. "So, what are we doing next to get things dried out?"

"John wants to do the duplicate control room, right, John?"

John had been thinking about his father. Thoughts of his father had led to wondering about how Tracy Industries was doing. Curiosity about Tracy Industries and his father had got him contemplating Emma. Were she and his father working together okay? Was she happy with her new responsibilities…? Was she missing him…?

"John!"

"Huh? What?"

"Where were you, Johnny?" Alan asked.

"Just thinking about Dad and the business," John admitted. That wasn't, he told himself, a lie. "I hope he's coping okay."

"Especially since Kyrano will be on Tracy Island by now," Alan added. "Dad's going to be all alone."

"He's still got his nurse and the new cook," Scott reminded them.

"But they're not family," Alan corrected. "It's not the same."

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

Things weren't the same. Nurse Sara was sharing a cup of coffee and a gossip with the new cook, Martha.

"Tell me about Mr Tracy," Martha requested, as she scattered flour on the bench top.

Sara took a sip of her coffee. "What do you want to know? Obviously I can't tell you anything medical, because of patient confidentiality."

"He's had a stroke, hasn't he?" Martha asked, seemingly ignoring the nurse's comment. "That's why he needs you?"

This was common knowledge, even if Jeff's condition hadn't been obvious to anyone who met him, so Sara had no qualms in confirming the diagnosis. "That's right."

"Is it true he used to be an astronaut?"

"Yes, although you wouldn't think so to look at this place. All the memorabilia relating to that side of his life is packed away in storage. His mother showed it to me once before she died. If he does talk about it, he gets depressed. It's like he can't reconcile his present condition with the man he was."

"He seems a nice man. A little hard to understand though."

"He's a lovely man," Sara confirmed, "when he's not frustrated. And as time goes by you'll find it easier to understand what he's saying. His secretary…"

"That's Emma?"

"Yes, that's right. She only met him ten days ago, and she's already starting to understand him."

"Did his old secretary leave him because of Doomsday?"

"No. Emma used to be secretary to John, Mr Tracy's second son. John took over Tracy Industries when Mr Tracy had the stroke." Sara pursed her lips together in disapproval.

"Don't you like him?" Martha asked, seeing the nurse's frown.

"I used to. I used to like all of Mr Tracy's sons. But I've lost respect for them now."

"Lost respect?" Martha queried.

"Like I said I used to like John. Mr Tracy built up the business and, even though his stroke meant he no longer took an active role in the company, John would still discuss aspects of it with him. It was never anything that would cause his father stress, or tire him unnecessarily; but it made Mr Tracy feel that his input was still valued. And that did him good. It gave him an interest outside this house."

"Doesn't he leave very often?"

"Hardly ever. Not even for medical appointments. When you're a billionaire, you expect your doctors to come to you."

Martha's eyes widened. "Is he really a billionaire?"

"From what I understand; yes, he is. And his sons never behaved like they were the sons of a billionaire. They all had their own jobs… And they all seemed so kind and caring towards Mr Tracy. Before Doomsday hardly a day would go by without one or more of them ringing up to see how their father was and telling him about what was happening in their lives. We'd usually see at least one of them once a week."

"I haven't met them yet, have I?"

"No." Sara's frown deepened. "And from what I understand you won't either."

Martha tossed the ball of dough onto the bench and started kneading. "Why not?"

"So many men their age would get lost in their own lives and forget that their father was an invalid, but not them. That was until Doomsday was announced. Apparently before Mr Tracy had his stroke, they lived it up on his tropical paradise island. You know the type of thing: wine, women and song. And now that they know Doomsday's going to happen, they've all decided to throw in their jobs and end their days living that lifestyle again."

Martha couldn't imagine what work five playboys would be happy doing, even if one of them appeared to have developed some sense of responsibility and had managed to run a successful multi-national corporation. "What jobs did they have before Doomsday?"

"Let's see…" Sara thought. "The eldest is Scott; he's a test pilot for one of the Tracy companies. I suppose they pretend to employ him to please the owner of the company, and he gives the illusion that he's actually in meaningful employment while he joyrides around all day… Next… is John. The third one… I think… is Virgil. He's an artist."

"Artist?"

"A painter… He's changed over the years. He seemed reasonably sensible at first but has got sucked into the underbelly of the artistic world. He now has weird blue hair and piercings all over him…" Sara paused as she realised something. "Although, thinking about it, the last time I saw him he'd lost them all and I don't remember seeing any scars..." She shrugged away the mystery. "The fourth son is Gordon. He says he's some kind of underwater researcher. He married a horrible woman that Mr Tracy absolutely hates, and I don't blame him. She patronises Mr Tracy, and treats me like dirt. He's always taken a turn for the worse after she's visited… The youngest son is Alan. He's a race car driver and you know what they're like."

Martha nodded. She'd heard all about those competitive drivers with their fast cars, faster women, and out of control lives. She decided that she didn't like the sound of Jeff Tracy's sons. "Is the fourth one the only one that's married?"

"Oh, no. Alan married Mr Kyrano's daughter."

"Mr Kyrano? That was the man I replaced? The one who interviewed me? But he seemed so quiet!"

"He is. And that's another reason why I don't like Mr Tracy's sons. It's because they've taken Mr Kyrano to look after them while they relax and enjoy themselves! Now, don't get me wrong, Martha, I'm glad you're here," Sara added hastily. "Mr Kyrano was a lovely man; but he was also a very reserved, private individual, and he wasn't someone you could have a conversation with. But he was Mr Tracy's friend, maybe his only friend, and those five boys took him away leaving their father alone!"

Martha stopped kneading and stared at the nurse. "That's awful!"

"I know! And to think I used to think how wonderful they all were. And Mr Tracy thought that they were wonderful too. Not that he'd try to show it. He'd pretend that he was all gruff and stern when they were here, but he was always in better spirits and much brighter after they'd gone. He'd tell me all about what they'd been up to. He was really proud of them. And then they go and treat him like this! John's just dumped all the responsibilities and stresses associated with running a multi-national conglomerate in Mr Tracy's lap and left him to it! He's been in a bad mood ever since."

There was a roar from elsewhere in the house.

"See what I mean… I'd better go see what he wants." Sara slipped off her stool and took a final sip of her coffee.

There was another roar.

"Gotta go!" Sara replaced the cup on its saucer and hurried out the door.

Martha, deciding that she didn't like Jeff Tracy's sons much either, returned to her kneading.

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

Jeff's morning had started like every other morning. He'd suffered the indignantly of having a nurse help him get out of bed, get washed and dressed, and had eaten his breakfast alone. This new woman, Martha, was a good cook, but even after one day he was already missing Kyrano's quiet presence. It was only the knowledge that his friend was caring for his sons as they worked to save the world that kept him from falling into a deep depression.

That and anticipation of the day's activities.

After the morning's routine, including a vigorous physiotherapy session to try to increase the mobility and strength of his atrophied limbs, he approached his desk with an eagerness that he hadn't felt in years. He'd forgotten how much he'd enjoyed the challenge of running a large corporation. It was like a giant chess game where the smallest move had to be analysed and considered before being put into play, and where lots of those little moves led towards the grand prize.

Emma had been a big help. Now that she was gaining confidence and starting to relax around him, they were becoming more of a team. There was still the language barrier; a frustration that sometimes boiled over, but it was something that they were slowly, but surely, overcoming.

Jeff wheeled himself behind the desk, and locked the hoverchair into position. The sight of the videophone made him uneasy. It had been ten days since his sons had visited, and in that time he'd heard from each of them only once, and the last call had been three days ago. They'd all promised that they'd phone more often, but Jeff knew that they had a lot of work to do in a short space of time and that ringing their father would be a low priority. He was glad that he'd insisted that Kyrano go and stay with them, because he knew that his friend would honour his commitment to phone at least once a day.

Emma had worked late last night and a neat pile of folders was stacked on his desk. It wasn't really that she'd worked 'late'; more that Jeff, unused to working so hard, had exhausted himself (yet again) and retired to bed in the late-afternoon, leaving her to carry on 'running the company' as he'd joked before leaving. He had no qualms about leaving her in charge, even though in doing so he annoyed himself with his own frailties. Emma had shown time and time again that she was highly competent, extremely knowledgeable about the company, and had the patience of a saint as she dealt with a man whose expectations frequently exceeded his capabilities. Jeff could understand why John had relied on her so heavily… And why his son was so attracted to her.

In the mornings Emma would also call into the office to get the necessary files for the day and have a briefing with Robert before she would drive out to Jeff's home. This gave Jeff the time to review yesterday's decisions and consider today's challenges before they both settled down to a day's work.

He slid the top file off the pile and opened it. This was a simple document, authorising the exploration of the purchase of some land. The world might think that the planet was going to end in less than four months, but Jeff knew that there was a slim glimmer of hope that life would return to normal, and he wanted Tracy Industries to be on a good footing when it did.

He reached out for a pen to sign the authorisation, but his mind, yet again, overestimated his body's abilities. He found his fingers closing around a pen that his arm hadn't even reached yet. He cursed himself, and concentrated on telling his muscles to extend further and his fingers to pick up the pen, not fresh air. This major task successfully completed, he used his weaker left hand to straighten the pen in his right, and went to sign his name at the bottom of the document.

The pen fell out of his hand.

Frustration overwhelmed him. He was a grown man, unable to even hold a pen long enough to sign his name! This had gone on for far too long!

"_Sara!"_

He tried to pick up the pen again, but his left arm, not being strong enough to be able to hold its own weight for any length of time, slid off the desk, taking the file with it. Papers ended up strewn across the floor.

"_Sara!"_ he yelled again. _"Where are you?!"_

The nurse arrived one minute later, slightly breathless at having run from wherever it was in the house that she'd been hiding. "Yes, Mr Tracy?"

She smelt of coffee and there was a brown stain on her top. _"Your blouse is dirty,"_ Jeff growled.

"Oh!" Sara looked down and felt the stain. It was still damp. "I'm sorry. I was telling Martha about how the household works."

"_You mean you were gossiping about me!"_

"Uh…" Unable to deny that fact without lying, the nurse picked up the dropped documents. "What can I do for you, Mr Tracy?"

"_You can get hold of that doctor!"_

"Aren't you feeling well?" Sara saw a way of making amends for not being as prompt as he'd expected. "Can I get you something?"

"_Just get that neurologist on the phone!"_

"Of course…" Sara spun the videophone around so that it was facing her. "Ah… Which one?"

"_That one who said that he'd like me to consider trying that experimental treatment!"_

Sara stared at her boss. "Was that the one that you said was only interested in your taking part because you could afford to pay all the expenses; and that if you died during the operation he could brush it off by saying that you were too old to start with?"

"_That's him. What's his name?"_

Sara started going through the address book for the required number. "Dr Alex Cooper. Are you sure you want me to call him?"

"_Call__ him."_

Sara found the number in the book. "What do you want me to tell him?"

"_Tell him that I want to see him right away."_

"Why?"

Jeff managed to avoid sarcasm. _"I want to hear more about this experimental treatment. I want to know everything. Details of trials, peer reviews, results, failures… Everything! He may have found his guinea pig…"_

"But you said that that you wouldn't be their guinea pig for all the tea in China!"

"_Just call him," _Jeff said through gritted teeth. He was getting tired of the nurse's continual questions._ "And whatever you do, don't breathe a word about this to my sons."_

Sara stiffened. She wouldn't have given Jeff Tracy's sons the time of day, let alone the courtesy of knowing that their father seemed to finally have decided to have taken the initiative to do something about his condition. "I won't."

Jeff heard the coldness in her voice. _"And don't let me ever hear you say anything against them either,"_ he warned. _"They're fine men: each and every one of them."_

"If you say so, Mr Tracy."

"_I do say so! And don't you forget it!"_

Stung by his accusatory tone, Sara turned back to the phone and started dialling.

Jeff scowled at the files on his desk. _"At least I know someone who likes tea,"_ he muttered.

Sara looked at him. "Mr Tracy?"

"_Just call that number!"_

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

Above the deepest point in the world's oceans, Parker was bent over the starboard rail of his mistress' yacht. Not because he was feeling seasick, although the seas were more than a little choppy as Typhoon Ita, now being described in official circles as a tropical storm, churned up the western Pacific Ocean. He lifted a portable radio to his lips. "H-I can't see h-it, m'Lady."

"Oh, dear, how tiresome," Lady Penelope sighed, her voice as clear as if she was only metres away, which she was. "I do hope we haven't lost it. Gordon said that there was only one still in working condition. I should so hate to let the poor boy down."

"H-I should think that 'e'd 'ate h-it too," Parker agreed. "'E seems h-a bit stressed by the 'ole thing… 'Ang on…" He'd spied something floating into the water. "No. H-it's a bit of seaweed."

Lady Penelope, using what looked like a pair of binoculars, peered into the turbulent waters; the waves forming walls of water over a metre high. The probe could be only metres away and hidden by the ever changing horizon. "We haven't been pushed off course, have we?"

"Lemmee check…" Parker examined a computer screen. "Nope. George h-is still followin' the same path the probe should be taking."

"We are basing that assumption on information that is at least two decades old," Lady Penelope reminded him. "Doomsday could have caused a rock fall in the Challenger Deep that has forced the probe to change course."

"We're still getting h-a signal," Parker confirmed. "So h-at least that bit's not broke."

From her position on the port rail, Lady Penelope scanned the cloudy waters. There was nothing serene about the Pacific today, and she was starting to feel a bit squeamish herself; not from the irregular rolling motion of FAB2, but the thought that they might be about to let International Rescue down when the organisation needed them more than ever.

A wave washed over the bow of the yacht and drenched their feet. They ignored the discomfort and continued gazing out over the chaotic waters. FAB2 adjusted her orientation, keeping her bow pointed into the winds. Another wave broke over the deck.

Parker braced himself against the water sucking at his legs as it raced back to its natural environment. "Tropical storm, my foot! H-It seems to be getting' worse, m'Lady, not better."

"It does indeed," Lady Penelope agreed. "We may have to consider retreating to the safety of the cabin soon."

But neither of them moved from their lookout positions.

A monster wave reared up over the front of the palatial yacht, and crashed down upon the fore deck. It smashed against Parker's legs with the force of a Lions rugby team forward's tackle. With no chance of standing, he was thrown against the rail, and it was only his safety harness that prevented him from going overboard.

When things had subsided, relatively speaking, he struggled back to his feet; feeling his sodden uniform heavy on his bruised limbs. "H-I'm getting' too old for this game," he grumbled as he took a step backwards. He tripped over something, grabbing at the rail again so he wouldn't end up flat on his back. This was one of those infrequent moments when his thoughts turned to the idea of retiring to some nice, safe little haven somewhere, far away from all the stresses and dangers that went with working for 'er Ladyship. At those moments it was only the knowledge that at least he wasn't a crippled shadow of his former self like Jeff Tracy, which stopped him from writing out his letter of resignation.

He looked down at what had tripped him.

"Well, H-I'll be h-a monkey's uncle!"

"What was that, Parker? Have you found the probe?"

"No, m'Lady." Parker grinned as he examined the metre long, bright yellow, cylindrical object that rocked gently against the cabin bulkhead; its International Rescue logo proudly displayed above the camera in its nose. If he hadn't known better he would have thought that it had been gently placed there by an invisible crew. "Mister Gordon's probe 'as found h-us."

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

In the darkened circular chamber that was Thunderbird Five's control room, three men stood, the lights from their headlamps lighting up the various pieces of equipment.

"Well..." Scott looked around, the light from his headlight illuminating Thunderbird Five's ice free controls. "I think she's as warm and dry as we're going to get her. We've replaced her batteries and we know that the solar panels are charging them. All that remains to do is turn her on again." He turned to the taller of his two companions. "Do you want to do the honours, John?"

John was feeling a kind of backward déjà vu. Seven years ago he'd stood here and had extinguished the life out of his Thunderbird. At the time he'd thought that his six month absence from the satellite would have meant that shutting her down would have simply been a matter of entering the codes and throwing the switches to turn her off. Instead he'd felt like he was euthanising a close member of his family. Scott had offered to do the deed, but when the time came, John had realised that it was his duty and his alone. He knew he was anthropomorphising bits of metal and electronics, but he'd still felt that he owed this final dignity to Thunderbird Five. To let someone else shut her down seemed traitorous to the craft after all the years that she'd sustained and protected him. And so he'd done what had needed to be done, and then grieved throughout the trip home and for many days afterwards. None of his brothers had commented on his introverted mood: they were too busy grieving for their own Thunderbirds to notice.

And now here he was; about to administer CPR (Computer Programmed Revival) to Thunderbird Five.

He should be happy. He should be eager to enter those codes and flick those switches. He should be waiting expectantly for that joyous hum that would herald the reawakening of his Thunderbird.

Instead his hands were sweaty, his mouth was dry, and he was almost dreading touching those buttons. What if he wasn't about to bring Thunderbird Five back to life? What if she only partially awakened; crippled and useless? What if she was going to be like him; the weak link in International Rescue's chain?

The time for questions was over.

Floating over the console, he flicked the switch and entered the first code. Then he scanned his palm print before entering a secondary code. A small amber button lit up and he pushed that before entering the third and final code. A small green button was illuminated and, after the briefest of pauses, he pressed it, before scanning his palm print again.

Thunderbird Five didn't haul herself back into wakefulness. She didn't drag herself grudgingly out of the deep slumber she'd been enduring for the last seven years. Her lights didn't ebb and stutter as she tested all the circuits and decided what was functional and what wasn't.

Instead Thunderbird Five burst into life as if to say, "Right! I'm ready. What are you guys waiting for? Let's get this show on the road!"

John turned back to his brothers, his smile almost splitting his face in two. "I think we're in business."

_To be continued…_


	9. Chapter 9 - Discoveries

**Chapter Nine: Discoveries**

Lady Penelope and Parker stood on the pier and surveyed the neat little houseboat moored there.

"We could've h-asked Mister Gordon for 'is key," Parker suggested.

"We could," Lady Penelope agreed, "except that Alan requested that we tell no one of his suspicions. Gordon may not have wished us to do this investigation into his soon-to-be-ex-wife."

"H-I would've thought that 'e'd be glad of the 'elp."

"I'm of the opinion that he wants the whole affair to go away, and would rather that we didn't attempt to drag it out through the courts… Are you sure that Marina won't return any time soon?"

Parker checked the receiver in his hand. "That 'omin' device we planted on 'er car h-is miles h-away, and h-it don't look like h-it's gonna be moving any time soon."

"Good. It would be tiresome to be interrupted in our work. Lead on, Parker."

Parker led the way across the gangplank and onto the houseboat. He pretended to ring the doorbell as he examined the lock. "Looks h-a nice h-easy number. H-I would've thought Mister Gordon would've taken more care."

"Gordon probably thought that he no longer had the need of top of the range security systems. Of course, the whole houseboat may be alarmed."

Parker had placed a small electronic device beside the lock. "H-It h-is." A few key presses later... "At least h-it was..." The door swung open and he stepped inside. "Lummee!"

Lady Penelope followed him.

It was like stepping into a furnace, and her first reaction was to be repulsed by the scene before her. She'd never visited Gordon's home of the last seven years, and never in her wildest dreams had she imagined it to be anything like this.

"H-A bit h-overpowering, ain't she," Parker stated as he indicated the fiery red, orange and yellow ruffles that seemed to blossom anywhere.

This was not how Lady Penelope expected one of the masculine Tracy boys to furnish his home and she suppressed an almost overwhelming desire to call in her favourite interior designer. "Gordon's the most laid back of the Tracys, but even so…" she gave a refined shudder.

"'Ow did 'e stand h-it?"

"I don't know, Parker." Lady Penelope moved around the room examining the furnishings. "Marina bored me for simply hours at one of the Tracys' parties by explaining how she was 'improving' the décor. She explained how she was trying to achieve the juxtaposition between fire and water. I believe that she was trying to impress on me that she was an innovative interior designer in the hopes that I might bless her with my patronage."

"H-And what do you think now that you've seen 'er work?"

Lady Penelope stared at him with a grim expression on her pretty face. "That we need to do all we can to get Gordon out of this marriage."

Parker pushed back the flame-red lace wall hanging, revealing a white wall with blue trim and a replica life preserver. "Poor fella made h-an effort… Not that h-it did 'im much good."

Lady Penelope pulled herself together. They already knew of Marina's cheap tastes and lack of refinement. They were here to discover what the woman had chosen not to reveal to her husband's friends. "I would like you to make a thorough search of the living area while I'll examine the bedroom."

"Yes, m'Lady."

Lady Penelope stood at the doorway to the bedroom and took in the scene. The sight of two single beds seemed somewhat pathetic in the room of a couple who'd been married less than a year, and there was no difficulty telling the ownership of each bed. Marina's had the expected red and yellow ruffles, while Gordon's duvet was a more practical nautical-navy and white. "Now," she mused, "just where would a girl hide her secrets?"

She began to search, carefully and methodically. She started with pulling back the pillow and checking that nothing was concealed there. Then she felt under the mattress, before turning her attention to the drawers and cupboards. Just under half were filled with the sort of items that she found in her own drawers at home, albeit of lower quality. The others contained Gordon's belongings, or else were simply empty.

She regarded a drawer of masculine underclothes with distaste. There wasn't a lot of logic in the idea of Marina hiding things in Gordon's drawers, but Lady Penelope was always thorough and made a point of never leaving any stones unturned. She also did not like betraying Gordon. If these had been the belongings of a stranger, she would have felt no qualms searching through them. But now she felt like an intruder. This was a stupid, sentimental way to feel, but these belonged to a close friend...

"Parker!"

The butler stuck his head through the bedroom door. "Yes, m'Lady?"

"Would you search through Gordon's clothes? I am quite sure that if he were aware what we were doing he would rather you did it than I."

Making no comment about his mistress' uncharacteristic reticence, Parker made a quick and efficient search of the drawers. "Neither of them seem to be 'iding h-anything in there."

"No…" Lady Penelope was examining a waste paper basket, which she put down. "Did you notice anything odd about the drawers?"

"Odd? Can't say H-I did."

"I searched Marina's and they are not as full as I might have expected. Almost as if, like Gordon, she has deserted her home..."

"'Cept she's giving the impression she's coming back?" Parker hypothesised. He checked the homing receiver. "She ain't moved. Maybe she's shifted out into this h-other place?"

"Maybe... Have you discovered anything of interest?"

"Not really," he admitted. "She likes 'er fruit juice. There's bottles and bottles h-in the recyclin'. And she likes reading cheap romances. There's a 'ole shelf of 'em in there." He jerked his thumb in the direction of the living area. "But what's really h-interesting h-is some notebooks on the shelves."

Lady Penelope spun to face him, her eyes alive with interest. "Notebooks?"

"Yeah. The funny thing is, they h-all look well thumbed like, as h-if they've been used, but they're h-all h-empty."

"Empty?"

"Yeah. D'ya want to 'ave a look?"

"I do indeed, Parker."

Parker showed the way to the bookshelf and pointed out the irregular line of notebooks. Clearly Marina wasn't a neat freak. "That's the way H-I found 'em," he explained. "I used the laser line to make sure H-I put 'em back into place." He switched the laser line on, and Lady Penelope removed one of the notebooks.

She carried it over to the light. "I see what you mean by well thumbed." She examined the notebooks at an angle. "The pages appear to have been written on."

"You think she used 'em to lean h-on when she wrote on a blank page?"

"No… I think she'd written in these books themselves?"

"Using h-invisible h-ink?"

"Probably. The question is which type?"

"H-I can't see a h-air'ead like Marina using one of the more h-exclusive ones, such h-as you'd use, m'Lady," Parker confided. "Where'd she get 'er 'ands on it?"

"Exactly," Lady Penelope agreed. "It would have to be something readily accessible."

"Lemon juice?"

"Not always the easiest to obtain…" Lady Penelope had an idea. "What type of juice bottles were they?"

Parker shook his head. "Sorry to burst yer bubble, m'Lady, but they weren't lemon."

"There are other, er, shall we say more earthy, but easily accessible media."

Parker snuffled a laugh. "I can't see 'er soiling 'er 'ands."

"No, neither can I," Lady Penelope admitted. "Maybe we're according Marina with more intelligence than she deserves."

"M'Lady?"

"Can you see her making her own invisible ink?"

"No."

"Exactly." Lady Penelope was rifling through a cup on the desk beside the bookshelf. "If we are going to think like Marina, we are going to have to think of the obvious… Ah!" She pulled a pen out of the cup. It looked relatively full of ink, but the label on the side had been worn away. "Where's my notebook?"

As she rummaged through her handbag Parker took the opportunity to examine his mistress's find. "Looks like h-a normal pen to me."

"And, if I am correct, it behaves like a normal pen." Lady Penelope accepted it back and signed _Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward_ on her pad.

"Does h-it fade h-in time?" Parker asked.

"If you give it a little help." Lady Penelope placed the notebook on the desk and rubbed the page. Her signature disappeared.

Parker was impressed by the demonstration. "Ow'd you do that?"

"Friction," Lady Penelope replied. "This is a thermo-sensitive gel ink pen. The heat created when you rub the paper causes the ink to disappear."

"H-And to make it reappear you cool h-it down again?" he guessed.

"Yes. I believe that you have to cool it to minus 20 degrees Celsius."

Parker looked at the row of notebooks; then he checked the homing receiver. "She ain't moved yet. But look h-at 'em all, m'Lady. H-It'll take 'ours to cool all those books h-in the freezer, h-and then re'eat them so she doesn't know we've been 'ere."

"Then we shall stop talking and make a start," Lady Penelope declared. She reached back into her bag and retrieved two further objects. "Put the books in the refrigerator, Parker. When they have cooled enough to reveal their contents you can photograph them and I'll," she held aloft something that looked like a tiny hair dryer, "warm them up again."

"What h-is that?" Parker asked, nodding in the direction of the 'hair dryer' as he started loading the notebooks into the ice compartment of the refrigerator.

"A hair dryer."

"H-Ask h-a stupid question," he muttered.

Lady Penelope responded with a laugh. "A girl always tries to look her best, and being this close to water I didn't like to take any chances."

"H-Of course."

While they waited for the notebooks to chill, Lady Penelope took the opportunity to continue examining the houseboat. "If you asked me to guess which of the Tracys dwelt here, I should not have guessed Gordon. There is no humour in the place."

"H-I know what you mean, m'Lady. That Marina's taken h-over h-everything."

"Not quite everything." Lady Penelope pointed to a small square on the wall that appeared to have escaped Marina's touch. "Do you suppose that's where Gordon displayed his medal?"

"H-If h-it was, I 'ope 'e 'ad the good sense to take h-it with 'im. H-I wouldn't put h-it past 'er to sell h-it."

"I'm afraid to say, Parker, that I totally agree with you." Lady Penelope opened the door of the refrigerator. "Let us see what Marina has to say."

They worked diligently for what seemed to be hours; until the last of Marina's notebooks was lined up next to its brethren in the same untidy state that they'd been in when they started.

"Didya 'appen to read h-any h-of h-it?" Parker asked, as he cast his burglar's eye around the room to ensure that nothing was out of place. He shifted a figurine a fraction of a millimetre.

Lady Penelope replaced the camera and hair dryer back into her bag. "Enough to think that there may be some interesting reading contained in these books."

Parker checked the homing device receiver. "She's on the move, m'Lady."

"She has timed it perfectly," Lady Penelope smiled. "Let us depart, Parker."

As the Rolls Royce rolled out of the carpark, a scarlet convertible drove in. Marina's eyes widened at the sight of the shocking pink car. "Some people have no class," she sniffed.

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

It was late when Kyrano dialled the videophone; the optimum time for his caller to speak to him. He'd made this same call at the same time each day and he knew it would be a while before the person at the other end would be able to answer. He was a patient man, and he would have to draw on this patience to ensure that this conversation went smoothly.

At last a face appeared on the phone. He was treated to a lopsided smile. _"Hello, Kyrano."_

Kyrano smiled in return. "Hello, Mr Tracy. Has it been a good day?"

"_It has, and I think we've achieved plenty. Have you survived the first week of mayhem?"_

Kyrano bowed his head. "There is not so much mayhem as quiet optimism," he recited. "Your sons returned from Thunderbird Five today. They report that all the equipment is working well. Now they hope to be able to concentrate on repairing the other Thunderbirds."

Jeff let out a sigh of relief. _"I'm glad to hear that. I had my doubts that they would be able to get operational in time when they told me about the damage to the craft. How are the boys?"_

"They are all well. They ask me to tell them how you are each morning."

"_I wish they wouldn't worry about me,"_ Jeff growled. _"I'm all right. I'm more worried about them."_

"I worry too. They are working hard; perhaps too hard. I only sometimes see Mister Virgil at mealtimes. He is always working on Thunderbird Two."

"_He won't be able to fly her if he doesn't look after himself."_

"I tell him this. I tell them all, but they will not listen. His brothers, Mister Brains, and my Tin-Tin are just as bad."

"_That's what worries me. I'm scared that they'll overdo it and burn out. Or worse!"_

"That is my concern. There is much at stake."

"_You've got to make them realise they won't be able to do anything if they make themselves sick."_

"I tell them this. I even try to drag them to the meal table if I do not think they have had adequate sustenance or rest. But," here Kyrano offered a wry smile, "there is little I can do when they have abseiled halfway down a Thunderbird and are beyond my reach."

Jeff couldn't find any humour in the situation._ "They should listen to you. I not only asked you to go to Tracy Island to be my eyes and ears, but also to be my voice. If you think someone needs to slow down and they don't listen to you then call me and I'll talk to them."_

Kyrano nodded. "I will remember."

Jeff let out a breath and tried to turn his attention to less worrisome thoughts. _"Has Virgil cut his hair yet?"_

Kyrano shook his head. "Nor has he shaven."

"_Not sha..."_ Jeff pulled himself up short. _"I suppose I shouldn't worry about a triviality like that, not with everything else we've got to deal with. Has Gordon heard anything more about the divorce?"_

Kyrano shook his head again. "No."

"_How's it affecting him?"_

Kyrano hesitated. He didn't want to upset his friend unnecessarily, but he'd promised him a full report. "He seems anxious. I believe that he is not sleeping."

Jeff's brow creased. _"Has he mentioned it to Brains?"_

"We have moved one of the slow-wave sleep generators to his room. We are hopeful that that will help."

"_That's good. Let me know if it works. How's John? Did he lose much weight in space?"_

This time Kyrano nodded. "He jokes that he can now fit into his exercise clothing, so he can regain the muscle tone that he lost in space, so he can exercise to lose the fat that he still carries."

Jeff chuckled. _"Tell him not to worry about the company. He's got a gem in Emma and we're getting on well."_

"He will be pleased to hear that."

"I'll bet," Jeff thought. _"How's Scott coping with running everything?"_

"He rules with a bar of iron buried beneath a mattress of velvet. But..."

"_But?"_

Kyrano frowned. While he'd waited to make this call he'd debated whether or not he should broach this subject. He decided that the Tracy patriarch would want to know. "He appears less sure of himself and less trusting of the others."

"_Scott?!"_

"Yes. He questions all decisions he makes and double-checks all the work of his brothers."

"_Any ideas why?"_

"No."

"_Well, keep your ear to the ground and let me know if you hear anything,"_ Jeff requested. _"Did Alan enjoy his first flight in Thunderbird Three?"_

Kyrano offered a benign smile. "I do not know if the enthusiasm he showed upon his return was a result of the flight or meeting my daughter again."

"_Knowing Alan, it'll be a big helping of both... Talking about Tin-Tin, is she enjoying the new challenge?"_

"She is working hard, and it is making her tired, but she is happy."

"_Good. And how'z Brains?"_

"Mister Brains has not changed. He still forgets that he is human and must eat."

Jeff laughed out loud.

"How is the new cook?" Kyrano enquired, hiding his concerns behind his calm method of speech. His twin loyalties to his friend and to International Rescue had been tested in coming here, and it had only been because Jeff had asked him personally that he had agreed. He knew beyond doubt that none of his friend's sons would have thought of asking him to leave their father.

But Jeff was well aware that those concerns existed. _"Adecwate, bud not up to your s'andard'."_

"And the gardener?"

"_I could uz the zame anza that I di' fa Marda." _Kyrano noted that Jeff's speech was becoming harder to understand. "_I don' thin' she'll be spryin' weed k'ller aroun' reglessy, I dou't that yo' plan' will thri' as well as th' do unda your gare."_

Kyrano grunted his approval. "Are you tired, Mr Tracy?"

Jeff looked annoyed. _"Wad a 'm z fed up 'n frustra'ed with thi body v mine. I 'vy you, m' frien'."_

"You are tired. I shall call you again tomorrow."

"'_m zwy, Gyrina. I…"_ Jeff, beyond annoyed, growled in frustration.

"I shall tell your sons that you are well and that you expect them to ensure that they are the same."

Jeff nodded. He barely appeared to have the strength to lift his head before letting it drop. _"Dank…"_

"Good bye, Mr Tracy."

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

"Would you like a hand, Virgil?"

Virgil smiled at Scott. "I'd love one. The CNC guillotine keeps jamming."

"Have you set it up correctly?"

A slight frown of annoyance clouded Virgil's smile, but his voice remained pleasant. "I'm pretty sure I have, but you're welcome to check it." He watched as Scott read the plans and ran through the CNC guillotine's checklist. "I actually think that something's jammed in the works. It was operating perfectly yesterday."

Scott grunted and pushed the start button. The guillotine groaned, attempted to pick up a piece of metal, and then ground to a halt. There was a clunking sound as the machine shut itself down.

Virgil checked his watch. Then he frowned before turning back to the machine. "Can you give me a hand to open this up?"

Reaching for the off switch to remove the power connection, he heard a voice behind him. "Make sure you switch it off first."

Virgil ground his teeth together to bite back the retort that was waiting to burst forth.

Together they unscrewed a panel and exposed the CNC cutter's interior workings. Virgil got two torches and handed one to his brother. "Can you see anything?"

Scott, his head obliterating Virgil's view, was peering into the machine. "This might be out of alignment..." He reached inside and nudged a component and they heard that clunking sound again.

Virgil checked his watch.

Scott shot Virgil a curious look. "Is it moving freely now?"

Virgil pushed at the feed unit. "No."

Scott adjusted something else. There was another clunk.

Virgil started, raised his arm, saw Scott watching him, and lowered it again.

"What's wrong with you? You're all jumpy."

"Uh..." Virgil indicated the watch. "Gordon said he might want my help and I don't want to miss his call..." He gave an unconvincing grin. "Let me have a look in there."

Scott stared at him in a way that said he wasn't sure about all this, but stood back. Virgil shone his torch inside. "It all looks oka... Hold on! I think I see something." He pulled his head out of the machine and went around the back. "Help me with this." They pulled another panel off the back of the guillotine and Virgil lay down on the floor, shining his torch inside. "Can you get me an adjustable face spanner wrench?"

Scott selected the tool "Here."

"Thanks." Virgil reached back inside the CNC machine and a piece of metal fell free, making a clunking noise. As if it were echoing the sound his watch started beeping and he sat up suddenly, banging his head on the inside of the guillotine. "Ow!"

"Are you all right?"

"Yeah. Ah... Gordon's calling me."

"So I hear..."

"I'll go and see what he wants. Back soon..." Virgil took off at a run; barrelling into Thunderbird Four's bay. "Are you all right!"

Gordon looked surprised at the speedy entrance. "Yeah. Course I am."

"Are you sure?!"

"I just wanted some help. You didn't have to panic, Virg."

"Panic! I thought you were having another attack." Virgil took a breath to get his nerves back under control. "I've just about brained myself on the guillotine trying to get here to help you!" He rubbed his sore head.

Gordon looked chastened. "I'm sorry, but I'm okay. You don't need to worry about me 24 hours a day."

"I might not have to, but I do. It would be a lot easier on my nerves if we just told someone else what happened."

Gordon looked alarmed. "You said you wouldn't!"

"I know I did, but the CNC guillotine had a jam and every time we moved the feeder it would make a noise. The pitch was exactly the same as my watch alarm." Virgil made a hopeless gesture. "I've been on edge all afternoon, thinking that it was you calling me."

"I thought something was wrong." Both men turned at Scott's voice. "So, what is it?"

"Nothing." Gordon treated his eldest brother to an ingratiating grin. "Virgil's in a hurry to get back to his machine and I'm holding him up. Now that you're here you can give us both a hand and he'll be back with Thunderbird Two in no time. Right, Virg?"

"Uh... Yeah... Right." Virgil agreed.

He got the quizzical look again. "You're working on installing the Hexorhombi, Gordon?" Scott asked.

"Yes. I just need a hand getting started."

"Okay."

Virgil watched as Scott marched away towards the neat stack of hexagonal shaped honeycombs. _"Tell him,"_ he mouthed.

Gordon shook his head._ "No!"_

"_Yes!"_

Scott turned back to face his brothers. "Are you two going to help, or am I going to do this all by myself?"

"We're helping," Gordon told him. "Right, Virgil?"

Virgil made the hopeless gesture again and grabbed a sheet of Hexorhombi.

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

Tin-Tin examined the laboratory's calendar and frowned.

Brains blinked owlishly at her. "Is s-something wrong?"

His assistant let the calendar fall back against the wall and smiled at him. "No, Brains, all is well. I just cannot believe that we have been working for nearly one month. The time has flown."

Brains removed his spectacles and rubbed his tired eyes. "It's flown f-fast, Tin-Tin," he agreed. "Too fast." He replaced his glasses.

"You have been working too hard," she admonished.

"So have you," he retorted.

"We all have," Tin-Tin sighed. "When I think of all that we have still to do… And that we have only under two months to do it in..."

Brains looked down on the plans that were spread on a work bench. "It is worrying, isn't it? We've only just, er, finalised the design of the acoustic concussion generators. We've still got to build a p-prototype..."

"Test it..."

"M-Modify it..."

"Build three units..."

"As well as the lead missile for Th-Thunderbird One..."

"And build and design the booster rocket to deflect Arnie..."

"A-And the mechanics for the deployment of the b-booster..."

"And the mechanics for the deployment of the acoustic concussion generators from The Mole and Thunderbird Four." Tin-Tin sighed again and sank onto a stool. She rubbed her eyes; as tired as Brains'. "Do you think we can do it?"

Brains removed his spectacles and rubbed his reddened eyes again. "We don't have any ch-choice, do we?"

"No."

Brains pushed his glasses back onto his nose and straightened. "Then we can do it!" He picked up a list, which he peered at short-sightedly. "We need more materials. H-Has the supply plane arrived yet?"

Tin-Tin looked at her watch. "It should have. I'll go and see, shall I?"

Brains, already buried deep in his work, didn't reply.

Tin-Tin took this as a yes and hurried through the complex. She had another more personal reason why she wanted to see the mail plane's contents.

She found piles of parcels, pallet loads of goods, and a small bag of envelopes in the hangar. Gordon was standing in the middle of it all, reading. "Gordon?"

"Huh?" He looked up. "Oh… Tin-Tin."

"Have you got a letter, Gordon?" Tin-Tin, ignoring his distracted manner, started delving through the parcels.

He gestured with the document in his hand. "Papers I've got to sign for my lawyer." He indicated all the highlighted sections. "I'm only getting a divorce and I've got to sign enough papers to authorise the invasion of another country..." He noticed that she was still ferreting through the pile. "Are you expecting something?"

"Yes." Tin-Tin straightened. "Have you seen something addressed to me? It is probably a small box?"

"Oh!" Gordon retrieved something from his pocket. "Sorry, Honey. I was going to bring it up to you, but I was side..." Tin-Tin grabbed the parcel from his hands and ran for the exit. "...tracked..." He shrugged. "Must be something important." He shoved his letter into his pocket and started stacking the recently arrived goods onto a pallet truck.

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

"_Penny!"_

"Hello, Jeff. I thought it was high time I visited you."

Jeff indicated the chair next to him and closed the newspaper. _"Take a seat."_

"Thank you." Lady Penelope claimed the stool next to the hoverchair that Jeff was sitting in. She looked around the summerhouse. "I do so love it in here. The flowers are beautiful; although perhaps missing Kyrano's touch?"

Jeff grinned. _"He'd love to hear you say that."_ He looked about the garden as if he'd never taken the opportunity before. _"You're right though."_

"How have you been?" Lady Penelope enquired.

"_Me? I'm fine. How are you?"_

Lady Penelope gave a light laugh. "Oh, you know me. I just muddle along."

"_Muddle?"_ Jeff snorted a laugh. _"That's Creighton-Ward speak for: 'I'm in the middle of something daring and exciting and I'm likely to have my head blown off by a crazed spy at any moment.'"_

Lady Penelope took a moment to analyse what he'd said. _Creighton-Ward_ had sounded more like "gradenfor" and the rest of the sentence had been equally garbled. While she had a reasonable grasp of Jeff's speech's sounds, she hadn't spent enough time in his company over the last few years to be a totally confident in her interpretational abilities.

"_What's your latest project?"_ he asked.

"Now, Jeff," Lady Penelope admonished. "You know better than to ask me things like that. My work is totally hush-hush." _Especially from a subject's father-in-law._ "But 'The Firm' has kept me busy this last month." _Too busy to examine Marina's diaries in detail._

"_I wish you could tell me more. You would add some excitement to the life of an old man."_

"You are not old!"

"_Yes, I am. I'm old and decrepit."_

"Jeff Tracy! I will not listen to you talk this way!"

"_I'm only stating the facts, Penny."_

There was an element of truth in what he said, so Lady Penelope decided to drop the subject. "Are you enjoying being in control of a multi-national conglomerate again?"

She was delighted to see Jeff's face light up. _"I'd forgotten how exciting it could be. I've been out of the corporate world for too long."_

She indicated the newspaper. "Is this research, or relaxation?"

"_A bit of both,"_ he admitted. _"I notice they've stopped begging for International Rescue's help."_

"I don't know that that's taken any of the pressure off. I doubt that they will have taken the time to peruse media reports."

"_Have you been out to the island lately?"_

Lady Penelope shook her head and her blonde curls danced. "No. I decided that I should leave them free to concentrate on what needs to be done."

Jeff's smile faded. _"Which leads me onto another subject. Would you do me a favour, Penny?"_

"Of course, Jeff! You know you need only ask."

She was surprised to realise that he almost seemed reluctant to speak. _"You know how disabled I am..."_

"Yes?"

"_There is a procedure, an untried procedure, which may go some way to rectifying it."_

"An untried procedure?"

"_Yes. I've researched all I can about it, and I've decided that I'm going to try it."_

"Jeff? Are you sure that is wise?"

"_Maybe. Maybe not. That's why I'm telling you. I don't want my family to worry about me, so I wasn't going to mention it to anyone. But someone should know, someone I trust, in case something goes wrong. If that happened I want you to tell them that I underwent this procedure of my own free will. In fact I turned down the opportunity the first time it was presented to me, but things have made me change my mind."_

"What things?"

"_Work mainly. Things that I used to do so easily, like writing and talking on the phone, are now next to impossible. It's incredibly frustrating, Penny."_

"I'm sure that it is. And this, er, procedure..." Lady Penelope placed a gentle hand on his arm. "I take it there are no guarantees of success?"

"_None. But at least I'd give myself a chance of something closer to a normal life."_

"Is this the time to take such a risk?"

"_Is there a better time? They tell me I'll only need to take a week off work and there are people more than capable of taking over from me for that short a time. John need never know."_

"Don't you think he would rather know? Don't you think they all would?"

"_It would only add more stress to their already stressful lives."_

Lady Penelope could see his point. "When is the operation?"

"_I don't know. The quacks are still doing tests and finalising things. They haven't made the decision yet."_

Lady Penelope paused for a moment. "Why the change of heart?"

Jeff considered her question. _"I know there's not much that's good that can be said about it, but Doomsday has given me a new perspective on life. If John had suggested that I take over Tracy Industries without that cloud hanging over our heads, I would have dismissed the idea outright. But 'having' to take over has forced me to re-evaluate my life. And I realised that I was missing out on so much. I'd become mired in my own self pity."_

"Yes, you had," Lady Penelope agreed. "I'm surprised that the boys didn't take you in hand."

Jeff seemed taken aback by her forthrightness and he stared at her for a moment before continuing. _"They tried. Many times. John kept on inviting me to work functions. I don't know how many times an employee I've respected has been honoured for sterling service, and I've always been too ashamed to let them see me this way… Scott invited me to celebrate Stewie's achievements and I never went. If he hadn't brought the boy around here I would never have met him. The way things stand, Stewie's probably the closest I'll get to having a grandchild, and I missed out on that experience… I never went to any of Virgil's exhibitions, or Alan's races. I've never even seen Gordon's houseboat; before or after that woman got her hands on it."_

Lady Penelope remembered the horror that was the houseboat's décor and said nothing.

"_When the boys were young, I cursed every opportunity I missed in sharing their important moments; and now that I've got every opportunity I've been too scared to be a part of their lives. I've missed out on too much, Penny, and it's all been my fault, because I've been too ashamed to step beyond the boundaries of my home."_

"But is it necessary to take such a risk? You can push out those boundaries as you are."

"_No. This isn't me. Besides, I figure that it's because I became ill that International Rescue was terminated. Now that they're working to get it operational again, shouldn't I make the same effort?"_

"It's not exactly the same thing," Lady Penelope remarked. "May I read the literature on this procedure to reassure myself that you have made the right decision?"

"_Of course. I'll get Sara to give it to you before you leave."_

"Thank you…"

"_And I'd appreciate it if you'd promise me something."_

"You know me, Jeff. I'd do anything for you."

"_If this operation goes wrong and something bad happens... If I should die..."_ Jeff looked Lady Penelope in the eye. _"Don't let the boys give up on what they're doing. It's so much more important. I don't want any big commemoration ceremonies or memorial services. All I want is for them to forget about me and get International Rescue operational and to do their best to save the world. If they succeed, that'll be enough of a memorial for me."_

"But you are their father. I think you know as well as I do that they could never forget you."

"_That may be, but my life counts for nothing when placed alongside the billions that will perish in Doomsday if International Rescue doesn't succeed."_ Jeff placed his hand on hers. _"Don't let them give up, Penny. Please."_

Lady Penelope smiled. "I won't, Jeff, you can count on me."

"_Thank you." _Jeff straightened and appeared to steel himself for the upcoming challenges. _"The time for self-pity is over! Now it's time I took a stand and did something to improve my life!"_

Lady Penelope refrained from applauding his determination. "And I will support you every step of the way."

-F-A-B-

Parker, lounging in the kitchen, glanced out the window towards the couple in the summerhouse. Then he sipped the steaming mug of brown liquid. "This h-is h-a good cup o'char, Martha."

The cook giggled at his exaggerated Britishness, put on for the American's benefit. "Thank you."

He looked back out the window. "I see they're still yammerin'."

"Shouldn't we take something out to them?" Martha asked. "They've been talking a while."

"Nope," Parker responded. "They ain't ready yet."

"How can you tell?"

"I can read 'er like h-a book. When 'er Ladyship want's 'er cuppa, that's when she'll get it. And I'll know when that h-is." Parker tapped the side of his nose.

Martha giggled again at what she saw as a visual pun. "How?"

"The way she sits. The h-angle of 'er 'ead," Parker expanded. "Little things like that tell me when she wants to be h-alone." The truth was that Lady Penelope had sent a signal to his cuff buttons, which had changed from mauve to navy blue, as a warning that she had wanted privacy while she talked with Jeff Tracy; but Parker wasn't about to let the cook know that. He preferred to maintain the air of exclusive mystery. "That's the h-art o' bein' a good butler."

"More tea, Mr Parker?" Martha asked.

"Don' mind h-if I do."

Martha poured the tea. "Have you known Mr Tracy long?"

"Donkey's ears," he told her.

"Pardon?"

"Years 'n years. 'E's a good bloke. One h-of the best. So's 'is boys."

"Oh…" Martha put the kettle on to boil again. "I haven't seen any of them and I've been here for two and a half weeks."

Parker made a show of glancing out the window. "They've been busy." He straightened the cuffs of his jacket and fished the teabag from out of his mug.

Martha pursed her lips in disapproval. "So I've heard."

Parker noticed the change to her demeanour. "What 'ave you 'eard?"

Martha hesitated a moment. She didn't like gossiping. Well, she said she didn't like gossiping; she had no problems with listening to gossip. "That they've gone off to be playboys on this island somewhere."

She was somewhat disconcerted when Parker burst out laughing. "'Oo told you that? Them? Playboys?" He laughed again.

Uncomfortable at his reaction, Martha studied her mug. "That what I was told."

Parker sat forward. "Lemmee tell you somethin' about them Tracys h-and their h-island. 'Ave you seen photos o' h-it?"

"No."

"Well, just h-imagine a typiecal tropical paradise. Golden sands, palm trees, h-and blue lagoons. The forest h-is filled wiv brightly coloured buttaflies, h-and the parrots h-are so tame they'll h-eat h-out o' your 'and."

"Sounds beautiful."

"H-It h-is," Parker agreed. "Luverly! And the 'ouse, seven years h-ago, was the most comfortable h-and modern one you could 'ope for. H-And believe me, when you work h-and live h-in a mansion that's h-older than _your_ country," he pointed at Martha, "you get to h-appreciate a bit o' modernity."

"You live in a mansion?" Martha gasped; wide-eyed as she allowed herself to be sidetracked.

"Yep. An' I'm proud to do so. 'Er ladyship h-is the best. But still, when you get to my h-age, you start to h-appreciate a modern 'ome, like the Tracys had."

"You've been there?"

"Yep." Parker nodded. "Many times. H-And like I said, h-it's bee-u-ti-full. But h-it's not a place that a man 'oo can't walk properly could stay."

"You mean Mr Tracy?"

Parker nodded. "H-And 'is sons have gone there to lay ramps, put h-a boardwalk down to the beach, h-and h-install lifts so that 'e can move h-about."

"Couldn't they employ someone to do it for them?"

Parker laughed again. "Not them. They're 'appier doin' h-it themselves. They're not the sort to snap their fingers h-and h-expect to be waited h-on. H-And once they've got the villa sorted, they'll send for their h-old man h-and they'll see h-out the h-end o' the world together."

"But," Martha was trying to reconcile this new version of the Tracys with the old. "There's five of them, isn't there?"

"Yep."

"Then couldn't four of them do the work, while John stayed here and continued to run Tracy Industries?"

"They could, but h-if I know Mr Tracy, 'e told Mister John to go."

"But why? Now Mr Tracy's got this huge workload."

"H-And I'll bet you h-all the cakes h-in your h-oven that 'e's lovin' it, h-and they're both 'appy h-as Larry. You see Mister John's h-an h-astronomer…"

"What!"

"'E trained h-as a professional astronomer. Check h-out the library h-and you'll find a couple of books 'e's written. But these past few years, 'e's been stuck in the h-office h-and 'asn't h-even looked h-at the stars for a bit o' fun. Mr Tracy wanted him to 'ave a chance to h-enjoy 'is 'obby before the world h-ends... H-As a way of sayin' thank you for h-all 'e's done to keep the busyness going."

"So he sent him away?"

"H-In a manner of speakin', yeah."

"Oh..." Martha gazed out the window.

So did Parker, just in time to see his mistress sit back. He glanced at his buttons and noted that they were mauve again. "She's ready for 'er tea," he announced. "Betta get h-out there." He stood, poured the freshly boiled water into the teapot and waited a moment before swirling the liquid about. Then he picked up the tray. "I h-enjoyed the chat, Martha." _And puttin' you straight on them Tracys. _"Thanks for the cuppa." And with all the dignity that one would expect of a top class butler, he carried the tray out to the summerhouse.

_To be continued..._


	10. Chapter 10 - Secrets

**Chapter Ten: Secrets**

"Scott… Scott!"

Scott, high up on Thunderbird One's nose cone, his head buried inside the missile launching chamber, looked down. That was Alan's voice and he didn't sound like he was willing to be kept waiting.

"Scott! Where are you?!"

"Up here!"

Alan stared up at him from the hangar floor. "I'm coming up!" He set off; his movements, clear to a brother who'd had years of interpreting them, were decisive and stated that he had something on his mind; that he meant to say it; and that nobody or nothing would distract him from his purpose.

Not even Tin-Tin as she came running into the hangar. "Don't you dare, Alan Tra…" When the lift doors closed behind her husband, she looked up and saw her brother-in-law. "Don't listen to him, Scott!"

That, Scott reflected as he descended to meet Alan at the platform opposite Thunderbird One's cabin, was a pointless request. Growing up with four boisterous, sometimes overbearing, elder brothers, Alan had quickly learnt that if he wanted to be heard then he had to speak up. The result of this training meant that when Alan wanted to tell you something you usually didn't have much option other than to listen to him.

And it appeared that this time was to be no different as the lift doors opened, and Alan came storming out. He marched over to his eldest brother while the lift dropped back down to an impatient Tin-Tin. "She's not going, Scott."

This told Scott nothing. "What's not going where?"

"Tin-Tin. She's not coming with me to battle the asteroid."

Scott studied his kid brother. He was in the grip of some powerful, unknown emotion and Scott, who'd always prided himself on being able to read his brothers like four eclectic novels, had no idea what was wrong. "What?"

The lift doors slid open behind him as Alan repeated his demand. "Tin-Tin's not coming with me to battle Arnie!"

"Oh, yes I am, Alan Tracy!"

Alan spun on his heel. "No, you're not, Tin-Tin!"

"Stop being a chauvinist!"

"I'm not being a chauvinist! I'm being sensible!"

"Sensible?!"

"Yes! Sensible!"

Tin-Tin folded her arms in a huff, glowered at her husband, and then turned to face International Rescue's current commander. "Tell him I'm going, Scott!"

"No, you're no…!" Alan protested.

"Yes! I! Am!"

"No…!"

"Whoa! Hold it!" Scott held up his hands to arrest the argument. "What's going on here?"

"It's simple," Alan told him. "Tin-Tin's not leaving the planet. She's not coming with me to deflect Arnie."

"Alan…" Tin-Tin hissed. "I…"

She stopped talking when Scott held up his hand for silence. "Why not?"

"I've been thinking it over and it's just not safe."

"I think Tin-Tin's aware of that."

"I am!"

"And we can't spare anyone else," Scott reminded them. "We're all needed to negate Doomsday and that mission won't be underway until after you've left. Tin-Tin hasn't got the skills to take over from one of us so that he can go with you."

"I don't need anyone to go with me!" Alan protested. "In fact it would be better if I went alone. What if something goes wrong up there? No one's going to be available to rescue us. It's not like we can call on International Rescue."

"Alan…!" Tin-Tin began again, and was again stopped when Scott held up his hand.

"We're all going to be heading into danger," he reminded his brother. "And we're all going to be on our own. We're not going to be able to call on International Rescue either. What if something happened to Gordon? We couldn't rescue him; we've only got one Thunderbird Four…"

"Yes," Alan interrupted. "But what if something goes wrong with Thunderbird Three and, say, the rockets break down? If I could somehow get her moving in the right direction, then Newton's first law would mean I could still potentially make it home, but it would take much longer than if I was under motive power…"

Scott frowned, unable to follow his logic. "Right…"

"Assume that that happens, Scott. I'm only going to be able to carry a limited amount of food and water…"

"Yes…"

"And if Tin-Tin comes with me, that'll last half as long as if I'm on my own. If she's not there I'll survive twice as long and will potentially have a better chance of making it back to Earth."

Tin-Tin made a frustrated sound.

"But… Alan." Scott began patiently. When Alan was in this mood there was no point in treating him any other way. "If you go alone you will _be_ alone. It's not like it was when you were on duty on Thunderbird Five. You're going to be away for four months. At least two of those months you won't have any human contact."

Alan stuck out his jaw in defiance. "I can handle it."

"Are you sure?"

"It's going to be just as bad for John."

"But it's not exactly the same, is it?"

Alan was in a stubborn frame of mind. "Close enough."

"Alan," Scott persisted. "Being totally isolated from all human contact is not the same as what John will be dealing with, and it's not something you've dealt with before!"

"I've been alone for months before."

"But not _really_ alone. You've always been able to call us up and have a chat if you felt lonely. That's going to be impossible this time."

Alan threw back his shoulders. "I can handle it," he repeated. "Tin-Tin's not going, and that's final."

"I think Tin-Tin should have some say in that," Scott stated. "Tin-Tin?"

"I am going…" she began.

And was interrupted by her husband. "No, you'…"

Scott's arms were getting a workout today as his lifted his hands for silence again. "You've said your piece, Alan. It's Tin-Tin's turn to speak."

While the younger man fumed at being treated like a child, his wife turned to face the elder Tracy. "You've given the exact reasons why I should go. Why I am going! I'm not going to let Alan fly halfway across space alone in Thunderbird Three! Plus! If any of you three fail I'll have a better chance of survival on board Thunderbird Three than I would on the planet."

"Well, if she's going, then I'm not!"

Alan's jaw was jutting out and his shoulders were back, emphasising the determined glint in the younger man's eyes and Scott assessed that this was not a good development. "You can't be suggesting that Tin-Tin goes alone?"

"No. John can go with her in Thunderbird Three. I'll man Thunderbird Five."

Scott had to admit that this was a smart move on Alan's part. As close as she was to her brothers-in-law, Tin-Tin wanted to be with her husband and Scott decided that the logical thing to do was to back her up. "John's not fit enough for long-distance space travel yet."

"He will be in two months."

"He hasn't had the experience in Thunderbird Three that you have. She's your craft. And Thunderbird Five's his, not yours."

"I've spent nearly as long in Thunderbird Five as he has."

"Nearly, being the operative word. Not _exactly_ as long. Not _longer_. But _nearly_ as long. He knows her better than you. And don't forget that John's expertise is communications. That's what we'll need him to be concentrating on while Gordon, Virgil and I are laying the detonators. Wouldn't you rather have four months alone with Tin-Tin, than be completely isolated from all human contact?"

"No."

Tin-Tin uttered a strangled sound. "Don't you want me with you?"

"Of course I do, Honey, but it's just not practical; you know that." Alan stepped closer, took his wife's face in his hands and looked into her eyes. "Please, Tin-Tin," he whispered. "Don't fight me."

Tin-Tin's eyes locked with her husband's blue ones. Nothing was said between the couple, but Scott had the impression that they were communicating just the same. Their gaze was so intimate that he felt like a voyeur and, uncomfortable with the sensation, wondered if he should sneak into Thunderbird One's cabin to give them some privacy.

Then Tin-Tin looked down. "You are right, Alan." She nodded. "I should not go."

Surprised, Scott stared at her. "Huh?"

He was ignored. "Thank you," Alan said, and wrapped his arms about his wife, pulling her close. "I'm sorry."

"So am I."

Alan pushed back so he could see her face again. "But it's for the best? Yes?"

"Yes."

"Thank you," he repeated. Then he took a step backwards. "I… Uh… I've got things to do in Thunderbird Three… I'd better go do them."

Scott watched his youngest brother stride away. It was no longer the brisk walk of a man on a mission. Nor was it the attitude of someone who had just won an argument. It was almost as if Alan was upset that he'd triumphed.

And Scott was confused. As Tin-Tin turned to return to her own work he caught her arm. "Do you want me to talk to him? Maybe I can change his mind when he's cooled down?"

Tin-Tin shook her head. "No, Scott. This is the right thing to do."

"Are you sure? It sounds like madness to me. Four months alone in space!"

Tin-Tin straightened in an unconscious mimicking of her husband's earlier, stubborn attitude. "Alan knows what he is doing!"

"Well, I don't know what went on between the pair of you, but watching you two made me think that Virgil and I aren't the only ones with a supposed telepathic link."

"Have you considered that perhaps you and Virgil no longer have that link?" Tin-Tin asked. Without another word, she turned and walked away leaving Scott feeling even more confused.

He pulled himself together. He didn't have time for confusion. He had work to do. Ignoring the in-house intercom in favour of his watch he issued a blunt, succinct order. "John, Virgil, Gordon, Brains. Meeting in the study. Now!"

They assembled in the study, all keen to get back to work and curious as to why they'd been called away.

Scott came straight to the point. "Tin-Tin's not doing the mission with Alan."

As he'd expected his announcement was met with exclamations of dismay.

"You can't do that!" Gordon objected.

"It's not my idea, it's his. And Tin-Tin, for some unfathomable reason, is agreeing with him."

"But he'll be alone for at least four months," John protested.

"So will you," Scott reminded him.

"But I will be in full contact with Earth the entire time! And if anything happened to me there's at least a chance that you'd be able to get help to me. You could divert a moon shuttle or something, but Alan's going to be alone! Alone and helpless!"

"I know, I know. But this isn't my decision. It's theirs."

"Well, it's a stupid decision," Virgil told him.

"Do you think I don't know that? But Alan's in one of his moods." Alan's brothers made understanding noises, well aware of what their baby brother was like when he got into one of those 'moods'. "I didn't have a hope of changing his mind. Now I'm wondering if you guys have any suggestions what to do about it."

"You said that Tin-Tin's agreeing with him?" Gordon asked.

"Yes. She didn't at first. She was demanding that I order Alan to let her go with him. Then they…" Scott paused, remembering and still not understanding what he'd seen. "She just changed her mind."

"I-It is a, er, woman's prerogative," Brains offered.

"Yeah, but not when it involves sending her husband alone into a void for four months."

"Space isn't a void," John informed Scott. "It's filled with…"

"I don't care what it's filled with!" Scott snapped. "I just know that Alan's going to be in it alone. He said it's either that or else he mans Thunderbird Five and you can take Thunderbird Three."

"Uh-uh," John protested. "No way. I'm not experienced enough."

"That's what I said. I think he knew there was no way we'd allow that, which is why he suggested it. From what I can see our only options are to let Alan go alone, or else forget about that mission and hope the asteroid misses Earth."

"Either that, or we kidnap and tie Alan up until after Tin-Tin's dropped me off at Thunderbird Three," John offered.

"And then he'd take over and bring her right back to Earth again," Gordon amended.

"True."

"A-And she'd have to agree to that," Brains added, "which, if Scott's right, she probably would not do."

"True too."

There was silence as they all thought.

"There's no way any of us could take Tin-Tin's place," Virgil stated. "If we'd already laid a detonator we could; but we'll probably still be working on our craft and the Mole after Thunderbird Three's left."

"D-Do you want me to try talking to T-Tin-Tin?" Brains offered. "I could bring it up while we're, er, working."

"You could try," Scott conceded. "At least she might tell you why she agreed to this crazy plan."

"Do we try to change Alan's mind?" Gordon asked.

Scott nodded. "I think we should try. I don't like the idea of him being alone for all that time."

Virgil shook his head as if to clear it. "I still can't believe that Alan suggested it and that Tin-Tin agreed. It's madness!"

"That's what I said," Scott agreed. He sighed. "Well, unless someone comes up with a bright idea my only suggestion is that we try to change their minds... In the meantime, we'd better get back to work."

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

"_ B_," Lady Penelope read. "_D a a L_." She shook her head and continued reading the printout. "_Forgot D t. Irritable_."

"H-I got the word _angry_ 'ere. But that's h-all that's H-English."

Lady Penelope sighed and rubbed her eyes. "Can you make sense of any of this, Parker?"

"No, m'Lady," Parker looked at his mistress from over his spectacles. "H-I can't read h-all of h-it h-either. H-Is that a S or a h-eight?" He held out his photograph. "H-It's outta focus."

Lady Penelope held her magnifying glass over the letter. "I'm afraid our photographic skills weren't the best."

"We was h-in a 'urry," Parker reminded her.

"We were..." Lady Penelope put down her piece of paper. "But what we do know is that whatever Marina was writing, she wanted it kept secret. Secret enough that she's used a code, or shorthand, as well as the invisible ink."

Parker removed his glasses. "Supposin' h-it h-is a code, I guess that G stands for Gordon."

"That would be an excellent supposition," Lady Penelope agreed. "But what is 2? Does she mean the number two? Or is it representative of a homophone?"

"H-A what?"

"Two or more words that are spelt differently, but are pronounced the same. For instance does Marina mean the number _two_, the word _to_ with one O, or the word _too_ with two Os?"

"Too tricky."

"Indeed." Lady Penelope rifled through the pieces of paper that represented each cooled down page of Marina's notebooks. "There is a lot of repetition in these pages... With variations. Look at this one: _ L_. There's a _one_ instead of a _two_ and an _L_ instead of a _B_. This one says _G at D. R ampersand I at R_." Her finger followed the symbols _G D._ _R &amp; I R._ "What does it mean!?"

"'Er and someone starting with R went somewhere while Mister Gordon was somewhere else?"

"Possibly. It is dated."

"What's the date?"

"Twelfth of March this year."

"Mister Alan's birthday? Would _D_ be _Dad's_? H-As h-in Mr Tracy's?"

"Jeff despised her calling him _Dad_, but he didn't stop her doing so for Gordon's sake," Lady Penelope recollected. "Alan's birthday was on a Sunday and a party was held at Jeff's. Marina did not attend... Much to everyone's relief."

Parker was looking at one of the other pages. "There's lots of _R_s. Do you think she's been pussyfootin' about with some fella with this h-initial behind Mister Gordon's back?" He looked up again. "Can't you run h-it through some kinda code-breaker h-at the shop?"

"I could, but The Firm frowns on employees using its equipment for personal business." Lady Penelope sat back. "I do miss working for Jeff Tracy."

"Me too, m'Lady. 'E was the best. H-I don't think that lot you work for now trust me."

Lady Penelope treated her assistant to a wry smile. "They checked out your background before they reemployed me," she told him. "They were not at all sure that letting the best safecracker in the world anywhere near their secrets was a good idea."

"Bloomin' cheek!" Parker exclaimed. "You trust me, don'tcha, m'Lady?"

"Implicitly."

"H-I woulda thought that would 'ave been good h-enough for them."

"It was... eventually." Lady Penelope regarded the papers again. "I refuse to believe that someone like Marina is capable of outwitting the both of us. We need some clue," she mused. "Some hint to help us break this code. Something to tell us who this _R_ is..."

"H-A pity we couldn't just ring Marina h-up and h-ask 'er."

"A pity indeed..." Lady Penelope sat up, a determined expression on her attractive face. "You have given me an idea, Parker."

"H-I 'ave?"

"You have. But I am afraid that my present masters will not approve."

"What h-are you goin' to do?"

"Something singularly distasteful. Come with me, Parker." Lady Penelope rose to her feet and led the way to her computer.

Parker followed obediently, wondering just what his mistress had in mind.

Lady Penelope inserted a pink, large-capacity external memory drive into the appropriate slot in the computer. "Now, be on your guard, Parker," she warned. "When I tell you to do so, I want you to remove that immediately and take it in FAB1 to somewhere where no one can find it. Do not wait for me and do not return until I summon you. If you do not hear from me get that to Alan, then lay low until such time as I am able to contact you"

Parker stared at her wide-eyed. "Jus' what h-are you going to do, m'Lady!?"

"The Firm and associated organisations record every telephone call made throughout Great Britain and beyond. There are strict dictates about how and when this information may be used, and eavesdropping on someone's phone calls to ease a friend's divorce does not qualify as an appropriate use of such information. I am confident that my interest will not go unnoticed, and that my masters will shut the transfer down and will pay me a visit in short time to remove all evidence that I have succeeded in downloading. I expect you to ensure that we do not lose this information."

Parker gave her a grave nod. "You can count on me, m'Lady."

"I know that, Parker, and that is because I trust you. Now... What is Marina's phone number?"

Parker thought they'd struck a snag. "I don't know h-it."

"No, me neither. However..." Lady Penelope retrieved a business card index off her desk and started flicking through it. "When Marina was trying to interest me in her interior decorating, er, 'skills', she gave me her card. With any luck I have not disposed of it. Ah!" She held a small card aloft.

"You-reeka, m'Lady?"

"Eureka, Parker."

Lady Penelope turned to the computer screen and Parker watched as she worked her way through a myriad of passwords and security screens. The deeper she went the more concerned he became. What if she was prevented from gaining access? What if her bosses cut her off and turned up before he had a chance to escape with the required information? What if they got all the information they needed and he corrupted it removing the drive from the computer?

"I'm in."

Lady Penelope's quiet words dragged Parker's attention back to what she was doing. Hundreds of files were being transferred from some dark, distant, omnipotent server to the small, innocuous memory drive. "H-Are you h-only copying 'er calls?"

"No. I shall copy all calls from their, er. 'land'line, as well as Gordon's mobile."

"Mister Gordon's?"

"I hope we shan't have to listen to them, but I do not want to leave any stones unturned. We shall only get one chance at this."

Parker looked at the numbers that were scrolling down the screen. "H'Is that Mister Gordon's?" He pointed to a number that frequently appeared in both the incoming and outgoing columns.

"No, that is not Gordon's." A twinkle appeared in Lady Penelope's eye. "Perhaps it belongs to our mysterious '_R_'?" She added the mystery caller to her download list.

"I 'ope so. I got h-an h-uneasy feeling about this."

"Shall we listen to one?" Lady Penelope enquired. "To satisfy our curiosity, should something happen to our recordings?"

Parker grinned. "Why not?"

"Strange is it not," Lady Penelope said easily as she selected one of Marina's calls to the unknown number. "I feel no qualms about listening to her messages, but I should hate to have to listen to one of Gordon's."

"I know what you me..."

"_Hello?"_

"_Rory!"_

"_Marina? What are you doing ringing me now?"_

"_Rory..."_ Marina repeated, and it sounded like a sob.

"_Marina? What's wrong?"_

"_I'm scared, Rory._

"_Scared?"_

Marina gave an audible gulp. _"He nearly hit me."_

"_He what...?!"_

That was a question that was echoing in Lady Penelope and Parker's heads. Marina couldn't be talking about Gordon Tracy... Could she?

"_He's just *sniff* got back from that research trip. *sniff* I'd done what you said, but it can't have worked..."_

Parker and Lady Penelope shared astonished glances.

"_He was already mad when he got in... *sniff* ...We argued... *sniff* ...He didn't want to sit down with a drink and talk. *gulp* He was getting wilder and wilder. He said that he should have listened to his family..."_

"_Now, Marina,"_ 'Rory' soothed. _"You know how his family feels."_

"_But then... then I said that he loved them more than me... *sniff* ... and... *gulp* he said that was true..."_

"_But you knew that. Don't tell me that's what's upset you..."_

"_No, no! That wasn't it! I said... I can't remember what it was I said, but he got really wild! His face was bright red and I thought he was going to have a stroke like his old man or something. But then... Then..."_ There was a choked sob.

"_Keep it together, Sweetheart. What happened then?"_

"_He was going to hit me, Rory! He grabbed me by the arm and he was going to punch me in the face!"_

"_What did you do?"_ 'Rory' was sounding suspiciously calm over this alarming bit of news.

"_Nothing! I was terrified. If he'd hit me..."_

"_But he didn't hit you?"_

"_N-no, but he was hurting my arm... Then something happened to him. He looked... I don't know, shocked. He just let go of me and walked away."_

"_Where's he gone?"_

"_I don't know. I just know that he's left. What'll I do, Rory? I don't want to be here when he gets back! Come and get me... Please!"_

"_Relax, Sweetheart. If you were to leave now you'd upset all our plans."_

"_I don't care about our plans!"_ Caught up in the conversation, Lady Penelope and Parker failed to notice that all the files had finished copying over. _"I'll get into my car and come around to your place!"_

"_Don't do that!" _Rory demanded. _"There's no need. You know what to do to get him feeling good again."_

"_But what if it doesn't work? What if he hits me?"_

"_Look on the bright side. He hits you and you go straight around to the police and submit a full report. A few gory photos and there'd be no way that any hotshot lawyer would be able to prevent you from getting a huge alimony. A few tears in the witness box and the judge will be putty in your hands and hubby's money will be in our pocket. Probably his old man would be willing to pay just to make you go away quietly with no unseemly publicity. And then you and I are on easy street for the rest of our lives. And if we ever need a little more cash, a casual reminder of the family disgrace would be enough to get someone to cough up more."_

"_But I've felt his arms, Rory, and he's solid muscle! If he hits me he might break my nose or..."_

"_There's no gain without pain, Sweetheart..."_

"Nice sort, ain't 'e," Parker muttered.

"Indeed," Lady Penelope agreed and then snapped to attention when the computer beeped and then crashed. "Go, Parker!"

Parker didn't need to be told twice. He pulled the pink memory drive out of the computer and ran through the Creighton-Ward mansion. Having made sure that the drive was secure, he left the grounds at speed in the pink Rolls Royce.

It was two minutes later that five cars representing Lady Penelope's employer sped up her driveway and stopped in a shower of gravel outside the front door of her ancestral home. The doors opened and 20 powerfully-set men got out. Four peeled off towards the garage, while the remainder ran up the steps and, without bothering to knock, barged through the front door, which was (thanks to Lady Penelope's foresight) ajar.

Looking calm, composed, and as if there was nothing worrisome about 16 large, heavily-armed men charging into her home, they found Lady Penelope sitting casually in her lounge, a small table holding a silver teapot and exquisite china at her elbow. "Visitors. How delightful. Would anyone care for tea?" She indicated the tea set. "Oh, dear, I do believe that I am short one or two cups. Would you mind giving the bell pull a gentle tug?" She indicated an ancient tassel. "But I would appreciate it if you did not pull too hard. It is rather old and fragile."

A radio crackled. "Car's gone."

The one who appeared to the group's leader responded. "You have a description. Go get it!"

Lady Penelope sat up straight and looked at him in interest. "Do you have a miscreant in your sights, Edward?"

"Yeah," Edward sneered. "Your butler, _m'Lady_."

The way he'd said _m'Lady_ rang alarm bells in Lady Penelope's mind. While she had to admit that he was effective in what he did, Edward's methods did not always meet with her approval. Despite her concerns she remained calm and in control. "Parker? Has he been taking the roses from The Firm's flowerbed for his buttonhole again? I did warn him about that last time..."

"This is nothing to do with flowers and you know it, Penelope!" Edward turned to one of his associates. "Get her computer and find all the storage media in the house."

Lady Penelope had risen to her feet; her eyes aflame. "You are not a friend of mine, Edward Banks! You are not even a close acquaintance! Do not even think that I regard you as a respected colleague! My title is _Lady_ Penelope, and I will not respond to anything less." She relaxed back into her chair, seeming to be more concerned at the breakdown in aristocratic protocol than in the computer equipment being carried through her front door.

Edward was unfazed by her concerns. "I am under orders that you are to accompany us back to headquarters, Pene..." Lady Penelope glared at him and something in her stare compelled him to modify his tone. "Lady Penelope."

Lady Penelope poured herself a cup of tea. "I answer to no one but Commander Foveaux. If he wishes me to return to headquarters, he can summon me personally. In the meantime..." she held out the cup. "Would you care for tea?"

One of Edward's underlings entered the lounge. "She's made a copy, Edward, but we can't find it."

"The butler must have it. Tell Floyd he's not to let him get away." The underling got on the radio.

Lady Penelope sipped her tea.

Edward took three steps until he was at her side; towering over her. "You've been downloading telephone recordings without authorisation," he accused.

"Yes. That is right."

Edward had opened his mouth in preparation to intimidate her some more when he realised that she'd actually agreed with him. "Why?"

"Oh," Lady Penelope gave an airy wave of her hand. "You know how it is. I was doing a favour for the friend of a friend of a friend." She beamed up at Edward. "They say that no good deed goes unpunished."

"Who is the friend?"

"I promised my friend complete anonymity and I shall not betray their confidence."

"Even though you have broken the law and could be charged with that offence?"

"As the world is rumoured to be ending shortly, I did not think that would matter."

Edward placed his hand on the arm of her chair and leant close. "You had better be more forthcoming than you are, _Lady _Penelope, or you'll be sorry."

Lady Penelope gave a slight grimace. "Would you care for a peppermint, dear boy? I'm sure there are some in that drawer over there."

"I do not want a peppermint!"

"It will give you something to do while we wait for Commander Foveaux… and save us all from your halitosis."

One of the minions snickered and Edward turned on him with a glare. A hasty mask of innocence was dropped over the man's face.

Edward's phone rang. "Yes, Commander Foveaux… We have her… She refuses to obey my orders… She says she will only obey you… Very well, _Sir_." He gave the phone to Lady Penelope.

"Briney! How wonderful to hear from you," Lady Penelope exclaimed. "How _are_ you? I understand that you would like a word with me."

"Penelope," Commander Foveaux's voice barked, "I gave Edward instructions that he was to bring you back to headquarters."

"He did mention that, but I am in the middle of my afternoon tea. It doesn't do to rush these things. Now tell me; how is your dear Ma-ma?"

"Penelope, you know that I know you better than that. And we both know that you are stalling. I order you to put down your cup, pick up your bag, and proceed with Edward back here to the headquarters!"

"Of course, dear Briney, nothing would please me more," Lady Penelope cooed. "Now, I shall give you back to Edward and he can finalise arrangements."

"And, Penelope…"

"Yes, Briney?"

"No tricks. I don't want to hear that you've knocked Edward out with a gas pellet and left him naked in a ditch while you made off in his car wearing his clothes."

"I can assure you that such an idea never crossed my mind." Lady Penelope eyed up Edward. "They are not my style. See you soon, Briney." She handed the phone back to Edward. "I am just going to get my bag," she announced.

To her observers on the trip to the headquarters, she seemed cool, calm and collected. But beneath her assured countenance her mind was whirling. Had she made a rare mistake? She'd let the urgency that the entire population of the planet was feeling cloud her judgement. She should have left hacking into The Firm's database as a last resort, when she was desperate for information.

But what was done was done. Had Parker managed to get away? Was the information she'd retrieved secure? Would it tell them anything more? What exactly had been Marina's and 'Rory's' plans?

She was shown into Commander Foveaux's office and, much to her secret relief, they were left alone.

"Penelope," Commander Foveaux sighed. "What am I going to do with you?"

"I don't know, Briney," she responded. "What?"

"Why did you do it? You know that if the general public got wind that our agents were listening to private individuals' telephone conversations, and not only the conversations of British nationals, but the conversations of citizens of a friendly state, the civil libertarians would be up in arms, political hacks would get involved, and our activities would be severely curtailed!"

Lady Penelope crossed her shapely legs. "I did consider that, but I am only helping out a friend."

"Which friend?"

"A good friend."

"One of those phone numbers you downloaded belongs to your friend Gordon Tracy! Is he your 'good friend'?"

"Gordon?" Lady Penelope pretended to be surprised. "I thought I recognised the number, but I tend to call his father more often than I do him. Have you ever met his wife? Frightful woman."

"Gordon Tracy is getting divorced from his wife. Is that why you were trying to listen to her calls? To help him?"

"Is Gordon getting divorced?" Lady Penelope clasped her hands together in delight. "Oh, that is wonderful news! Jeff will be so pleased!"

Commander Foveaux repeated his question. "Is that why you were trying to listen in on those calls?!"

"My friend gave me four numbers and requested that I get recordings of them all. So that is what I did."

"You broke British law and an international treaty because a _friend_ requested you to?!" Commander Foveaux was starting to bristle like a shaving brush.

"My friend saved my life once. And, since Doomsday is due to occur in just over three months, and I do not have much time remaining in which to repay the debt of honour, I agreed."

"Penelope…" Commander Foveaux sighed. "You are the best agent we've got, but you're a law unto yourself. What am I going to do with you…?" His desk intercom rang. "Yes?!"

Lady Penelope recognised Edward Bank's smarmy voice. He sounded pleased with himself. "We have the butler… and the recording."

Lady Penelope's heart sank. This wasn't the end of the world (that was due in three months time), but it was going to make her task harder.

"Good," Commander Foveaux was saying. "Bring him in."

The door opened. "'Ere! Take h-it h-easy! You'll crease me uniform!" Parker was thrust inside the room, where he stood dusting down his clothes and muttering to himself. "That's no way to treat your h-elders h-and betters."

"Parker."

"Oh!" Parker snapped to attention. "'Ello, m'Lady."

Edward was looking particularly smug and Lady Penelope saw a pink object in his hand. "We got the recording," he said.

"Good work, Banks," Commander Foveaux congratulated him.

Edward looked even more smug. "Thank you, Sir." He smirked at Lady Penelope.

"H-I'm sorry, ma'am," Parker apologised. "They caught me h-at the border." He looked woebegone at his failure.

"That is all right, Parker."

"Border?" Commander Foveaux looked surprised. "Folkestone?"

"Ah, no…" Edward gave an embarrassed cough. "Calais. He made it through the Channel Tunnel before we were able to alert the authorities."

Parker snickered. "H-I can outdrive h-a young whippersnapper like you h-any time. You ain't 'ad my training."

"We know all about your 'training', Parker," Commander Foveaux reminded him.

"An' your h-outfit's been glad of h-it more than once."

Edward coughed again. "We brought him back here in a helijet. The car is being towed."

Lady Penelope appeared horrified. "I do hope your men are being careful with my Rolls Royce! It is a family heirloom!"

"They will be," Commander Foveaux reassured her. "Now, Lady Penelope, consider this an official reprimand. I will not put this on your record, because up till now you have given us exemplary service, but I will warn you that a reoccurrence of such an indiscretion will result in more severe punishment."

Lady Penelope bowed her head as though suitably chastened. "I understand, Commander Foveaux, and I would like to thank you for your understanding." She looked up. "Will I have my Rolls Royce returned to me?"

"Yes. Banks will see to that." Edward did not look impressed at his boss's assurances. "Now don't let me catch you back here under similar circumstances again!"

"You have my word, Briney," Lady Penelope promised. "However I do have a slight problem."

Commander Foveaux made a sound of annoyance. "What's that?"

"I have no transport, since my car has been confiscated. Perhaps the delightful Edward would agree to chauffeur Parker and myself home."

Parker had to work hard to suppress a gleeful chuckle when Commander Foveaux agreed.

Not another word was said about the incident on the ride home, but Lady Penelope kept up a gay repartee with Edward, who responded in unintelligible grunts.

It wasn't until Lady Penelope was relaxing back in a chair in the privacy of her lounge, and had taken her first sip of newly brewed tea, that she broached the subject. "Thank you for all you did, Parker."

"That's h-all right, m'Lady."

"I will admit that I erred badly. Things haven't quite turned out as I'd planned, but as least we can say that we are further forward." She took another reflective sip. "But I do so wish that we could have heard more. That telephone conversation opens up more questions than answers. Still… At least we can re-examine Marina's notebooks with the near certainty that most of the 'R's in there stand for 'Rory'."

"Indeed, m'Lady. H-And if that don't help us we can h-always listen to some more."

"No, I'm afraid…" Something about the glint in his eye captured Lady Penelope's interest. "Do you have something to tell me, Parker?"

"Yes, m'Lady. H-I managed to make h-a copy."

"You did! How simply wonderful! Where is it?"

"H-I took your h-advice. H-I figured that The Firm would be h'even less 'appy at trawlin' through 'is Majesty's mail than they would be h-at you h-eavesdropping on some Yanks, so I posted h-it to Mister Alan."

"Wonderful, Parker. That does mean that we shall have to wait until Alan is able to return it to us, which will take time; but at least all is not lost."

"H-I don't think that we'll 'ave to wait that long."

"Parker! Whatever do you mean?"

"H-I made two copies."

"Two? And where is the second?"

"H-As part of the local district coppers' good neighbour h-initiatives, h-and since Lady Morecombe h-is h-away at present; I 'ave been takin' the liberty of h-ensurin' that 'er premises is secure." Parker tutted his disapproval. "She should take more care. 'Er system ain't up to scratch. H-A Boy Scout could break h-in with 'is pocket knife and h-access 'er safe. You should 'ave a word with 'er h-about h-it, m'Lady."

"I will indeed, Parker. But perhaps I should have some evidence of this, er, lackadaisical approach of dear Moira's. Would you be able to oblige me, Parker?"

Parker bowed. "H-It would be a pleasure, h-and a doddle, Madam…"

_To be continued…_


	11. Chapter 11 - Just Another Day

**Chapter 11: Just Another Day**

All attempts to change Alan and Tin-Tin's minds had failed, and after a couple of days everyone accepted that it was a _fait accompli_ and that they had other things to worry about, and so gave up trying.

Scott was awoken by his alarm. Groaning as his body complained, he rolled out of bed and decided, yet again, that there wasn't much good that could be said about getting older.

He'd kept fit; his job as a test pilot had demanded top fitness; but his almost relentless workload over the last few weeks had rediscovered muscles that he'd long since forgotten about. These muscles were clearly not happy at being reawakened after all this time and complained about it every morning. Past injuries twinged and ached, reminding him of the numerous times that he'd laid his body on the line to save others. He would have laughingly called them war wounds, except there was nothing funny about the way he awoke each morning almost completely seized up. But after a few gentle stretches, and with a large dose of grim determination to get him through his daily workout, he was usually completely mobile and almost pain free by the time he met up with the family for breakfast. His brothers had never mentioned having similar problems, and so he'd decided that there was no way he'd mention his aches and pains to them. It was bad enough knowing that he was getting old; he didn't need his younger siblings teasing him about it.

This morning he arrived at breakfast pain free apart from a slight nagging twinge in his right knee, which he ignored.

"What's on the agenda for today, Scott?" John asked.

Scott contemplated his breakfast. "Thunderbird One's new wing is ready to be attached to the fuselage. It's not a one man job and I'm going to need help."

"Well, Alan and I were going to work on Thunderbird Three's water filtration system," his brother told him. "But we could probably help… Morning, Virg."

"Morning." Virgil entered the dining room and contemplated various foods that had been laid out by Kyrano. He made his selection and sat down heavily on his chair.

Alan and Tin-Tin entered the dining room, holding hands. This gesture would once upon a time have evoked sniggers from Alan's brothers, but was now ignored.

"John says you and he are going to be free to help me attach One's new wing today, Alan," Scott announced.

"Oh he does, does he…?" Alan held out a chair. "Sit down, Honey, and I'll get you your breakfast."

Tin-Tin smiled at her husband. "Thank you."

John moved the milk closer to his sister-in-law. "How was your shopping trip yesterday?"

"Um… Productive," she responded. "And I decided that since I'm feeling a bit rundown with all my work…"

"You're doing too much." Alan placed a plate of fruit and cereal in front of his wife. "Is that okay, Honey? Do you want more? Or could I get you something else?"

"No, this is fine, thank you." Tin-Tin patted his hand, smiled up at him again, and then turned back to John. "As I was saying, because I'm feeling rundown, I got myself some vitamins." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a number of bottles.

Gordon entered the dining room, his hair wet from his early morning swim. "Morning." He received a chorus of "Morning, Gordon" in return.

"Tin-Tin was just telling us that she's got herself some vitamins to give her a boost," Scott explained.

"Sounds like something we could all do with." Gordon dished up his breakfast and claimed his seat.

John picked up a bottle with a torn label and started laughing. "I don't know about you, Gordon, but I think I'll pass." He showed the bottle to Virgil who raised an eyebrow at it and then resumed his breakfast.

"Why?" Gordon frowned. "What is it?"

"_For the woman who needs that extra boost,"_ John read. "_Contains: Vitamins A, B-1, B-2, B-6, B-12, C, D, E, K_. That's quite an alphabet soup. _Calcium, Folic acid, Iron, Niacin, Phosphorus and Zinc._" Raising his own eyebrow he grinned at the red-head. "Want to try some?" he asked, shaking the bottle.

"No, thanks."

Tin-Tin held out her hand. "Have you finished with them, John? I think I'm supposed to have those before eating."

"Yeah," Alan snatched the tablets out of his brother's hand and handed them to his wife. "Don't mess with something that isn't yours."

"Someone got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning." John shrugged and started eating.

Kyrano entered the dining room. "Good morning, Mister Tracys."

"Morning, Kyrano."

Kyrano kissed Tin-Tin on the top of the head. "Good morning, my daughter."

"Good morning, Father."

This was an unexpected show of affection by the normally reserved man, and Scott looked at him. "You're in a good mood, Kyrano."

The little Malaysian beamed. "I am, Mister Scott. I have received good news."

Scott smiled at him. "Anything you'd care to share? I think we'd all like to hear something positive."

Kyrano's smile appeared to grow wider. "I have received word that someone close to my family is to have a child. Everywhere this news is greeted with sadness, for the world believes that a child will not survive Doomsday. But I know that International Rescue will save us all, and so I am happy; for myself, the child, and its family."

John grinned at his friend's optimism. "Then we'd better make sure we don't let you all down for this child's sake."

Kyrano managed to get his smile under control. "I have messages from yesterday." He took a wad of paper from his pocket. "Your solicitor rang, Mister Gordon." Gordon groaned and accepted a slip of paper. "There are two for you, Mister Scott... One from Miss Emma for you, Mister John." John turned slightly pink and quickly pocketed his message. "Something from _The Hawks_ for you Mister Virgil..."

"Thanks, Kyrano."

"And Lady Penelope requests that you give her a call, Mister Alan." There was a slight edge to Kyrano's voice.

"Penny? Calling you?" Gordon looked at Alan. "What does she want?"

"I... uh... I asked her to check up on Dad. She's probably reporting in."

A miniscule frown creased Kyrano's features. "I give you a report each day."

"Ah, yeah, I know. But you only hear what Dad wants you to hear. I thought Penny could tell us how he really is." Alan hoped that his lie would be enough to satisfy everyone's curiosity.

He was saved from being further interrogated by the whole house suddenly being shaken on its foundations. Cutlery shimmied off the table and onto the floor. The milk slopped out of its jug and coffee out of cups. Kyrano had to grab the table for support and Gordon, mid drink, spilt his juice over the tablecloth.

The earthquake stopped.

Everyone let out the breath they'd been holding.

"Whew," Gordon accepted the cloth Kyrano gave him. "It's been so long since we've had any quakes that I'd almost forgotten we're sitting on a time bomb."

Alan had grabbed Tin-Tin's hand. "Are you okay, Honey?"

"I'm fine, Alan." Tin-Tin reached down to retrieve her knife.

"Let me get that!" Alan was up and out of his seat before she'd barely had a chance to move. "I'll get you a clean knife...! There... Do you need anything else? Are you ready for something else? Would you like me to get you some more juice?"

"No, thank you."

"Geez, Alan," John groaned. "I know she looks like one, but you're treating Tin-Tin like a china doll. Relax, will ya."

Alan opened his mouth to respond, looked at his wife, and then dropped back into his seat.

Tin-Tin giggled. "Do you really think I look like a china doll, John?"

John winked at her and resumed his breakfast.

Gordon decided that, thanks to the tremor, he needed to refill his glass. As he headed over to the jug of juice he glanced down on the top of Virgil's head. "Your roots are showing."

Everyone had been secretly thinking that Virgil's cosmetic problems extended further than his roots. Not only had he not shaved his ever growing beard, or removed his blue goatee; but his blue eyelashes and eyebrows were slowly being replaced by his natural brown ones, leaving him looking rather motheaten. Not that anyone said anything as he ran his hand over the top of his head. "Doing a touch up isn't a priority on my list of things to do for the day," he declared, and decided that to avoid future comments, one of the first things he'd do after breakfast would be to dig out one of his old caps.

"If you wanted to I could help," Tin-Tin offered. "Do you normally dye your own hair?"

"Not now," Virgil admitted. "When I decided it was too hot to be wearing wigs all the time I had a go and I made a real mess of it."

"What brand did you use?"

Virgil shrugged. "I don't remember. Something cheap and nasty."

Tin-Tin frowned. "That can't have been good for your hair."

"It wasn't. I got told off by a friend of mine for not going to a professional."

"Who'd you go to?"

"My friend. I had to call him to come and rescue me. He's a theatrical hairdresser, so he knew the right stuff to use."

"What brand does he recommend?"

"He said that the only one he'd trust is Moki. He said anything else is inferior."

Tin-Tin nodded. "He's right."

"Like I said, Garret is a professional. I could really feel the difference once I started using the proper stuff. I'd recommend it to anybody. His wife is a theatrical makeup expert and she designed the prosthetics for my piercings." Virgil chuckled. "It was a mission and a half to teach me how to put it all on, especially how to blend the makeup so that the artificial skin matched my real skin tones."

Virgil's brothers had been following this exchange in various stages of incredulity. Scott, scarcely believing that he was listening to one of his brothers discussing hair and makeup products, dropped his toast onto his plate.

Virgil and Tin-Tin didn't notice.

Tin-Tin frowned as she thought. "Garret... You don't mean Garret Bowmount do you?"

"Yeah, that's him." Virgil took a bite from his piece of toast.

"But he's married to Opal Rua! They're famous! Tyla Godbehere insists on them doing her hair and makeup in her movies!"

Virgil rolled his eyes. "That's because she knows full well that without them she wouldn't be nearly as popular as she is. She's got all the looks, talent and personality of a lump of rock."

Tin-Tin practically squealed. "You've met her?"

"Don't get too excited, Tin-Tin," Virgil advised. "Having a conversation with Tyla is only slightly more stimulating than being knocked out by Oxyhydnite."

Tin-Tin's hand had gone to her mouth and her eyes glowed. "You've talked to her?"

"Tin-Tin..." Alan touched her on the arm. "Don't you think you should eat something?"

Tin-Tin, sitting on the edge of her seat in rapt excitement, took no notice of his advice. "Have Garret Bowmount and Opal Rua introduced you to anyone else famous?"

"Oh, yeah. They would throw these huge parties and invite me to them."

Tin-Tin grabbed Virgil's arm. "Who else have you met?"

Virgil had finished breakfast. He disengaged himself from his sister-in-law's clutches and got to his feet; picking up his dishes. "I'll tell you all about it once everything's settled down. Garret and Opal are probably the only people in New York who know that I'm both Virgil Tracy and Gustav."

"Hey!" Scott complained. "I live in New York!"

"Oh, yeah, so you do." Virgil put his dishes on the bench. "I forgot."

Already planning his day's tasks, he left to go to find his hat.

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

Four men looked upwards. Thunderbird One towered, obelisk-like, above them. Lying at their feet was the replacement port wing. They were in the rocket plane's launch bay.

Gordon walked the wing's outline. "This is going to be a big job. Maybe we should get Virgil to help us?"

"He's working on replacing the electromagnetic docking clamps in Thunderbird Two," Scott reminded him. "He wants to make sure pod four doesn't fall out before you get to the Mariana Trench. But if we need him we can call him." He tightened the harness that connected him to his jetpack. "Ready, Alan?"

"Yep." The younger man pulled his helmet onto his head.

"Let me check."

"Alan knows what he's doing, Scott," John advised. "And Gordon's already double-checked."

"Oh, let him do it..." Alan bit back a sigh and submitted to letting his big brother check his harness. "Happy now?"

Scott ignored the sarcasm. "We can't be too careful."

"But we can be a bit more trusting," John warned. "Relax. It's like riding a bicycle. I doubt any of us have forgotten how to use a jetpack."

"When was the last time you did it?" Scott challenged.

"A short while before the last time you did; which is why I'm down here on the floor, and you and Alan are the ones going up. Now relax!"

-F-A-B-

Brains stared short-sightedly at the visual on the computer screen. As lines radiated out from a central point he grunted in satisfaction.

"Has the simulation worked?" Tin-Tin asked.

Brains ran his finger down a long list of numbers. "Th-The results are positive."

"So now we can start building the acoustic concussion generators for real?"

Brains smiled at her. "Now you can make a start building the casings, while _I_ make a start on designing the booster to move 2070SB. Alan will n-need time to make the necessary alterations t-to Thunderbird Three."

"Good." Tin-Tin started making preparations. "I'm glad to finally start doing something practical, instead of theoretical."

"I-I just, er, wish we had more time for testing," Brains admitted.

Tin-Tin sighed. "So do I, Brains... So do I..."

-F-A-B-

"Move it a bit to the left, John. About point two."

"Got it." Obeying Scott's command, John pressed the lever to his left and the gantry crane that was holding Thunderbird One's wing aloft moved a fraction.

"Nudge it back a bit towards Scott a touch," Alan advised. "It's going to be a tight fit."

"Right..." John did as he was told. "How's that?"

"Good. Are you happy with that, Scott?"

"Yes. Bring it in slowly, Gordon."

"Right..."

Guided by the two airborne brothers, the great slab of mechanical and electronic parts that made up Thunderbird One's wing edged closer to its housing in the rocket plane's body.

"Keep it coming, Gordon," Scott instructed. "It's looking good... A little bit more... Stop! Raise it a millimetre at a time, John."

"One millimetre coming up." Moving in the tiniest incremental steps, the crane raised the wing higher and higher up its housing until it was in place.

"Hold it there!" Scott ordered and he and Alan set to attaching the wing to the body.

With nothing to do in the short term, Gordon edged closer to John; lowering his voice so he couldn't be heard by those making a noise above them. "What did Emma want?"

John tried to look casual. "I don't know. I haven't called her yet."

Gordon stared at him. "You haven't called her!?"

"I haven't had the chance, have I? We finished breakfast and came right here."

"She might have some news about Dad."

"That thought did cross my mind."

"Or she might want to tell you that she's missing you."

"Gordon..."

"I only want you to be happy, John. Just because my love life's a shipwreck, it doesn't mean that I expect yours to be too."

"My love life is non-existent," John reminded his brother. "And it's going to stay that way..."

"Don't say that. I know that things are a bit tricky at the moment, but once everything's back to normal I hope you're planning on wooing her."

"Wooing her!?"

"Turn on the ol' Tracy charm. Tell her she's the best thing since Alpha Centauri."

"Gordon..."

"And that she's more beautiful than Venus."

"Venus is a rock with an atmosphere made up of carbon dioxide and a tiny bit of nitrogen."

"And to an astro-head like you, it's a thing of beauty."

"Gordon…" John sighed. "I'm her boss! She might not even think of me that way. Besides, don't you think this conversation is a little premature? I won't have the opportunity to 'woo' Emma for ages, probably until long after Alan comes home again. There's no point even thinking about starting anything when I'm going to be stuck in Thunderbird Five for at least four months."

"I'm just trying to give you the kick-start you need." Gordon checked that there were no problems above them. "We're all aware that running the company has taken up most of your time these last eight years."

"So?" John gave an unconcerned shrug. "I've enjoyed it."

"I hope so. But it's not the same as if you'd gone back to astronomy full time, is it? Running a business isn't really the way you wanted to spend your life."

"Well…" John began, but Gordon seemed to be on an unstoppable roll.

"The four of us have often said how lucky we were that you were willing to pick up the reins after Dad fell ill…"

This was news to John. "You have?"

"Yeah, whenever we were supposed to get together and you've been held up at the office. None of us could have done that job as well as you have, and if you hadn't taken it on we probably would have had to hire some outsider; someone who might not have had the Tracy ethos and would have taken the company in a direction that was different from what Dad envisaged."

John shrugged again. "Like I said, I've enjoyed the challenge."

"But you've denied yourself real enjoyment too long." Gordon's intensity in speech and manner was almost unheard of from the joker of the family, and was making John uneasy. "And, if we manage to save the world, I want you to start enjoying yourself. Find yourself someone to spend time with. Do some stargazing…"

"I'll have plenty of time for that in the four months I'm waiting for Alan to come home." John desperate to move the conversation elsewhere, looked up to where his youngest brother was hovering in midair. "Why do you think he's kicked Tin-Tin off the crew?"

He was relieved when Gordon seemed happy to change the subject. "I don't know. Maybe he's trying to protect her from the dangers he's going to face?"

"You could be right. Look at the way he was fussing over her this morning."

"Does he realise that if we fail she's going to be in as much danger at home as she would be on Thunderbird Three?"

John double-checked that those above couldn't hear him. "Did you buy that story he gave us about Penny phoning him to let him know how Dad is?"

"Nope. There was something there that he wasn't telling us. You don't suppose it's to do with the reason why he doesn't want Tin-Tin with him, do you?"

"What do you mean?"

Gordon indulged in a surreptitious look upwards to check their brothers weren't within earshot. "You know..."

John did know and had already chided himself for thinking that way. "Alan and Penny! Come on, Gordon! We know he had a crush on her when he was younger; we all did, but..." John shook his head. "I can't believe it. If Alan is doing something stupid like that, then he's a braver man than me."

"And me. There's no way I'd mess with Lady Penelope... Even if I were single."

"I can't believe that Alan would betray Tin-Tin," John stated.

"Neither can I," Gordon admitted. "But did you notice how Kyrano didn't seem impressed when he gave Alan the message this morning? Maybe he knows something we don't?"

"You think Tin-Tin's got her suspicions and she's told her father? He's a man I'd trust with my life, but I wouldn't want to be in the shoes of anyone who hurt his little girl."

"And it's not only Kyrano he'd have to worry about, is it? I'm sure I'm not the only one of us who would take him to task if he betrayed Tin-Tin."

"True…"

"Hey!" Both men looked up to where Alan was looking down at them. "If you two have finished gossiping, how about raising the wing? It's dropped a bit."

"Sorry!" John activated the crane again...

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

It was a small crew that sat down to enjoy Kyrano's lunch. "Where's everyone?" Scott asked.

"Mister Virgil is working on Thunderbird Two," Kyrano replied.

"And John?"

"He was going to call his secretary," Gordon told him.

"And Alan?"

The merest frown creased Tin-Tin's forehead. "Alan said that he had to make a videophone call too."

"And I suppose Brains has forgotten it's lunchtime again?"

Brains chose that moment to prove Scott wrong. "Am I late?"

"No, Brains, you're right on time," Scott told him. "How's everything going?"

Brains treated him to a smile of quiet pride. "Tin-Tin and I have finished designing the acoustic concussion generators. I-I have started the designs for the asteroid rocket booster and Tin-Tin is starting p-production of the ACGs."

"That's good news, Brains," Gordon told him. "Something you can check off the list, huh?"

"It is, er, one small step in the right direction…" Brains looked around the table. "Where is everyone…?"

-F-A-B-

John stared at the videophone and its blank screen stared back. It had been almost a month since he'd last seen Emma, and nearly as long since he'd last spoken to her. Why did she want him to call her? And why was he so afraid to call her back?

This was stupid. He was facing the possible demise of his world and the prospect of being stuck alone in space for four months; and here he was worrying about why a woman, who probably had no feelings of affection towards him, wanted him to call.

He dialled her cell phone number so that he wouldn't have to deal with looking at her as well as hearing her, and felt a delicious shiver go down his spine when she answered the phone. "Emma. It's John."

"John?" Just hearing the secretary's voice had John's toes curling in delight. "Do you know what the time is?"

"Time?" John cursed himself. Each day was starting to run one into the other and he couldn't have told you today's date, let alone the time in the States. In his world there was only one day and time that mattered and that was rolling around way too quickly. "Ah, no, sorry. I've, er, lost track of time and I forgot about the time difference. It's some time in the afternoon, isn't it?"

"It's about midnight."

"Midnight?" John checked his watch. He couldn't be that far out of kilter with his timekeeping could he? "It's not… Is it?"

"John," Emma sounded exasperated. "I'm in London."

"London? London, England?"

"It's the Leyland conference remember? You were going to attend, but since you're off in the middle of nowhere Robert's standing in for you, and I've come along to record everything for Jeff."

"Oh…" This had been a vitally important conference and John had totally forgotten about it. "Thank you," he said lamely.

"And, thank you for _finally _calling."

John heard the slight negative inflection in her "finally". He also heard the sleepiness in her voice. Clearly he'd just woken her up. "Do you want me to call you back later?"

"No. I'm awake now."

"Sorry," John apologised again. "How is everything?"

"Your father and I are getting on well."

"That's good. How's work?"

"You'd know if you'd kept in touch with Jeff."

"Ah, yeah... I've been busy." John cringed. He could imagine her wondering what he could be doing on a tropical paradise of an island that would have kept him too busy to call his own father. "But I've done my best to keep an eye on the company's fortunes... Er, I got your message. Is there something you need my help with?"

"Yes." Now that she was more awake, Emma was sounding annoyed with him. "When was the last time _your father_ left the house?"

John heard the emphasis in 'your father' and felt more like a schoolboy receiving a telling off from a favourite teacher than her boss. "Erm... Some medical check up, I guess."

"Apart from that?"

"Ah..." John racked his brain. "Grandma's funeral?"

"And when was that?"

"Erm... Five? Six years ago?"

"Are you telling me that he hasn't left his home in six years!?"

"It's not as though we haven't tried to get him to leave," John reminded her. "You know I've invited him to company events."

"What about outside work?"

"I've tried. We've all tried. Look, Emma, we know better than anyone that he can be as stubborn as a mule when he wants to be. If it wasn't for his stroke..."

"His stroke. You do realise that he's using it as an excuse..."

"You're not telling me..."

"This is a man who needs outside stimulation."

"I know..."

"And there's only a limited time before Doomsday..."

"Don't I know it..."

"When we're all probably going to die..."

"Mayb..."

"And _you_ haven't been here to encourage him!"

"I know I haven't, but we've tried hundreds of times over the years to get him to leave home. He won't listen to me, or any of us."

"He's started listening! Only _you_ haven't been here to talk to him."

"I know." John felt a pang of sadness.

"You haven't seen how he's come alive!"

"He's only 'come alive' because I left Tracy Industries. It was a struggle to get him to take up the company's reins."

"Well, now he's on that horse we've got to get him moving. He needs more than work, John!"

"I know that…"

"We've only got three months left to live!"

"Not if we…!" John caught himself before he said something he shouldn't. He stopped and took a deep breath.

Fortunately Emma seemed too angry to notice his slip. "And I'm determined to get him out of that house if it's literally the last thing I do!"

Despite the suppressed affection he had for her, John was getting a little tired of being told about his father by someone who wasn't a member of his family. "Fine!" he snapped. "What do you suggest _we_ do about it?"

"You can keep away this weekend!"

"What?!" John, astounded by her cheek, couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"I want your assurance that you're not going to suddenly appear out of the blue. I don't want you ruining everything!"

"Ruining everything...? You ring me up...!"

"You rang me," Emma reminded him, before adding a bitter, "in the middle of the night."

John ignored the interruption. "...You ring me up; you tell me off for not contacting him; and then you tell me I'm not to visit my own father? How dare you!"

"I dare because I seem to care more about Jeff Tracy than his own family do!"

John was nearing the end of his tether. "You don't know us!"

"Maybe I know you better than you think!"

"You can't talk to me like that! May I remind you, Emma Janes, that _I_ am _your_ boss!"

"My boss?! I thought you were some playboy off enjoying himself having deserted his father!"

"I did not desert him!"

"Really?"

"Really!"

"Then why are you on the other side of the world partying, when he's here all alone!?"

"Emm..!" John, desperate to stop himself from ruining any chance of future happiness, shut his mouth and his eyes, and counted to ten.

There was a moments silence as they both attempted to cool their tempers.

Emma was the first to speak. "I'm sorry, John. I'm never at my best when I'm woken up in the middle of the night; especially when I'm jetlagged."

John had been feeling like that for days, which explained his own short fuse. "I'm sorry too. This isn't an easy time for anyone. Can we forget everything we've just said and start over?"

He heard the smile in Emma's voice and felt his heart lift again. "Thank you, Boss."

John chuckled. "How are you, Secretary?"

Now it was Emma's turn to laugh. "All right now I'm awake."

"Now, getting back to the start of our conversation... Would you like to tell me what your plans are?"

"I'd love to..." Hearing Emma sound more relaxed and cheerful had John's toes curling again. "That short time that the three of us were together, I could see how close you are to Jeff. But I've been wondering if maybe you're too close? He's your father; and you think you know him better than anyone, so you think you know how far you can push without hurting him. But maybe time, and your love for him, has distorted your perception of what he's capable of?"

"That's possible," John conceded.

"So maybe it's time for someone outside the family to take him in hand? I know he's only known me for a month, but maybe he needs a relative stranger to get him out of the rut he's dug himself into? Maybe he'll listen to me where he won't listen to you?"

"You could be right."

"I want to get him out of that house and get some enjoyment into his life before he has the..."

John heard her stumble to a stop and wondered why. "Emma?"

"S-Sorry, John. I-I, ah, I want to get him out before Doomsday happens."

"Emma, if you can get him to leave that house of his own free will, I'll be eternally grateful. Apart from not spoiling your plans, what can I do?"

He thought he could hear relief in her voice, and decided that she'd been more than a little worried that he wouldn't be willing to go along with her idea. "I've already discussed my plans with Robert and we've decided that this weekend would be the best time to put it into action, because he's going to be off in the mountains and out of phone range. I was thinking that if I discover late Friday that I've forgotten some important documents that we need signed off for Monday morning, and I remember that those documents are in the document vault back in the office, but I realise that we can't get to them because both you and Robert are out of town and you two are the only ones who can open the room, then Jeff might decide that its important enough for him to go into work. If we do this on Saturday it will be unlikely that anyone will be about to see him."

"But you can open the vault," John pointed out.

"I know. But does he?"

"Ummm. No, I don't think he does."

"Good."

"But that's not exactly getting him out of the house and away from work, is it?"

"No. So that's why we're going to have a little detour on the way back..." Emma detailed the remainder of her plan. "What do you think?"

John was smiling. "I think that Dad's going to love it. I think he'll make a show of being annoyed, and he'll probably growl and grump, but I think he'll appreciate all your effort. I also think that I'm glad that I employed you, Emma Janes..."

-F-A-B-

Alan did a quick calculation and decided that it wasn't too late to phone Lady Penelope. Well, maybe it was, but he wasn't going to get another opportunity to talk to her alone. He dialled her number...

"Good..." Lady Penelope checked her watch, "afternoon, Alan."

"Good whatever-it-is-where-you-are, Penny. I've got a couple of minutes free before I have lunch, so I thought I'd better ring while I had the chance. You've got news about Marina?"

Lady Penelope nodded. "Parker and I have done some investigating and we believe that there may well be something in what you suggested."

"You think Marina's been having an affair while she was married to Gordon?"

"The evidence we have found is leading in that direction."

Alan beamed. "That's great, Penny! Well... It's not great as far as Gordon's concerned, but it is great as far as Gordon's concerned..." He stopped, confused by his own train of thought. "I'm not making sense, am I? I'm tired. We all are."

"It is all right, Alan. I understand perfectly, and I shall continue to find out all I can about Marina."

"That's great, Penny!" Alan frowned at the echo of his own voice. "Uh... I told everyone else that I'd asked you to keep an eye on Dad for us and to report back. I said that Kyrano would only hear what Dad wants him to hear, but that you might get a more realistic picture... You haven't seen him lately have you?"

"Work, and _other matters_," Lady Penelope gave him a knowing look as she considered how to phrase her reply, "have kept me busy, and it has been a fortnight since I visited your father; but I would have to say that he is in remarkably good spirits. I do believe that the reinstatement of International Rescue has improved his outlook on life; even with Doomsday approaching."

Alan beamed again. "I'm glad to hear that. None of us have had the time to phone him and we were all worried that that he'd go into a depression without us visiting. You've taken a weight off my mind. The others will be pleased too."

"It is always a pleasure to help. And now I had better not keep you from obtaining some sustenance."

"It's been great talking to you, Penny. I don't know what it is about you, but you always make me feel better. Before I rang I felt like I was being squashed by all the stresses I'm under. You've lightened the load."

Lady Penelope gave a silvery laugh. "I am glad. I should like to try and fly out to see you soon, Alan; but if I do so, will we be able to get time alone?"

"I'll make sure of it somehow. Just seeing your face would make a wonderful change from seeing the same things every day."

"Then I shall visit soon, and perhaps I will relieve you of even more of your 'stresses'."

"Sounds good. Bye, Penny."

"Goodbye, Alan."

The videophone housed in the Georgian cabinet became blank.

"M'Lady? You didn't tell 'im what we found out h-in the phone calls?"

Lady Penelope turned to her butler. "No, Parker. As Alan said, he has enough stresses to deal with at the moment and I should not wish to add to them until we are sure of our facts. Besides, if my calculations are correct, we are too late to do anything to remedy it anyway." She stood. "I think I shall retire to bed. I no longer feel the inclination to go through more of those tedious diaries."

"Sounds good to me, m'Lady," Parker agreed.

Lady Penelope glided towards the door. "I feel that we are growing closer to cracking Marina's code, Parker. We shall resume our work tomorrow."

Parker groaned. "Beggin' your pardon, ma'am, but that h-ain't a h-appealing thought."

"I agree. But I do want to reassure myself that she had no knowledge of the Tracys' links to International Rescue."

"Yeah. If a gold-digger like 'er were to find h-out that bit o' info..." Parker shuddered. "H-I dread to think h-of what she might do."

-F-A-B-

John returned to the lunch table. "I've just been talking to Emma."

Scott glanced up from his meal. "How's Father?"

"She says he's well. In her words, he's 'come alive' since he took over the company again. And she was steaming mad at us for deserting him."

Gordon looked at him sharply. "Did you tell her that it wasn't your fault?"

"What could I say? That we're trying to save the world? Things got a bit heated for a moment there. I'd woken her up in the middle of the night, and she wasn't impressed with me."

He noticed his brother's alarm at this piece of information. "You did manage to calm her down again, didn't you?"

"Yes. She's got a plan to get Dad out of the house this weekend, and she didn't want to risk any of us suddenly turning up and spoiling her plans." John gave a rueful chuckle. "Chance would be a fine thing... I was getting that annoyed with her for trying to tell me that I didn't care about him that I was this close," he held up two fingers, "to letting slip what we're doing here. I only just managed to catch myself in time."

"Just as well you didn't say anything," Scott growled.

"I know. But I've trusted her implicitly these last seven years and it feels strange that I can't trust her with one little thing."

"If we manage to save the world, it's not going to be that little."

"You're right there, Scott," John agreed. "Where are Alan and Virg?" He started preparing his lunch.

"Virgil can't tear himself away from Thunderbird Two," Scott told him. "And Alan's phoning Penny."

John glanced at Gordon, who studiously avoided his look. "Oh, yes?"

"I'd better go see what's holding him up." Tin-Tin placed her serviette on the table. "Excuse me a moment."

When she got to the door of their private living area she stopped. She couldn't hear Alan's voice. Did that mean he'd finished his conversation? Or that he was in the back room so he couldn't be overheard?

Tin-Tin slid the door open and stepped inside. The room was empty. Tip-toeing quietly she crossed the carpet and listened at the second door.

"_...It's been great talking to you, Penny. I don't know what it is about you, but you always make me feel better. Before I rang I felt like I was being squashed by all the stresses I'm under. You've lightened the load."_

"_I am glad. I should like to try and fly out to see you soon, Alan; but if I do so, will we be able to get time alone?"_

"_I'll make sure of it somehow. Just seeing your face would make a wonderful change _from seeing the same things every day_."_

"_Then I shall visit soon, and perhaps I will relieve you of even more of your 'stresses'."_

"_Sounds good. Bye, Penny."_

"_Goodbye, Alan."_

Not waiting to hear the videophone disconnect, Tin-Tin scurried away from the door.

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

By the time Kyrano had done his various chores about the house and had prepared dinner, Thunderbird One's wing had been reattached, and the extending and retracting mechanism thoroughly tested within the confines of her launch bay. And so it was a group satisfied with the day's work that retired to the dining room for their evening meal.

All but one.

"Mister Virgil..." Kyrano walked into Thunderbird Two's hangar. "Are you here, Mister Virgil?"

Virgil had earmuffs on his ears and didn't hear his name being called. He dropped his visor back down over his face, crouched down so he was level with his work, and started welding the lower electromagnetic docking clamp back to the outside of pod four.

Kyrano waited until after the sparks had stopped flying, relieved that Virgil was working at ground level and not on one of the pieces of scaffolding that surrounded the pod. "Mister Virgil." He stepped up and tapped Virgil on the shoulder. "Mister Virgil!"

"What!" Still in his crouching position, Virgil spun about, overbalanced, and fell over. He pulled his earmuffs off, nearly dislodging his cap. "Oh. It's you, Kyrano. I didn't hear you."

"I have been calling you. Dinner is ready."

"I'll skip it tonight. I've got too much to do."

Kyrano shook his head. "No. You will come with me now."

Virgil frowned. "I haven't got time to eat."

"You must make time. I promised Mr Tracy that I would ensure that you all took care of yourselves. You did not have lunch."

"I'll grab something to eat later."

Kyrano shook his again. "You will come with me and eat now."

"I'm not hungry." As if it were trying to show him up as a liar, Virgil's stomach chose that moment to rumble.

"You are hungry," Kyrano confirmed. "Your meal is waiting; as is your family."

"They can eat without me."

"Your father would expect you all to be present at the dinner table, and I will ensure that his wishes are followed."

Virgil's frown deepened. "He is not here, Kyrano,"

"That changes nothing."

"You can't make me leave my work."

"I have been mandated by Mr Tracy to 'make you'."

"You are not my father, and you have no say in what I do or don't do."

"I believe that you are wrong, Mister Virgil. Now, are you joining your family for dinner, or will I have to use some other method to persuade you?"

"Other method?" Virgil snorted his disbelief, dropped the welding visor back into place, replaced his earmuffs, and returned to his work.

Kyrano waited. He was a patient man and he could bide his time.

Virgil finished his welding and then ran an x-ray scanner over it to examine it. Unsatisfied with the quality of his work in one place he picked up a grinder to remove the weld so he could start over.

The grinder did not start.

Puzzled, he examined the device. The off/on switch seemed to be inoperable and, wondering why, he flipped the unit over.

The battery was missing.

Virgil glared at Kyrano who was standing there placidly; the battery in his hand. "Give that back to me!"

Kyrano dropped the battery into his pocket. "When you have eaten I will return it to you."

"Kyrano!"

Kyrano smiled a benign smile. "Yes, Mister Virgil?"

"Give me the battery! I've got work to do!"

"You can work later. You are tired now."

"I am not tired!"

"You did not immediately realise that the battery was missing. You did not feel the difference in weight. You do not have the reactions of a man who is fully awake."

Virgil was sick of the Malaysian's games… And the fact that he was right. "Give – me – the – battery."

Kyrano didn't move. "No."

Virgil took a step forwards. He was bigger, stronger and younger than the other man. Nothing would stop him from taking what he wanted. He held out his hand. "Give me the battery n-OW!"

"I am sorry, Mister Virgil," Kyrano said from somewhere in the vicinity of Virgil's shoulder blade. "But you must eat now. If you will not come willingly, I must make you."

Virgil struggled to straighten his right arm, which had been twisted up his back, and to move his immobilised left arm. "Kyrano!"

He was helpless. Cursing under his breath, Virgil was submitted to the humiliation of being marched through the complex and into the dining room, where his family watched with interest, but wisely refrained from comment as he was pushed into a chair and his cap removed.

Trying not to make it look like he was stretching the muscles of an arm that had been held in a vice-like grip (even though he was), Virgil pulled his long blue hair back. He glared at his companions, daring someone to say something.

No one said anything.

Kyrano placed a plate of warm, aromatic food on the table. "Eat, Mister Virgil. I will give you your hat and battery back after you have finished."

Growling, Virgil stabbed at a poor defenceless vegetable as if he wished it was something, or someone, else.

The rest of his family decided that the best course of action was to ignore him and his bad temper, and returned to the conversations they'd been enjoying before his unexpected entrance.

Kyrano allowed Virgil the small victory of declining dessert, and, once everyone had finished eating, placed the cap, with the battery inside, beside the younger man. Without a word, Virgil grabbed both items and got to his feet…

"Virgil…" Scott had timed finishing his meal to coincide with his younger brother's. "I'd like a word with you in my office."

The others at the table glanced at them and each other, but said nothing.

Virgil, only just managing to refrain from complaining that they were wasting time, pulled his cap back onto his head and stamped out of the room after International Rescue's present commander.

"Close the door."

Virgil slammed it shut.

"Have a seat," Scott indicated one of the chairs facing his desk.

Virgil had already decided that no one was going to dictate to him. He declined the invitation by standing his ground, folding his arms, and glaring at his brother.

Supposedly unconcerned by the insubordination, Scott relaxed against the edge of his desk so they were eye-to-eye. He regarded this brother that he thought he knew so well, but visually was a stranger. "Virgil, listen to me. We all appreciate the work that you're doing, and I know that you are quite possibly working harder than anyone else. But you have got to accept that you are only human. Work too hard and you'll be useless to International Rescue."

Virgil said nothing.

"This is a hard task we've set ourselves. Hard, but vital to the continuation of the world as we know it. Everyone here is working to their utmost to do everything that needs to be done in the limited time that we've got. But we've got to learn to pace ourselves."

Virgil glared and remained silent.

"Now, I'm not about to discourage you from working hard. I know as well as anyone that there are things that only you can do; and we're all relying on you to do them. And we want you to be on the top of your game. We _need_ you to be on the top of your game. And in order to be on top of your game you've got to be alert and awake. And you won't be if you don't stop now and then and take time out to relax."

Virgil gave an impatient sigh. He pointedly looked at his watch.

"Now, I know you," Scott continued with confidence, "and I know that when you get tired, and I really mean over-tired, then you get grumpy. The more tired you get, the grumpier you get. You're not alone in this personality change. John's brain tends to disconnect from his mouth, and…"

"And you turn into a self-righteous know-it…"

Point made, Scott carried on. "You're at that tired and grumpy stage now. And we both know that if you get _very_ over-tired, then you become all emotional and start crying..."

Virgil's jaw dropped. "That only happened once…! And I was five!"

"Six."

"Five…" Virgil said sullenly. "And it was your fault!" he added in a flash of anger.

His irritation grew as Scott, instead of berating him, continued the disciplinary talk in the same infuriatingly calm and rational manner. "I'll accept that it was my fault that time. But this time I'm not going to give you the chance to blame Doomsday for getting into such a state that you're unfit to fly Thunderbird Two. I don't intend to have to do your job as well as mine."

"Do my job!" Virgil exploded. "You think you're so…!"

"Silence!"

The sudden, unexpected shout was effective.

"Thank you," Scott said, his voice once again calm and quiet. "Now… I am going to give you two directives, and I expect them both to be carried out. Mainly because I am, for the duration of this exercise, your commander…" Virgil rolled his eyes. "But also because I'm your brother and your friend, and I know you won't let me down. One: You will apologise to Kyrano…"

"Apologise?! To him!?" Aghast, Virgil's finger stabbed in the general direction of the dining room. "He should be apologising to me for assaulting me!"

"And if you'd come when you were called you wouldn't have been humiliated," Scott reminded him. "You've only got yourself to blame..."

"Me!"

"Yes, you. And I know that when you've had some rest you will agree with me. So, when you can do it with a degree of sincerity, you will apologise to Kyrano. Understood?"

Not for the first time that afternoon, Virgil glared at his brother.

Apparently interpreting daggers being shot in his direction as a non-verbal agreement to his terms, Scott continued. "Two: we are going to come to an understanding over meals. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day and you will always sit down and eat something. I know that we all have different morning routines, so I don't expect you to eat with everyone else, but I do expect you to have something solid in your stomach before you start work. I'll ask Kyrano to let me know if you don't."

"But…"

"Lunch," Scott pretended he hadn't been interrupted, "can be optional. I'd prefer it if you took a break and had something substantial to eat, but I'll admit that as we get closer to the deadline there are going to be times for all of us when it is going to be hard to justify taking time out of our day to sit down to a meal. At times like that I'll permit you to have a snack while you are working."

"Gee, thanks."

Scott ignored the sarcasm. "Dinner: You will join us all for the full meal. I will not accept you sitting down for two seconds and then leaving. Whatever Kyrano has prepared for you, you will at least attempt to eat all of it. Now, I am reasonable…"

Virgil was having serious doubts over this.

"…and I know that sometimes it is impossible to stop what ever you are doing just because the dinner bell has rung. In situations like that I will allow you to be half an hour late to the table; provided you let us know what the hold up is and allow one or more of us to help you with whatever it is you are trying to finish. Now…" Scott bestowed a benevolent smile on his brother; an act which left Virgil grinding his teeth together in barely suppressed anger. "Have I made myself clear?"

"Perfectly," Virgil growled.

"Good. I might see you tomorrow at breakfast. Don't work too long tonight."

Grumbling to himself, Virgil left the room.

Scott decided that there were enough hours left in the day to warrant heading back down to Thunderbird One's hangar. He stepped out of his room and almost bumped into John and Tin-Tin.

John grinned. "Just now I was almost mowed down by Virgil muttering about someone who is apparently smug, self-righteous, supercilious, and patronising, as well as several other less complimentary things. I assume he's talking about you?"

Scott matched his brother's grin. "Quite probably. He'll get over it. I've told him that I expect him to have breakfast each day, and that he must join us for dinner. To be fair I'll make the same directive applicable to all of us. We can't risk collapsing because we're run down and malnourished when we get to the business end of this mission."

"That is a good idea," Tin-Tin agreed. "Our duties will not finish when the Thunderbirds are ready."

Scott lost some of his joviality. "That's when the hard part starts... Just so you know, Tin-Tin; I've also told Virgil to apologise to your father."

"That would have gone down like a ton of lead bricks," John replied. "Do you think he will?"

"Once he's slept on it and realised that what Kyrano did was in his best interests he will." Scott gave a self-satisfied smile. "I think I know what makes Virgil tick."

"True," John agreed.

Tin-Tin folded her arms. "And I don't think that you know him as well as you think you do."

"Also true," John declared cheerfully. "Tin-Tin and I are going to work on the casings of the ACG. Catch you later, Scott."

They left Scott wondering why they thought what they did.

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

It was the end of another long day in too many long days. Scott Tracy laid the pen down on his father's desk, rubbed his tired eyes, and tried to pinch back the looming headache. He wondered if the combination meant that his vision was deteriorating and that he would soon need spectacles. He hated the idea. He'd always regarded his eyesight as one of his most important assets, and the thought that he might be losing it chilled him.

He checked his watch. 0008 hours. He checked the calendar and crossed off Thursday August 3rd 2079. It was now August the 4th and they had just over seven weeks until they launched Thunderbird Three on her seemingly impossible quest. Nine weeks until the rest of the Thunderbirds would set off to save the world.

Nine weeks! Could they do it?

Knowing that they wouldn't have a hope if he didn't take some of the advice he'd given Virgil earlier; he decided he'd better take himself off to bed...

"Mister Scott?"

Scott looked up and gave his friend a tired smile. "Hi, Kyrano."

"Are you all right?"

"Fine."

"You should be in bed."

Scott managed a dry chuckle. "Don't worry; you don't have to frog-march me to my room. I'm just trying to find the energy to get out of this chair."

Kyrano smiled. "Would you like me to give you assistance?"

"No." With a quiet groan, Scott got to his feet. "I hope everyone else has had the same idea." He operated the computer, and the GPS units on his family's watches. It wasn't a feature that he used very often, but it gave him something to do while he psyched himself up for the not so long walk to his room. "Looks like Tin-Tin and Alan have retired for the night. John's in his room, and so's Gordon. Virgil's in the hangar, but I think he's sleeping in the pilot's quarters inside Thunderbird Two. Brains has probably fallen asleep in his lab again."

"I will go and ensure that he retires to his own bed," Kyrano offered. He regarded Scott critically. "As should you."

"I know." Scott finally pushed himself away from the desk and headed for the door. Kyrano fell in by his side and the pair of them walked down the hallway.

"Mister Virgil has apologised."

"Good. Did he mean it?"

"Yes." Kyrano smiled. "He was sincere in his apology."

"Good," Scott repeated. "Actually I'm surprised he apologised this evening. I expected him to need a good night's sleep to put what he'd done into perspective."

"Sometimes we do not know people as well as we think."

"You sound like your daughter."

"I am my daughter's father."

Scott chuckled. "That's true. I don't know that I've said this often enough, Kyrano, but I'm glad you're here. I appreciate all you are doing for us."

Kyrano gave a slight bow. "Like you I am a member of Inter-national Rescue. I do what I can to assist the organisation in its smooth operation."

"Well, we've managed to negotiate quite a few speed bumps because you've smoothed them out... Night, Gordon."

Scott had taken another five or so steps when he registered what he'd said, who he'd said it to, and the recipient's blank look in response. He turned back. "Gordon?"

Gordon, his steps slow and dreamlike, a towel clasped in his hand, kept walking towards the lounge.

"Gordon?" Scott called. "Can you hear me, Gordon?"

"Is he sleep-walking?" Kyrano asked.

"Looks like it." The two men retraced their steps until they were alongside the somnolent stroller.

Kyrano reached out to touch Gordon's shoulder and then stopped. "Should we wake him?"

"There are a number of theories on whether that's a good idea or not. We had a guy in my flight who would go for a wander the night after we'd returned home from a tricky mission. One night the mechanics even found him trying to climb into his plane. Fortunately it wasn't fuelled up."

"What did you do with this man when this happened?"

"Get someone with a rank higher than him and they'd order him back to bed. He'd usually go like a lamb and wake up the following morning with no memory of his night's march." Keeping pace with his brother Scott held his arm out in front so that he was able to slow Gordon's progress. "It's Scott, Gordon. Time to go to bed."

Gordon stopped walking. He turned. He took a step and then blinked.

"Steady..." Scott caught his brother as Gordon staggered forward. "I won't let you fall, Gordy..."

Gordon blinked again. "Scott...?"

"Get your balance."

"Kyrano...? Where...?" Gordon looked about him. "Why...?"

"You okay?" Scott asked. "You're not going to fall over?"

"Ah... No?"

Scott gave him a moment to regain his equilibrium and then released his hold. "You were sleepwalking."

Gordon still seemed a little confused. "I was what?"

"Sleepwalking. Have you done it before?"

Gordon shook his head. "No... Ah..." He frowned and put his hand to his forehead and then noticed the towel. "Maybe."

"Maybe?"

"I, um, I woke up yesterday morning and I was lying on one of the deckchairs. I thought maybe I'd gone down for my morning swim, but I was so tired that I lay down on one of the chairs and went back to sleep."

"Did you have your swimming gear with you?"

"No." Gordon was staring at the towel. "I don't remember getting this." He looked down at his back-to-front t-shirt and inside-out shorts. "Where're my swimming trunks?"

"Come on, Gordy." Scott started steering him again. "I think you'd better go to bed."

"Perhaps I could make you a hot chocolate," Kyrano offered. "That may help you sleep."

"No, I'm tired enough to sleep without it." Gordon managed a wan smile, which disappeared as soon as it appeared. He reached out to open his door. "I'll be fine," he said as the door slid back.

"Are you sure?" Scott, conditioned to always being there to help his brothers, took a step forwards and then hesitated before entering. "Erm... I could, but only if you want me to, come in and, er, help you... But only if that's what you want."

Gordon, still not quite _compos mentis_ and unable to understand his big brother's reluctance, stared at him. "I don't need your help." Then they watched his face clear. "Scott, that doesn't mean that I don't need it... I just mean I don't need it... I, erm, don't..."

Kyrano sensed the awkwardness between the two brothers and Gordon's evident confusion. "If I may speak," he began, "you are tired too, Mister Scott. You must rest. I will ensure that Mister Gordon is settled in his room."

"Maybe that's best," Scott agreed. "Are you okay with that, Gordon?"

Gordon nodded. "Go on, Scott. I've kept you up too long. I'll see you in the morning."

"Okay..." Scott took a step backwards. "Night, Gordon. Night, Kyrano."

"Night, Scott."

"Good night, Mister Scott."

Scott had taken two steps towards his room when he heard the soft call from behind him. "Scott!"

He turned. "Yeah?"

"Thanks." Gordon looked uncomfortable. "Thanks for everything."

"That's okay. We can talk about it later. Have a good night."

"You too... What's left of it."

_To be continued..._


	12. Chapter 12 - One Small Step

**Chapter 12: One Small Step**

Emma Janes flicked through one pile of papers. Then she frowned. Then she flicked through another. Her frown deepened. She returned to the first pile; this time going through the pages more slowly. After she'd done that she repeated the process with the second. Not satisfied with the result she picked her briefcase off the floor and started pulling papers out of it…

"_Have you lost something?"_ Jeff asked. He'd grown stronger these past few weeks and, although he was looking tired now, he was managing to work a full day.

Schooling her face so that there was no hint of her satisfaction at his nibbling at her bait, Emma frowned. "I can't find the S.O.T.A. contract. I thought I'd put it in my bag…" She delved back into the briefcase again to hide her face, which she was sure must have been glowing red. She hated lying; even in a good cause.

Her flush hadn't escaped Jeff's notice, although, much to Emma's relief he had misinterpreted it. _"Don't panic. I'm sure it's here somewhere."_

"But where?" Emma made a helpless gesture. "I can't find it anywhere! Do you remember where I had it last?"

It was Jeff's turn to frown. _"No. I don't remember seeing it today."_

"Well, I know I had it at the office this morning." It felt good to tell the truth. "Robert and I were discussing the Glasson contract in the document vault, and I know I had the S.O.T.A. contract in my hands then." Emma screwed up her eyes as if she was trying to visualise the scene. "Then he showed me the clauses Glasson's are quibbling over and I… I remember…" She opened her eyes and her hand flew to her mouth. "I must have put the S.O.T.A. contract down on the table! I don't remember picking it up again! It's still in the vault!"

Jeff was unperturbed. _"At least it's secure there."_

"But I was going to send it out with the courier tonight so that S.O.T.A. would have it on their desk first thing Monday morning!"

Jeff looked at the clock. _"If you hurry, you can make it back to the office before the courier's last pickup time."_

"That's no good. I can't get into the vault!" Emma hit herself on the forehead. "Idiot!"

"_Then Robert will have to let you in."_

"Robert's gone to the mountains, remember?"

"_Yes…" _Now Jeff was starting to show some concern at their predicament. _"Can't you unlock the vault?"_

"No. My palm print doesn't have clearance," Emma lied. "John wanted to restrict access to the document vault to the fewest number of people possible. So the only ones who can unlock the door are John, Robert and…" She looked at Jeff as if an idea was coming to her. "You!"

"Mih?"

"Yes! I'm pretty sure that John, since Tracy Industries is your company, left you as one of the only people able to get access to the vault."

"_Darn fool,"_ Jeff growled.

"Not if you can get me out of this mess I've got the company into," Emma told him. "But it'll mean that you'll have to go in to the office."

"_No!" _Agitated, Jeff began wheeling his hoverchair around the room. _"That's impossible."_

"Why?"

"_I haven't been to the office in years! Not since…"_ Jeff spun the 'chair so he was facing away from her. _"It's impossible,"_ he repeated.

"You might be the company's only hope. It's either that or I may as well hand in my notice right now."

Jeff spun back. _"You can't do that!"_

"I may have cost the company a lucrative contract."

"_You may have left the contract on your desk back at the office. You'll have to go and look."_

This would have been Emma's cover story if she'd been unsuccessful in her ploy to get Jeff Tracy out of his home, and she was still hoping that she wouldn't have to use it. "It would be better if you were to come with me and unlock the door. Look, it doesn't have to be tonight. We can make it early tomorrow when no one's at work to see what a fool I've been, and then I can get the Saturday courier to pick it up. Please, Jeff… I like working for the Tracys too much to want to leave."

She could see him weakening. _"There's no chance of Robert coming in?"_

"I don't think so. But I guess I can try his phone in case he hasn't left yet." Emma put Jeff's desk phone into hands free mode and dialled the assistant manager's mobile number. She and Jeff listened as the phone made its connection.

"_This is Robert Thornton of Tracy Industries. I am currently unable to answer my phone. Leave a message and I…_"

What Jeff didn't know was that Emma and Robert had agreed that this weekend he wouldn't answer any call from Jeff's number. But, if a genuine emergency had cropped up, all Emma had to do was call from any phone but this one and Robert would have answered straight away… That was if he wasn't out of range.

Emma disconnected the call. "See! You've got to come into the office with me tomorrow, Jeff… Please…"

"_All right,"_ he growled. _"But only because I don't want to have to tell my son that it was my fault that his favourite employee felt that she had to leave the company."_ He noted Emma's blush at the description. _"I'll have to arrange some transport."_

"Let me do that," Emma offered.

"_But you've finished work for the day."_

"And it's my fault that we're both going to have to work on a Saturday. It's the least I can do."

She seemed so eager to make amends that Jeff let her have her way…

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

The limousine pulled up at the house early the next day. The chauffeur, resplendent in navy jacket, matching trousers, and smart peaked hat, alighted from the vehicle and walked around to the rear passenger door, which he pulled open.

"Thank you, Dan," Emma said as she alighted. "Are you sure everything's arranged?"

Dan touched the peak of his cap. "Everything is just as you asked, Ms Janes. I will prepare the car while you get Mr Tracy."

Emma gave him a slightly nervous smile. "Thank you. Wish me luck for the day."

He responded with a more reassuring smile. "I've seen your plans. I don't think you'll need luck."

Emma jogged up the steps and rang the doorbell.

Sara opened the door. Emma had already let her in on her secret and the two of them shared a conspiratorial grin as she stepped aside. "He's waiting for you in the lounge."

"How is he?"

"Trying to pretend that he's not nervous. If you can carry this through to the end, you'll have done him a great service."

"Well, I'll do my best." Emma walked through into the lounge. "Good morning, Jeff."

"_Morning, Emma."_ He sounded pleasant enough, but Jeff Tracy was doing the hoverchair equivalent of pacing. _"Is everything __ready__?"_

"Everything's fine. I've contacted security and asked them to make sure that no one else uses the underground entrance. That way we'll be able to take the elevator straight up to the office without being waylaid by anyone wanting to stop for a chat. We don't want to work any longer on a Saturday than we have to, do we?"

Jeff said nothing about her neat sidestep of his fears. _"And the car?"_

"Is waiting outside. It's specially designed to be able to carry hoverchairs. I hope we'll both find it comfortable."

Jeff made no comment as she led the way towards the portal to her dream: his nightmare.

Dan had opened the door of the limousine down and out so that the top edge rested level with the ramp leading from the house. He touched his cap in salute as Jeff hovered just short of the door. "Good morning, Mr Tracy, sir. My name is Dan Pierce and I am your chauffeur for the morning."

Jeff nodded his acknowledgement, but did not speak. What was the point when this stranger wouldn't be able to understand him?

Dan did not appear to be perturbed by the lack of feedback. "I can assure you that my vehicle is designed to be strong and comfortable. If you would care to enter the car, we'll be underway."

Jeff hesitated. Emma had promised that he wouldn't meet anyone he knew, and the limousine's darkened windows were sure to hide him from the outside world, but did he really want to do this? Did he want to leave his home for something as trivial as a piece of paper? Then, determined to prove that he wasn't a total washout as a human being, he sent the hoverchair down the makeshift ramp and into the car.

Turning away so he wouldn't see her share a thumbs up gesture with Sara, Emma said goodbye to the nurse. Then she got back into the limo and sat in one of the luxurious seats. "Are you comfortable, Jeff, or would you rather sit in one of these seats?"

"_I'm fine,"_ he growled, and started when Dan entered the vehicle to secure the hoverchair to the floor.

Working quickly, efficiently and with no fuss, Dan clipped the hoverchair into place so it was facing forwards. "All set," he announced. "Sit tight and we'll be at Tracy Industries within twenty minutes." He touched the brim of his cap again, and withdrew back out into the sun. The interior of the car darkened as the door rose back up into place.

Emma decided that for this first part of their journey she would leave Jeff alone to his thoughts. But despite that she couldn't help observing him. At first he seemed more interested in the cocoon of rich leather that surrounded him. She'd already gazed awestruck at the luxurious fittings as she and Dan had travelled from her home to the Tracy homestead. She'd heard about these cars that had their own TVs, sound systems, drinks cabinets and other extravagances, but had never actually been in one. This particular car was taller in height and shorter in body length than a good many limos, since it was designed to accommodate mobility vehicles of various shapes and sizes, but that didn't mean that the owner had scrimped on the accepted luxuries.

Now, ten minutes into their journey, Jeff seemed to be taking an interest in the world that was flying past their windows, and Emma wondered how much of what he was seeing he remembered, and how much was new... And what he felt about the whole experience. That would be critical to the next stage of her plan.

Ahead of them loomed the Tracy Industries building.

"I have been talking to the security guard," Dan's disembodied voice told them over the in-car intercom. "He says that no one has come into the building this morning and that the underground entrance is cleared for us."

Emma pressed the button that reversed the communication link. "Thank you, Dan."

The big car turned off the road and started descending.

Jeff's relatively good hand, Emma noted, was clenched in his lap as they drew up to the security guard's booth's window. Through the one way windows they could see the guard lean out to talk to Dan.

"It looks like David Ostend's on duty today," Emma murmured.

"_David?"_ For a moment Jeff looked as though he was going to raise his hand to acknowledge the guard. Then he looked down at the withered limb and allowed it to collapse back into his lap.

Emma lowered the window enough so that she could offer the security guard a smile, but not so much that he could see the other passenger. "Hello, David. Did you draw the short straw today?"

"Hello, Ms Janes. It's a bit quiet today, but when you get to my age you begin to appreciate a little peace." He admired the limo. "This car's a bit flasher than the one you usually drive."

Emma laughed. "My boyfriend decided to treat me," she joked.

David chuckled as if he were in on the joke. "How's Mr Tracy?"

She managed to avoid looking at Jeff. "He is well. I'll tell him you were asking after him."

"Tell him I'm planning on retiring next year, that's if we manage to survive this one. But make sure you also say I've always been proud to work for Jeff Tracy... and his son. They're both good men."

Emma smiled. "I think so."

"I'm holding you up." David took a step back. "Have a good weekend, Ms Janes."

"You too, David." Emma wound the window back up as the car rolled forward. "He's such a sweetheart." She looked back over at Jeff. "How long has he worked for you?"

Jeff had been reflecting on that during her conversation with the security guard. _"Must be well over thirty years... Yes, that's right. John asked me to his thirty-year anniversary party..."_ There was real regret in his voice when he added:_ "I didn't go."_ He diverted his attention to the grey walls that bordered the underground carpark.

The limo pulled to a stop next to the lift doors. They didn't even feel it move as Dan got out of the car and walked around to the back. The rear door of the car swung downwards and he climbed inside. "I hope you've both enjoyed your trip so far."

"Very smooth, thank you," Emma complimented. She climbed out and stood to one side as Jeff was uncoupled from the car's chassis and exited the vehicle.

Dan touched the peak of his cap again. "I will wait in the car."

Jeff seemed to relax once the pair of them were in the confines of the lift. _"This place hasn't changed much."_

The lift doors slid open and, more confident in the success of her mission, Emma stepped out.

Jeff followed her, but then pulled up short. _"What on Earth is that doing there?!"_

Emma looked at the portrait of the younger, fitter, able-bodied Jeff Tracy. "You're still the boss, so John left it there."

"_No, I'm not."_

She looked at him in mock surprise. "Then why am I working for you?"

"_John should have his own portrait there."_

"He wanted to keep yours. He said that it did him good to have you looking over his shoulder all the time."

"_Darn fool,"_ Jeff growled, but Emma saw the hint of a smile playing around his eyes._ "Is the document vault still where it used to be?"_

"I assume so. I wasn't here when you worked here, remember?" Emma trotted along behind the hoverchair.

Jeff found the room and swung his 'chair around so that his stronger side was close to the palm print reader. Then he reached upwards.

To her horror, Emma realised that there was a flaw in her otherwise flawless plan. Jeff's reach from a sitting position was not high enough to touch the plate that would allow access to the safe. If he had a normal range of movement in that limb he wouldn't have had any problems, but now, as he lifted his arm to the maximum, he was at least three inches too short. She could help him lift his arm a little bit further, but that seemed to be such an imposition...

Jeff had other ideas. Backing the hoverchair up a short distance he shuffled forward on his seat and closer to the wall. Placing both feet firmly on the footplate he pushed with his good arm against the armrest. Gaining a kind of standing posture, he balanced against the wall with his weaker arm and then let go of the armrest long enough to press his palm against the reader.

It beeped its acceptance.

He fell back into his 'chair. _"There. Easy,"_ he puffed.

Emma hurried over to the keypad. "What's the code?"

"_Erm..."_ Jeff frowned and she mentally hurried him long. The palm print activation would only remain active for 30 seconds and she didn't want to see him strain himself again. _"65930"_

"Six, five, nine, three, zero," she enunciated as she pressed the keys, and breathed a sigh of relief when the door slid back. "Whew... Had you forgotten it?"

"_No... It's the date of our first mis..."_ Jeff hesitated._ "It's a special date to my family and I had to remember what format I used to enter it."_

Emma walked into the huge vault. Rows and rows of shelves containing highly sensitive documents filled the space. "Now... Let me see... Robert and I were talking... down... here!" She pounced onto a folder on a table and held it aloft jubilantly. "Found it!" She flicked through the papers. "Yes, it's all here." She signed the relevant section, walked out of the room and pushed the close button on the keypad. The thick steel door slid shut and locked. "Now I just need to get a courier bag from my office and we can drop it off at the depot. Then that's work over for the week." She hugged the folder to her chest. "What a relief!"

"_First thing you do on Monday is to arrange for you to have full access to that vault,"_ Jeff advised. _"John can't complain about that when I'm the one who's authorised it."_

"Yes, Sir. I promise that by next weekend I'll be able to come and go out of that vault as I please."

Dan was standing by the lift door when they emerged back in the carpark. "Was it a successful trip?" he asked as he secured the hoverchair back into the limousine.

"Very," Emma stated. "Jeff. This is going to be a longer trip, because we've got to stop off at the courier depot. Why don't you enjoy the ride on one of these more comfortable seats? You must get tired of sitting in that 'chair so much of the day."

"That's a good idea," Dan enthused. "If you need an arm to lean on, here I am."

Jeff considered the offer briefly; then he nodded.

Emma raised the arm of the 'chair, allowing Jeff to swing around until he was facing towards the middle of the car. Dan, finding it easier than stooping to avoid the car's roof, crouched next to the hoverchair. "Now, Mr Tracy, I don't want to underestimate your abilities. You're going to have to tell me what you can do and what you need me to do to help."

Jeff cast a worried look towards Emma. "There's not a lot of room to stand and get your balance in here," she said. "Do you want Dan to support you while you move?"

Jeff nodded and wished the 4th of September, the date of his operation, would hurry up and arrive. He wanted more independence.

Dan braced himself and assisted the elder man to his feet; then giving Jeff a chance to adjust his footing, swung him around, before, with great care and respect, lowering him into the centremost of the leather upholstered seats in the back row. "Is that all right, Sir? You should be able to see out of both sides of the car from there. Can I assist you with anything else?"

Jeff shook his head. That had been humiliating enough.

Dan gave him a reassuring smile. "In that case we'd better get rolling. We don't want your parcel to miss its courier, do we?"

"No, we don't," Emma confirmed. "Thank you, Dan."

"It's a pleasure, Ms Janes." Dan did his habitual salute and left the car.

Emma hesitated. Then she reached out and squeezed Jeff's arm. "Are you okay?"

He grimaced. _"Frustrated."_

"I know. But remember that your operation's less than a month away. Fingers crossed that things are better after that, right?"

"_Right."_

"Thank you for coming in with me this morning. I don't think I could have faced John again if we'd lost that contract because of my stupidity."

"_If I hadn't come in we wouldn't have lost the contract through your 'stupidity', it would have been through my selfishness."_

"You're not selfish."

"_Yes I am. I'm letting my insecurities, my fears, and my irrational behaviours rule my life."_

"And you're going to do something about them. You are going to beat your insecurities, your fears, and your irrational behaviour. You've made a start today."

He looked slightly surprised by her statement. _"I suppose I have, haven't I?"_

"Yes. That's one small step for a man..."

"_And one giant leap towards the abyss."_

"Now, Mr Tracy!" Emma scolded. "You've got to be more positive. If you want to give yourself any chance of recovery, you've got to believe that you will get better!"

"_I know. It's just that I've been this helpless for eight years. I think I've forgotten what it's like to be that man in that portrait in the corridor."_

"And I've never had the chance to know him. You'll have to introduce me to him, Jeff."

The limousine was slowing down. It stopped and Dan appeared at the door. "Would you like me to take in your parcel, Ms Janes?"

Emma picked up the courier bag. "No. Thank you, Dan. I think I'd better hand this in myself. I won't be happy until I know that this contract is on its way to S.O.T.A." She climbed out of the car. "I'll only be a minute."

Dan stayed outside the open door of the limo, enjoying the warmth of the sun after the car's overly cool air-conditioning. "It's a lovely day, Mr Tracy."

Jeff decided that it was time to acknowledge the chauffeur. "Jiz"

"Are you comfortable? How is the temperature?"

"Fveyn."

"Could I get you something to eat? Something to drink? Would you like me to put the stereo on?"

"No, sdan' y'."

"Well, if you do want anything, there's a button by your seat. Push that and it will open the two-way intercom."

"Sdan' y'."

Emma trotted out. She was looking as though all her cares had evaporated. "I'm happy now," she admitted, as she climbed back into the limo. "Let's roll, Dan!"

"Excellent," he said. "Just sit back and enjoy the ride."

And Emma did enjoy the ride. She and Jeff relaxed back in the luxurious seats and chatted. Sometimes discussing the lighter side of business, sometimes the news (avoiding all talk of Doomsday), and sometimes commenting on the scenes outside the window.

Jeff frowned as a local landmark passed by. _"Where are we?" _He shot Emma a sharp look. _"We are going back to my house, aren't we?"_

"Oh, yes!" she exclaimed. "We will end up there."

"_When? Why are we heading north when my place is out east?"_

"I'm glad to see that you haven't lost your sense of direction, Jeff."

"_Emma..."_ Jeff growled, not pleased at her flippant response. _"Just what is going on?"_

"It's a lovely day. We've got the use of Dan and his limousine all morning. Why shouldn't we make the most of it?"

Now Jeff was starting to get angry. _"No! I agreed to go with you to the office and no further! Take me home!"_

"To do what? What did you have planned to do today?"

"_I won't stand for your insubordination!"_

Emma looked confused. "I'm sorry, Jeff. I didn't understand what you said. You won't stand for what?"

"_Take me home!"_

"We can't turn here. We're on the freeway."

This was true. _"Tell Dan to turn back at the first opportunity."_

But Dan was turning anyway. The limo eased right onto an off-ramp and then motored along the road through what appeared to be a thinly populated area.

Jeff was becoming more agitated. _"I want to go home!"_

"Jeff, please relax," Emma begged. "We're not kidnapping you. I'm treating you to a morning out and I'm hoping that you will enjoy the experience. And so are your sons."

"_My what?!" _They felt the limousine turn off the road. _"Where are w...?"_ Jeff spied a sign that answered his aborted question.

_Tracy Airfield._

The car stopped and Jeff and Emma watched through the one-way windows as Dan spoke to a guard at the gate. He was directed forward and they started moving again.

"_It's been years since I've been here."_

"So I've been told."

Jeff turned to Emma. _"What have you got planned for me?"_

"Nothing horrific. We're just going on a little journey."

"_They always say that in B-grade movies. Right before they dump the body out of the plane."_

Emma laughed.

Dan drove around the front of a row of hangars and then through the gaping maw of one of the larger ones. The doors closed behind them.

Jeff peered out into the relative gloom. _"This is my hangar! And that's my plane..."_

"Yes. How would you like a flight?"

"_I would not like it! Tell Dan to take me home!"_

"We've come all this way, and as you said the plane's yours. Wouldn't you at least like to look at it again?"

"_No!"_

"There's no one out there. They're all under strict instructions that no one is to enter the hangar until after we've given them the all clear."

"_Emma!" _Jeff growled. _"I do not appreciate being tricked! If it weren't for John I'd be asking you to hand in your notice!" _He felt for the intercom button. _"Dan! Take me home! NOW!"_

There was no reply from the chauffeur as they stopped beside the aircraft. After a short delay Dan opened the door and, smiling, climbed inside. He'd discarded his jacket revealing his smart white shirt; the epaulettes of which bore the insignia of a pilot. "I'm sorry, Mr Tracy, I didn't catch what you said earlier," he announced. "Are you ready for part two of the journey?"

"_No I'm not!" _Jeff grumbled.

"I'm afraid he's not very happy with us, Dan," Emma explained. "He doesn't like surprises."

"_No I don't! Take me home!"_

Dan seemed unperturbed at his passenger's intractable behaviour. "It's been a long trip. Wouldn't you like to get out and stretch your legs?"

"_My legs don't work that way."_

Emma gave an exasperated sigh. "I would. Excuse me, Mr Tracy." She pushed past and stood admiring the aeroplane. "Tell me all about it, Dan."

Jeff sat, fuming. How dare she!? This woman, whom he'd only known less than a month, had the cheek to trick him into taking a trip he had no wish to take, with a man he did not know, to a place he didn't want to return to...!

He took a deep breath to try to calm his temper and his fear-filled, pounding heart. As he did a warm feeling of déjà vu came flooding over him. The smells of aviation fuel, grease, rubber, and other associated odours sent him flying back to earlier, happier times.

The thrill of seeing his first aeroplane soar through the skies...

His first flight...

His years in the Air Force...

Taking his future wife on their first ever plane ride together...

Teaching his sons how to control an aeroplane...

Seeing his dreams come to life as the Thunderbirds took to air...

He made a decision. "E vad t' gedow."

Emma winked at Dan. "He wants to get out," she whispered.

"Certainly, Sir," Dan responded. "Would you like a hand getting back into your hoverchair, Mr Tracy?"

"Jiz, pliz."

A short time later Jeff Tracy found himself in his hangar, looking up at his aeroplane. _"You have filed a flight plan?"_

"Dan assures me that he's done everything correctly and by the book," Emma reassured him. "He took the plane for a test flight yesterday to reassure himself that he can fly it safely."

"She's a dream to fly, Mr Tracy," Dan said. "You're a lucky man to have one as good as her."

"John's kept her shipshape," Emma added. "Just in case you ever wanted to go for a flight in it."

"_Where are we going now?"_

Dan made an intelligent guess as to what Jeff had said. "Just on a short flight, Sir. I'm under strict instructions that I'm to have you home in time for your lunch."

Jeff turned to Emma. _"I imagined that you were planning on taking me to Tracy Island."_

"Not this time. But would you like to go there sometime soon? Maybe I could arrange..."

"_No. The trip's too long for me to cope with."_ And they'd stop the boys from doing their vital work.

Emma smiled at her boss. "Maybe when you've had your operation you'll be strong enough to visit your sons?"

To see his family again was one of Jeff's greatest wishes. _"Maybe."_

Dan extended his arm towards the aeroplane. "Shall we board?"

Jeff hesitated. Then he made up his mind. Since his stroke he'd barely left his home, let alone local airspace, and it was time he expanded his horizons again. "Jiz."

Fortunately the craft had been constructed to transport supplies to Tracy Island, and the same lifting mechanism that had been used for loading crates of food was tailor-made to allow a hoverchair to board.

Once in the aeroplane, Dan asked Jeff what was, to the older man, an unexpected question. "Would you like to sit in the co-pilot's seat, Sir?

There was no need for a co-pilot on this craft. Jeff could have sat back in the passenger compartment with complete confidence in the aeroplane, if not yet the pilot; but he'd never been much of a back seat passenger when it came to flying. _"You do realise that I'll be a useless co-pilot?"_

For the first time Dan showed some hesitation in his understanding of the situation, but Emma came to the rescue. "Do you need a co-pilot, Dan? I thought John said that it was a solo pilot craft, or something."

Dan smiled. "Oh, it is. But I always think the view's so much better from the flight deck. Don't you, Mr Tracy?"

Jeff had to agree that the pilot was right. He was wheeled to the front of the aeroplane and then assisted into the co-pilot's seat.

"Oh, this is exciting!" Emma exclaimed as she strapped herself into a seat at the back of the cabin. "I've never travelled in the flightpit before."

She was astonished when both men laughed. _"It's called the flight deck, Emma," _Jeff explained. _"Or the cockpit. Not the flightpit. Didn't you ever fly up here with John?"_

"No..." Emma was looking embarrassed by her mistake. "Is John a pilot?"

"_Yes, he is," _Jeff told her. _"I taught all my boys to fly. Didn't he tell you he was a pilot?'_

"Not that I remember." Emma appeared intrigued at this new revelation about her old boss. "And he never flew when I was on board. We always worked; getting ready for whatever meeting we've been going too, or else holding a debriefing afterwards."

Jeff guessed that those meetings were excuses to spend time with the secretary. _"He works too hard."_

"I kept on telling him that. He would always reply that he was only following your example."

Jeff had to admit that she was right. It had been one of the contributing factors of his stroke. _"He should use me AS an example and take a break when he can. Work too hard and you get sick."_

"I used to tell him that too."

It was advice that Jeff was pretty sure his entire family weren't taking at the moment. They had too much to do and there was too much at stake. He could only hope that they would survive until after the crisis was over; then he would insist that each and every one of them take a long holiday.

Dan had been on the radio and now the hangar, which had previously been deserted apart from the three of them, showed signs of life. Light streamed in as the doors in front of the plane slid open. They taxied forward out into the bright sunlight.

"Perfect weather for flying," Dan commented and they faced down the long grey ribbon of runway and waited for clearance.

As if sensing Jeff's unspoken question for the pilot, Emma asked. "How long have you been flying?"

"As long as I've been allowed to sit behind the controls of a plane," Dan replied. "It's been my life."

"_Air Force?"_ Jeff asked.

He wasn't sure whether he'd been understood or if Dan had the intuition of what one airman would ask another. "I left the Air Force five years ago to start up my business. There are plenty of pilots looking for work out there, so I thought I'd sell myself as the complete package. Chauffeur and pilot. I've got my own plane, so it means that businessmen, such as yourself, Mr Tracy, are able to be taken from their base, here in town, to wherever they need to go with the minimum of fuss." He received clearance and no one said anything as he launched the aeroplane into the sky.

Jeff felt the barely remembered sensations as his body won the battle over gravity and left the ground. He gazed outside, allowing the wonder of flight to envelope his senses. The steady thrum of the engines; the blue of the skies; the feeling that he was looking down on a miniature world best viewed through a microscope, the white cotton wool of the clouds as they passed through… He hadn't experienced this in years! Whatever had possessed him to neglect this passion?

Dan had settled into his work. "If I may say so, Mr Tracy, it's an honour to be your pilot. I mean, apart from the fact that you are a world famous astronaut…"

Jeff dragged his thoughts away from the glories outside the window. He would have expressed the pilot's sentence in the past tense. His astronaut days were so long ago that he was never mentioned in any lists of the most influential or inspiring people of the first half of the century. And since his stroke, his name had largely dropped off the business radar too.

"I was in Scott's flight in the Air Force…" Dan continued on, "and the fact that one of the best pilots in the Force during all my years in the service would recommend _me_ to pilot _his_ father… Well, Sir, it's an honour and a privilege."

Jeff stared at the pilot. Scott had had a hand in this? When had he found the time?

"I'm surprised that he hasn't taken you flying himself," Dan was saying. "But then I was surprised that he left the service so early in his career. He could have made it all the way to the top."

"_He wanted to keep flying,"_ Jeff explained, forgetting that he wouldn't be understood by the pilot. _"He didn't want to wind up in a desk job. And I've been too chicken to leave my home and my boys haven't wanted to force me."_

"Scott's been working for Jeff's company as a test pilot," Emma paraphrased. "And all of Jeff's sons have respected their father's wish to be left alone. It's taken a disrespectful outsider like me to push him beyond his comfort zone."

Dan chuckled. "How would you like to show a _disrespectful outsider_ just what you can do, Mr Tracy? How would you like to control her for a little while…? And I'm not talking about Ms Janes." Emma laughed, but Jeff was trying to comprehend what Dan was saying. "How well do you think you can hold on to the control yoke?"

Jeff looked at the steering unit, a twin of the pilot's, in front of him. Hold the control yoke? How well could he hold on to it?

Emma took it on herself to reply in the affirmative. "He can do it."

"I thought so. Okay, Mr Tracy. I've got a firm hold of the yoke. Let me know when you want me to let go."

_Never _was Jeff's first thought. Then he chided himself for being so negative. Supporting his weaker left hand with his stronger right one, he wrapped his fingers around the yoke. The vibrations from the aeroplane were transmitted into his hand bringing back memories of the many flights he'd made. When he thought his left hand's grip was secure he shifted his right arm across to the other side of the steering column and grasped it as tight as his weak hand was able.

"Are you ready?" Dan asked.

Jeff nodded.

"Right. Don't worry about any of the other controls, I'll keep an eye on them, you concentrate on keeping her steady."

"Gi."

Keeping his palms braced against his control yoke, Dan uncurled his fingers. Then he slowly withdrew his hands, keeping his hands on his lap, palm up, and a close watch for any signs of change to their altitude or orientation.

Jeff felt the sensations in his hands change as control was transferred to him.

He was flying! He was piloting an aeroplane again!

A little voice inside him told him that hanging onto the control yoke of an aeroplane that could practically fly itself, while another man next to him controlled everything else, was not being a pilot. He told that little voice to shut up.

He was flying! He was flying _his_ aeroplane!

"Jeff!" Emma applauded. "You're doing it! John will be so proud of you!"

Jeff's little voice was just thinking that it would be the first time in years, when the day's activities caught up with him and he was overcome by a wave of exhaustion. His left hand flopped onto his lap and his right hand trembled as it tried to maintain its hold.

Dan took a gentle grip of his own control yoke. "Do you want me to take over, Sir?"

Jeff nodded, frustration overwhelming him. This wasn't fair! Not when he'd only just relearned how wonderful flight could be!

Emma was awake to his body language, even though she'd known him for only a month. "Are you tired? Do you want to go back home?"

No. Jeff didn't want to go home. He wanted to stay up here soaring above the clouds. But his stupid, traitorous, _weak_ body was telling him that he needed to rest. He nodded and felt the aeroplane's orientation change as Dan altered course. No one said anything throughout the rest of the flight, other than Dan's communications with the control tower.

The aeroplane taxied into the hangar and they alighted.

Once he was back in his hoverchair, Jeff looked up at Dan. _"Have you ever flown a Karearea jet?"_

"Mr Tracy?"

"A what, Jeff?" Emma asked. "I didn't catch what you said. Has Dan ever flown a… what?"

"_A Karearea jet."_

"A Carwowo jet?"

"_No. A Karearea. K. A. R…"_

"K.A.R…"

"_E…"_

"E…"

"_R…"_

"A Karearea jet?" Dan guessed.

"Jiz."

"No."

"_Have you ever seen one?"_

"Have you ever seen one?" Emma translated.

"No."

"I don't even know what it is," Emma admitted. "Obviously some sort of plane."

"Only the fastest, most manoeuvrable jet of its time," Dan explained.

"And what time was that?"

"About fifty years ago. Am I right, Mr Tracy?"

"Weyd." Jeff spun the hoverchair around. _"Follow me."_

Emma and Dan shared a mystified glance and followed in the wake of the lightly kicked up dust.

Jeff stopped side on to a palm print reader. This one was at a reachable height and he pressed his hand against it and the accompanying door slid open.

Emma and Dan followed him into another hangar. This was smaller than the one they'd just left and only contained one aeroplane. But even Emma could tell that this craft was something special.

"A Karearea!" Dan gasped. "But only twenty were ever made!"

"_This is number 15,"_ Jeff explained.

"If this was the 15th one out of 20," Emma paraphrased, as much for Dan's benefit as for her own, "then they must be pretty rare?"

"Only ten are known to survive," Dan told her. "Can I touch her?"

"_Be my guest."_

Clearly awed by the experience, Dan allowed his hand to trace the outline of the wing. "She's a work of art, Mr Tracy."

"_She is."_

Dan spun back so he was facing his two companions. "I remember now! Scott came back from leave one time and he told us you'd just bought a Karearea. He wasn't one for bragging about your achievements or wealth, Mr Tracy, but we could all tell how proud he was of you. But when he came back after flying this baby… Well, if I'd had the chance to fly a Karearea I'd be bragging to all and sundry too!"

"_Would you like to fly her someday?"_

Dan looked as if he'd understood what Jeff had said, but wasn't prepared to believe that he'd done so. "Mr Tracy?"

"I think Jeff's asking if you like to fly this plane sometime."

Dan nodded, clearly trying not to look like an over-eager puppy and not quite succeeding. "It would be a great honour, Sir."

Jeff beckoned to Emma. _"Tell the maintenance staff to give this old girl a complete overhaul. When she's ready Dan and I can go for a flight."_

Emma got out her smartphone and started entering. "Get – Karearea… I've probably spelt that wrong… checked – over," she enunciated as she wrote. "When – ready – contact – Dan – to – take – Jeff – for – a – flight."

"But wouldn't you rather Scott flew you?" Dan asked. "After all, he has had experience in her before."

"_Scott's busy."_

"Scott's busy."

"Oh," Dan nodded his understanding. "Doing what?"

Jeff spun the hoverchair about and glided out of the hangar. Emma looked at Dan and with an "I have no idea" shrug, followed her boss towards the car.

Once Jeff was safely ensconced in the comfortable leather seats, Emma claimed her seat next to him. "I hope you've enjoyed your morning"

Jeff didn't answer her question. _"Tell me, Emma Janes, was that missing file a ruse just to get me out of the house?"_

Emma blushed. "Yes."

"_It seems a bit strange to me that John would risk leaving the document vault with only one person able to open it. Is that what he did?"_

Emma's complexion went from cerise to scarlet. "No."

"_You can open it too?"_

"Yes, Mr Tracy." Emma plucked at the material of her slacks. "Do I still have a job on Monday?"

Jeff treated her to a wry grin. _"I think that both John and I would lose someone very special if you didn't."_

Emma gave him a shy smile. "Thank you."

"_No. Thank you, Emma. You showed me some of what I've missed these last eight years. Even my boys were unable to do that."_

Emma gave a light laugh. "Just call me International Rescue; since they don't seem to be going to do anything to save the world from our predicament."

"_Maybe they are working on reinstating their equipment?"_

"No. I think they would have let people know if they were going to try. I mean, look at all the suicides and murders that have happened because people don't believe that they've got a future."

"_Perhaps International Rescue don't want to get anyone's hopes up until they're sure they can do something?"_

"Perhaps… But maybe they are just too _old_ to do what they used to do? I mean, how long ago was it that they were in action?"

"_About seven years."_

"Is that all?! You've got a good memory."

"_International Rescue ceasing operations was one of the first newspaper headlines I read after my stroke."_

"Ah…" Emma thought. "Yes. I suppose that's about right. It seems like forever, but I guess I was only in my early thirties when they finished." A wistful smile crossed her face. "I used to daydream that I was trapped in some hopeless situation; something really dire where I was sure I was going to die; and then this handsome young man from International Rescue would literally sweep me off my feet, into his arms, and to safety." She sighed. "I suppose that quite a few young ladies dreamed that."

Jeff smiled.

Emma loved that smile. She didn't see it nearly often enough. Because of his stroke there wasn't much movement to his lips, but his eyes twinkled as if was hiding a secret which he wasn't going to share with anybody. He reminded her of a naughty schoolboy who had placed a whoopee cushion on his teacher's chair and couldn't wait for her to sit down. "What?"

"_Nothing."_

"You're laughing at me and my daydreams."

"_No, I'm not."_

"You've thought of something funny then?"

"_Not funny."_

"Tell me."

"_Nothing to tell,"_ he teased.

"Jeff!"

"_Emma."_

She pouted.

"_I was just thinking that if young women would dream of being swept off their feet by the men of International Rescue and young men I knew used to dream of belonging to the organisation… What a shock everyone would have got it was staffed entirely by women."_

Emma laughed at the idea. "Except that all the reports I heard had male operatives… Did your sons wish they belonged? I can't imagine John wanting to do anything that daring. Maybe as one of the men behind the scenes; coordinating maintenance rosters and doing purchasing, but I can't see him on the front line… From what I've heard of Scott, he'd probably love being able to pilot one of those… What did they call them…?"

There was that smile again. _"Thunderbirds."_

"Ah! That's right! Thunderbirds! What about your other sons, Jeff? I don't know them. Would they have dreamt of being part of International Rescue?"

"_Haven't you met them?"_

"Only in passing and occasional phone calls."

Jeff pretended to ponder the question. _"They often used to talk about International Rescue."_

"Virgil's an artist, isn't he? I can't see that being a lot of use to a rescue organisation."

Jeff laughed. _"No. It wouldn't be. Alan loves the adrenalin rush of speed."_

"So would he have liked the adrenalin rush of rescuing somebody?"

"_Sweeping young ladies off their feet? I'm sure he would have loved that… Gordon was a WASP and he still loves the water, so I think he would have liked to have been involved with the submarine… What's wrong?"_

Emma had lost her smile at Gordon's name. "Nothing." She forced it back onto her face. "I wish your sons had been here to see you fly that plane today."

"_Dan said that Scott had a hand in your plans. Have you been talking to him?"_

"No. I rang Mr Kyrano and John called me back."

Jeff sat forward. _"How did he sound?"_

"Um… Tired. And a little grumpy… Although that could have been me; he woke me up in the middle of the night, which is never a good idea. I wanted to ask him if he thought my idea would work. Fortunately he did and he gave me the numbers of various people to contact, plus permission to charge it all to his account. He must have discussed it with his brothers because he sent me an email saying that Scott suggested that we hire Dan. I'm glad we did."

"_So am I. Do you want to come on our flight in the Karearea?"_

"I don't suppose I'll have much option will I? Dan didn't do too badly today – you must both speak the same pilot's language – but you'll need someone there to help him understand you… At least until after your operation."

"_Yes."_ Jeff slumped back in his seat.

"You're tired, aren't you? Sara's going to be mad at me for overtaxing you."

"_Tell her I'm not mad at you."_

Emma smiled. "Thank you, Jeff."

They continued the rest of the trip in silence. As they turned the final corner for home, Jeff glanced across over at the secretary. She was in a world of her own and he wondered if some brave stranger was sweeping her off her feet.

He hoped that her hero looked like John.

_To be continued…_


	13. Chapter 13 - Revelations

**Chapter 13: Revealations**

"Could someone give me a hand?" Virgil pushed the door to the laboratory open with his shoulder.

John, his own hands full with the bits of delicate wiring that he was holding for Brains, glanced over at his brother. "Looks like you need it."

Virgil's right hand was clamped around the back of his left and was showing signs of red staining between the fingers. "My wrench slipped," he admitted. "I've tried to put a band-aid on, but I can't stop the bleeding for long enough to clean it so it'll stick. Sometimes it's a waste of time being ambidextrous."

"Let me have a look." Tin-Tin deserted her work. "Sit down there and I'll get the first aid kit."

"Why didn't you get Gordon to help?" John asked.

"His hands are just as dirty as mine," Virgil admitted.

"I would doubt it," Tin-Tin stated, pulling on latex gloves. She got a clean pad out from the kit and peeled back the rag that Virgil had been using to stem the blood flow. "Couldn't you have found something cleaner to cover it with?"

"I didn't want to risk getting the first aid kit dirty."

Tin-Tin made an exasperated sound. "Keep the pressure on that," she instructed, placing the pad on the wound and disposing of the rag into a plastic bag. "Look at your hands! They're filthy!"

"I've been working!"

"Are you sure he's not bleeding grease?" John quipped. "Maybe the red stuff is engine oil?"

"Hold still, John," Brains reprimanded. "This needs a steady touch."

"Oops. Sorry."

Tin-Tin started wiping Virgil's hand so that the dressing would have a clean surface to adhere to. "Your problem, Virgil Tracy…" she began.

"You're in trouble, Virg," John interrupted. "She's using your full name."

"John!"

"Sorry, Brains."

"Your problem… apart from your brother…" Tin-Tin glared at John, before returning her attention to removing the grease, "is that you're working too hard…"

"It may have escaped your notice, Tin-Tin Tracy…" Virgil replied, "but we've only got three months in which to do a year's worth of work. And over a month has already gone."

"Shush," she ordered. "And listen… You need a break. You're tired and that's why the wrench slipped. Because you're not concentrating on what you're doing."

"No. The wrench slipped because the nut was done up too tightly."

"Then why weren't you using the electric drill with the correct attachment to undo it?"

John laughed. "She's got you there, Virg." He received a glare from Brains.

"I'm not saying that you should take a day's vacation …" Tin-Tin was saying.

Virgil stared at her. "I should hope not!"

"But try to pace yourself! Have a coffee break occasionally. Give your hands a rest and your brain might come up with a better solution for what you're doing."

"Maybe," Virgil conceded.

"Scott won't think any less of you if you have an occasional ten minute break."

"Scott?" Virgil stared at her. "What's he got to do with… Ow!"

John snickered.

"John!" Brains glared at his assistant. "W-W-Will you k-k-keep s-st-st..." Hopping mad, he struggled to get the final word out. "St-st-still!"

"Sorry." Realising that he was straining the limits of the exhausted engineer's patience, John offered him a sheepish grin and concentrated on holding the wires as immobile as he could.

Now that most of the grease had gone, Tin-Tin was concentrating on cleaning Virgil's cut. "You'll live," she announced. "It's not too deep."

"Good. Stick a dressing on it and I'll get back to work."

"I'll stick a dressing on it and you can go have a cup of coffee and a break."

"Not much point. It's nearly lunchtime."

Tin-Tin looked up from where she was pulling the sides of the wound together with steri-strips. "Are you actually planning on joining us today?"

Virgil gave a casual shrug. "I may as well since I'm already up here."

"Good." Tin-Tin stuck the clean dressing over the wound and disposed of the bloodied pad. "I'll clean the rest of your hands." Virgil found that he didn't have any option as his arm was nearly twisted off. "The mail plane's been. I saw a letter for you."

"Yeah? Who from?"

"I didn't notice, but it looked official."

"Then I guess I've got an excuse to have that break you're so desperate for me to have."

"Don't be cheeky." Tin-Tin pulled a blue high-risk glove from a nearby dispensing box. "Make sure you wear that when you start work again… After lunch!" She added with a warning glare.

"Yes, Mother." Virgil admired his bandaged hand. "Thanks for your help, Tin-Tin. You would make a great mother one day… That's if we manage to save the world first."

"Heaven forbid," John groaned. "You do realise that that would make Alan a father!? The poor child..."

Brains snapped. He threw his screwdriver, which hit the bench top with force and then bounced onto the floor. "Tin-Tin! W-W-Would you come h-h-here and t-t-take over from John!"

"Don't panic, I'm leaving and he'll be able to concentrate." Virgil got off his stool. "Where's this letter, Tin-Tin?"

"With the rest of the mail."

"See you all at lunch." Virgil headed out into the hall and was surprised to realise that his sister-in-law was following him. "Checking up on me?"

"Yes. I mean it, Virgil. You've got to take care of yourself."

"I will… In three months time I'm planning on doing nothing until Alan comes home."

"Virgil!"

"I'm kidding, Honey. No promises; you know what we're up against. But I will try and follow your advice."

Tin-Tin smiled. "Thank you."

Virgil walked away, passing Scott in the hall.

The elder Tracy turned to look back. "What's he done to himself?"

"Cut his hand." Tin-Tin hit Scott on the arm. "And it's _your_ fault!"

Scott yelped and rubbed the potential bruise. "Mine?! I haven't seen him all morning!"

"Why do you think he's been working so hard?"

"To try and get everything finished on time."

"No! He's been trying to impress you, Scott!"

"Me?! Why?"

"I don't know. I just know you've got to talk to him before he really hurts himself."

"Are you serious?"

"Yes!"

"Is this what you've meant whenever you've made those comments about me not knowing him as well as I think I do?"

"Yes." Tin-Tin turned Scott around so that he was facing the way he'd come. "Go and talk to Virgil now!" she demanded. "You'll find him in the dining room with the mail."

"Okay, okay!" Scott held his hands up in surrender. "What's with all this mothering stuff? Are you channelling Grandma?"

"Well, someone's got to stop you all from falling apart." Tin-Tin fell into step next to Scott.

"Where are you going?"

"To see Father and find out when lunch is going to be ready. I have a craving for something sweet."

Scott found Virgil seated at the already set dining table with a letter in his hand. Trying not to make it look like he'd sought out his brother on purpose, he started rifling through the mail.

Virgil sighed, lowered the paper in his hand and looked towards the currently abandoned kitchen. Once upon a time it would have been alive with activity, and the mouth-watering smells emanating would have been hard to ignore. "What do you think Grandma would say if she knew that we'd started up again and we're going to try to save the world?"

"She'd probably say: _What are you doing here, Virgil Tracy? Why aren't you down there working?_" As Virgil chuckled at his brother's terrible imitation of their grandmother, Scott pulled out a seat and sat down. "So why are you here? Up till now it's taken the Domo to pull you out of the hangar."

Virgil raised an eyebrow. "You have an objection to me taking a break for lunch?"

"No. Except that Kyrano hasn't called us yet."

Virgil waved his injured hand. "Tin-Tin ordered me to take a break. It seemed easier to agree."

"Tin-Tin ordered me here too. She seems to think that the reason why you're working so hard is to try to impress me."

"Impress _you_!" Virgil barked out a laugh. "Don't flatter yourself, Scott. I gave up worrying about what you think ages ago."

Stung by the blow; Scott took a metaphorical step backwards. Virgil, still reading his letter, didn't notice his brother's reaction.

Scott gathered himself together. "What did you do to your hand?"

Virgil looked at the bandage. "I think one of the nuts in The Mole's torque drive has been super-glued in place. The wrench slipped."

"Ouch."

"That's not what I said."

"I'll bet..." Scott regarded his brother. Virgil's blue and brown ponytail was hidden beneath his cap, but the pointed sky-blue goatee still adorned his ever-growing brown beard. The younger man was pale, his eyes and cheeks were sunken, and shadows decorated the bags beneath his eyes. But, Scott decided, he didn't seem any worse than any of them. That was the reason why he tried not to look in the mirror any more than necessary. "You look tired."

He wouldn't have been surprised if Virgil had jumped down his throat, and was taken aback at the mildness of his brother's response. "Only tired? I'm exhausted! I feel like I could quite happily lie down on this cold, hard floor and not wake up for weeks. I'm stiff, I'm sore, I'm injured," Virgil indicated his hand. "I'm scratched, bruised, I've scraped off enough skin to clothe an elephant, and I'll admit that my temper's shorter than the fuse on a firecracker; but," he sat forward, "I'll tell you something, Scott. I've felt more alive these last five weeks than I had at any point in the previous seven years."

Scott treated him to an ironic grin. "I know what you mean."

"You too?"

"Yeah. Even staring at endless numbers trying to keep on top of our supplies has felt more... ah..." Scott waded through the sludge that seemed to make up his tired brain to try to find the right word, "satisfying than pushing a new jet to the max."

"Really?"

"Yep! Really."

"Do you think the rest of the guys feel that way?"

"Well..." Scott thought briefly. "John's obviously tired too... He's at that 'speak first, think second stage'."

"I know. When Tin-Tin was fixing up my hand Brains nearly threw him out because he wouldn't shut up and concentrate on what he was doing."

"But he's also a lot fitter than he was. He's brighter, more engaging, and looking less like the chairman of the board than he has in years."

"Gordon's mellowed too." It was Virgil's turn to examine his brother's reaction to the comment; which was carefully neutral. "He doesn't seem as angry as he was."

"He's probably finally got Marina out of his system," Scott grunted. He realised that Virgil was watching him closely. "Don't ask," he growled.

Virgil gave what seemed to be an unconcerned shrug. "I didn't say anything."

"What about Alan?" Scott asked. "He's the only one of us who seems..."

"More tense?"

"Yes."

"Yeah," Virgil agreed. "Especially around Tin-Tin. Mind you, he did always say that he'd never marry her while he was a member of International Rescue. Now, almost by default, he's married to her and a part of the team again."

"I wonder if he's regretting not letting her stay on Thunderbird Three's crew."

"Is there time for them to change their minds?"

"Probably. But I wasn't too happy at the idea of Tin-Tin going in the first place. It would be better if it was one of us."

"Except that we can't spare one of us," Virgil pointed out.

"No..." Scott took a couple of seconds to ponder the mysteries presented by his youngest brother. "He's also had to give up racing midway through the season. It must be difficult to just walk away from something that you've worked hard to be the best at and leave it in the hands of an inexperienced kid."

"Did I hear someone say that Mike crashed in the last race?"

Scott nodded. "He's going to be okay, but he'll be out for the next couple. It's going to put the team so far behind in the standings that they'll have no chance of making the podium, let alone winning the championship."

"Alan must be disappointed. But, when you consider the larger scheme of things, a car race isn't that important."

"Yeah..." Scott tidied the mail on the table. He picked up the opened envelope. "Getting love letters?"

Virgil looked at the paper in his hand. "No. It's from my lawyer."

"_Your_ _lawyer_!" Scott stared at him. "Gordon's the one getting a divorce. What do you need a lawyer for?"

Virgil contemplated the heavy bond paper in his hand. He stroked his chin; running his hand down his beard and off the end of his goatee. It was a recently developed mannerism that drove everyone crazy; but so far no one had cracked and told him to stop doing it. "Do you remember that party I told you about? The drugs party?"

"The one where Kasey..." Scott decided that he was heading into potentially shaky ground. "Yeah."

"I think I told you that Gustav got the blame for calling the cops."

"Yes, you did."

"It wasn't Gustav."

"So you said."

"It was Virgil Tracy."

"What!" Scott stared at Virgil.

"I couldn't stand by and not do anything!"

"Yes... But..."

"There were teenagers there! Kids who hadn't had the chance to live yet and were going to play with death, because they wanted to be accepted by the adults who should have known better!"

"But..."

"I've seen too many people killed before their time to let those kids ruin their lives when they had their whole futures ahead of them..."

"But..."

"There was a nursing mother there, Scott! She dumped her baby in its basket against the wall and just left it so she could fill her system with poison! I couldn't walk away and do nothing!"

"Virgil! Calm down," Scott demanded, worried that his brother was reaching an emotional tipping point.

"I am calm!" Virgil snapped. Then he took a deep breath. "I had to do something," he whispered.

"And so you should. But why didn't Gustav call? Why you?"

"The police would have needed to know my details. They might not have believed me if I was lying about something as basic as my identity."

"Why didn't you make an anonymous call?"

"I don't know." Virgil balled his hand into a fist, scrunching the letter up in the process. "Maybe I wanted the name Virgil Tracy to stand for something again?"

Scott indicted the letter. "And now they want you to go to court to testify, and everyone's going to know that you're Gustav?" He frowned. "Including Kasey?"

"I don't care about that," Virgil admitted. "But I don't want the family name dragged through the courts. My lawyer's trying to see if I can testify anonymously."

"I didn't think that was possible. Can you?"

Virgil tossed the letter onto the table. "He's still working on it. The speed these things work we'll probably all be dead before the case makes it to trial anyway."

"Hey!" Scott admonished. "I won't hear you talk like that! We've got to believe that we can succeed or else we're all wasting our time."

Virgil slumped in his chair and pulled off his cap. His blue hair with its brown roots fell down past his shoulders and he ran his hand along it and down his ponytail. "I'm sorry. I'm tired and I'm just coming to the realisation of what a waste my life's been these last seven years."

"Was it _all_ a waste?"

"Wasn't it?"

"You may have saved those kids from wasting their whole lives, not only seven years of it."

Virgil grunted. "Maybe."

"And don't forget that you needed to get away from International Rescue as much as any of us. No one was forced to make the decision and at the time we all believed that it was the right one to make."

"Yeah, I know. Maybe we should have each had a staggered sabbatical instead of shutting up shop completely?"

"You're probably right," Scott agreed. "But hindsight's a wonderful thing."

"You're right there. I know now that I should have given up trying to be an artist when I discovered that Virgil Tracy wasn't good enough to make it."

"You are good enough," Scott reminded him. "It might have been Gustav's name on those paintings, but it was your hand that painted them."

Virgil piled his hair back onto the top of his head, pulled his cap down firmly, and said nothing.

-F-A-B-

Having retired to his room to change and freshen up before lunch, John was walking down the hall through the dormitory wing of the villa, when he was surprised to hear raised voices. Gordon had left the door to his room open and was talking to someone on the videophone.

He sounded angry. "You don't know what you're talking about! And whatsername…"

John could see a voluptuous red-head on the videophone's screen… Gordon's ex.

"You know what her name is!" Marina snapped. "It's Barbie…!"

"Very appropriate. She's got more plastic in her than the average doll and just as many brains!"

"Don't you talk about her like that!" Marina sounded just as mad as Gordon and John could have sworn that she stamped her foot. She had the stereotypical red-head's temper and Gordon, although usually laid back and easy going, had enough of the same temperament to make for some fiery exchanges. It sounded like this one had been going on for some time.

"Why not? She seems to get a kick out of slandering me and my family! Why shouldn't I repay the compliment?"

John could see Marina glare out from the videophone screen. Then she took a deep breath and plastered an ingratiating smile on her face. "Come on, Flipper…" she cooed, and John felt sickened.

In contrast Gordon looked even angrier. "Don't call me that!"

Marina looked surprised. "Why?"

"I hate it!"

"Oh." Marina appeared downcast at the pronouncement. "I'm sorry. I thought you liked it. You know it's a little love name I have for you. It shows how much I care for you."

Gordon snorted. "Yeah, sure."

"I do!" Marina seemed to be hurt by her soon-to-be-ex-husband's disbelief. "I always have."

Gordon snorted again. "What about whatshisface?"

"Rory? He was a mistake. A childish infatuation. When you walked out on me I turned to him for comfort and companionship, but I've come to realise that it's you I love, Gordon. I always have and I always will." Marina batted her eyelashes in what she clearly considered to be an endearing manner.

John couldn't take any more of his sister-in-law's crawling. He resumed his trek through the house wondering, not for the first time, why his brother had even looked twice at that scheming manipulator.

When he arrived at the dining room he was surprised to discover not only Scott, but also Virgil. "Look what the cat dragged in!" he exclaimed before he saw Scott make a surreptitious gesture, which he correctly took to mean that it wasn't a good time to be teasing his younger brother. He grabbed a seat. "Advance warning," he announced. "Gordon's on the phone to the Vamp-ire and he's steaming."

Scott looked at him sharply. "He's what!?"

"It sounds like she's trying to worm her way back into his affections," John took his seat, "and failing."

"What's this?" Alan and Tin-Tin entered the room.

"Marina's on the phone."

"Talking to Gordon?"

"It would have to be," Scott growled. "None of us would give her the time of day."

"Did you say she's trying to make up with him," Tin-Tin asked.

John took a seat at the table. "That's what it sounded like."

"But why?" Alan held out the chair for his wife. "Once the world ends she won't have anywhere to spend his millions anyway."

"I don't know. I didn't hang around long enough to find out. You'll be pleased to know that he's not falling for her lines this time."

"I should hope not," Scott said. "I thought he had finally seen her for what she really is."

Everyone nodded wisely. Right from the beginning of their relationship it had been obvious to everyone that Marina had been a gold digger who'd been after Gordon for only one thing… Jeff Tracy's money.

Obvious to everyone except Gordon.

But even he seemed to have come to that conclusion as he stormed into the dining room, his face as black as thunder. "What did I ever see in that woman!? Why didn't anyone stop me before I married her?"

No one responded. They'd all tried various ways to talk Gordon out of the union, but he'd been blind and deaf to their entreaties.

"What's Marina done now?" Alan asked.

Gordon picked up a slice of bread and hurled it onto his plate with more vigour than was necessary. "She _says _she wants me back. She _says_ that that other guy was a mistake and that I'm the man for her." He scooped up a gigantic dob of butter and attacked his bread with it.

"So she was having an affair?" John asked.

Gordon sneered. "She _says_ she turned to him for comfort after I walked out on her. She _says_ that she's realised that she loves me." The bread, having been subdued by the butter and the knife, was abandoned as a block of cheese was assaulted.

"You don't believe her?" Scott asked, his curiosity overcoming his desire not to aggravate his younger brother even more.

"Who could believe that woman?"

"Well…" John said cautiously, "none of us…"

Gordon wasn't listening as a tomato fell to his knife's blade. "She eventually let the real reason slip."

"Which is?"

"There's a rumour going around that the reason why Jeff Tracy's five sons have disappeared off to their remote island is to build a spaceship so that they can escape Doomsday"

"What?!" Alan actually started laughing. "That's crazy! Where would we go?"

"We're supposed to be planning on cashing in on Dad's connections and heading off to the moon colony."

"Like rats leaving a sinking ship, huh?" Alan took a bite of his sandwich.

"The number of times that woman's called me a rat I can see why she'd make that connection."

"And what are we supposed to do once we've 'escaped' to 'safety'?" Virgil asked.

"If the Earth remains relatively intact, we're supposed to be going to try to re-colonise it. If that's not feasible then we're going to search out some other habitable planet."

Tin-Tin stared at him in fascinated bemusement. "And she believes that story?"

"Yep. And she wants to save her scrawny neck, even if that means sucking up to me again. I told her that we were NOT building a spaceship." He picked up his sandwich which collapsed into his lap. "Oh, for Pete's sake!"

"Did she believe you?" Scott asked.

"Who knows and who cares." Gordon gave a bitter laugh as he sponged the bits of tomato off his clothes. "Imagine her reaction if I'd told her we already had a spaceship and we were going to use it to blast an asteroid out of the sky. I suppose that if she really wanted me back I could always invite her along for the ride into the Mariana Trench. She's so stupid she'd probably think it was named after her." He abandoned his sandwich and took a swig of coffee, nearly burning his mouth on the hot liquid in the process. "Ow!"

Scott was frowning. "Did she say who else knows this story, Gordon?"

Breathing through his mouth to try to quell the burning sensation, Gordon gave a dismissive wave of his hand. "I think she said some newspaper had been in touch…" He got up and poured himself a glass of water, gazing out the window as he waited for it to fill. He'd never hated anyone in his life, except for maybe himself for one or two acts of stupidity, but at this point he was filled with loathing for the woman he'd married. He downed his water. "I'm not hungry," he announced. "I'm going to work on Thunderbird Four." He stalked out of the room.

Tin-Tin watched him go. "Poor, Gordon," she sighed.

"And poor us," Scott added. "Marina's just given us advance warning that we've got a new problem."

John frowned. "With Marina? I think Gordon's finally seen her for what she really is. That's got to be good, isn't it?"

"No, right now Marina's the least of our problems… But what she's told Gordon is a concern. If people, especially the media, think the reclusive Tracys are building a spaceship to safety then we could have unwanted visitors."

"Like who?" John asked.

"Reporters nosing around for a story."

"Do you honestly think that a reporter would fly all the way out here on what, to most sane people, which Marina obviously isn't, would appear to be a wild goose chase?" Alan asked.

Scott shrugged. "It's a new angle to an old story. And if we don't get invaded by the media, then it's likely to be people like Marina who are hoping for salvation from Doomsday."

"But what can we do to stop them?"

"We need to give that serious consideration... Or hope that it doesn't become an issue."

Tin-Tin had been busy preparing two sandwiches. She stood. "I'm going to take Gordon some lunch. Let me know if you come up with a solution." Carrying both sandwiches on a plate, she left the room.

She found a subdued aquanaut sitting on Thunderbird Four. "I've brought you something to eat," she announced, placing the plate on a nearby table.

Gordon sighed. "Why did I have to screw up my life with that woman?"

He didn't appear to be inclined to move so Tin-Tin picked the plate up again and held it out to him. "Gordon. Here is your lunch."

"I'm not hungry."

"You need to keep your strength up. You still have a lot of work to do."

"Do you know that I never told her about International Rescue?" Gordon announced, and realising that food was a long way from his mind, Tin-Tin put the plate back on the table. "I should have known that the relationship could never have worked if I couldn't trust her with a secret like that." He gave another sigh and then looked at his friend. "Why couldn't I have found someone more like you?"

Tin-Tin treated him to an impish smile "Because I am one of a kind. Besides, you couldn't handle someone like me."

Gordon chuckled. "That's true." He ran his hands through his hair. "But what was wrong with me to think that I loved her and that she loved me?"

"I cannot answer that," Tin-Tin admitted. "But I can ask you a question that may lead you to at least part of the answer."

"Yeah? What?"

"Have you ever wondered why, when International Rescue ceased operations, four of the world's most eligible bachelors…"

Gordon raised an eyebrow. "Four?"

Tin-Tin smirked. "Alan my not have been aware of it at the time, but he was spoken for."

Gordon managed a chuckle. "We often wondered why he took so long proposing."

"You weren't the only one… As I was saying: why do you think four of the world's most eligible bachelors have failed to find themselves meaningful relationships?"

Gordon shrugged. "Unlucky?"

"Have you considered that when you left International Rescue, you left behind the most important lady in your lives? Someone you considered irreplaceable?"

A wistful expression softened Gordon's features. "Grandma."

"No," Tin-Tin corrected. "I wasn't thinking of your grandmother…"

Horrified, Gordon stared at her. "Tin-Tin. If you're thinking that any of us thought of you in any way other than as a sister..."

"No. I do not mean me."

"Whew. Thank heavens for that." Then Gordon frowned. "I don't understand. You and Grandma were the only women on the island. There was Lady Penelope of course…"

Tin-Tin gave a tight-lipped smile. "I do not mean her either."

Gordon scratched his head and leant back against Thunderbird Four. "You've lost me. I'm assuming that, when you're talking about four eligible bachelors, you're not talking about Dad, Brains, Kyrano, and Parker."

"No."

"You are talking about Scott, John, Virgil, and me?"

"Yes."

"But not Alan."

"I am. Although he left a lady important to him behind too."

Gordon raised his hands in defeat. "You've got me. Who's my lady?"

"You're sitting on her, Gordon!"

"I'm what!?"

"Thunderbird Four!"

"Thunderbird Four! But she's…" Lost for words Gordon stared at the craft. "Well, she has got more personality than Marina… And is a lot more cosy to cuddle up to; Marina had all the warmth of a block of Arctic ice… But Thunderbird Four…" He looked at his sister-in-law. "Are you telling me that I married Marina because I was on the rebound from a submarine?!"

"Yes, I am."

"Tin-Tin, that's crazy!" But, despite his protest, Tin-Tin noticed that Gordon was caressing Thunderbird Four's panel with his thumb.

"Have you been happy since you left International Rescue?"

"Is that a trick question?"

"Do you think Scott's been happy only designing and flying aircraft? Do you think John's been happy running a multinational corporation? Do you think Virgil's happy being someone he's not?"

"No…" Gordon frowned. "But what about Alan? Surely he's happy with his racing? It's what he's always loved doing. It's what he always wanted to do until International Rescue came along!"

"I'll admit that he loves the thrill of racing, but didn't you notice how he lost the spark he had when International Rescue was operational?"

"But, Tin-Tin, he's got you! He loves you! Surely you know that?"

"I know..." Tin-Tin hesitated. "But I'm not so naïve that I haven't realised that I've ranked as number two in his affections for most of our adult lives. When he said that he'd only just opened Thunderbird Three's hangar that was a lie. He'd opened it almost the first time we came back here after you'd all left. I don't know how many times we've been here at home and he's disappeared. When I find him he is in Thunderbird Three's hangar looking at her. He doesn't do anything. He doesn't say anything. He is lost in his thoughts and memories. And I ask him if he's happy."

"And what does he say?"

"He gives me an oblique answer. He tells me that he is happy that he has married me. He tells me that he is happy that we are together. But he does not tell me that he is _happy_! I'm only one aspect of his world. He wants… He _needs_ more! And he needs it from his Thunderbird. And so do you."

"But… Tin-Tin… I know we always teased each other about being in love with our Thunderbirds," Gordon admitted. "But that's all it was! Teasing!"

"Was it?"

"Yes!"

"Are you sure? None of you have had as fulfilling a relationship with a woman as you had with your craft." When he looked like he was about to protest again, Tin-Tin expanded her theory. "Think about it. What do you expect from a partner? Trust. You trusted Thunderbird Four with your life, and the lives of others. You trusted Thunderbird Four and she never let you down. She was always there for you, and you could always rely on her when you needed her. She protected you. Doesn't that sound like the basis of a perfect relationship?"

"It's better than the one I had with Marina," Gordon admitted. "But, what about affection! What about… having someone who responds to you? Thunderbird Four's only metal and plexiglass and… I mean look at her!" Gordon slid off the sub and, with a sweeping gesture, encompassed the entire craft. "With the extra layer of Cahelium she looks like Frankenstein's monster!"

Thunderbird Four didn't seem to be that bad to Tin-Tin. "Once she's had a coat of paint she'll look better. But, can you honestly tell me that you haven't missed her and that there hasn't been a day when you haven't thought about her? You named your houseboat after her."

"Well…" Gordon leant back against his sub. He cocked his head and looked at Tin-Tin. "How about you? Are you happy being Mrs Racing-car-driver?"

"If you mean: am I happy that I married Alan? Then I will reply with an unequivocal _yes_. But if you mean: am I happy bouncing about from one track to another, living out of suitcases, returning home and finding this island deserted, missing my brothers-in-law, and not using my skills…? Then, no. I am not happy."

"You could always work with Alan as one of his mechanical engineers," Gordon suggested.

Tin-Tin shook her head. "Alan and I decided that that would not work. I will fully support him with his racing, but I will not be employed by him. Unfortunately, because we do not stay in one town for long, I am unable to find suitable employment to occupy me."

"So you missed International Rescue too?"

Tin-Tin nodded. "Very much so. I felt that I was part of something worthwhile. Something that stretched and challenged me. Even if I was only taking your father's dictation I felt that I was an important component in the larger machine."

"I often wondered why he used you like a secretary when you could have been working on more important things."

"I did too at the time," Tin-Tin admitted. "But now I think I understand."

Intrigued, Gordon stared at her. "You do? Why?"

"I think Mr Tracy was astute enough to realise that if something were to happen to him, his sons would have concerns other than International Rescue and Tracy Industries. He wished to ensure that someone would have enough knowledge of both organisations to be able to reduce any impact to the businesses until someone capable took over the reins."

"And you did a good job, Tin-Tin," Gordon conceded. "You kept the ship afloat until we were ready to take the helm."

"Thank you." Tin-Tin held out the plate again. "Have something to eat, Gordon... Please."

Gordon gave the last of many sighs and took the plate, but didn't eat. Instead he stared at it. "How do I seem to you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Am I the same as I was...?" Gordon fixed Tin-Tin with an earnest stare. "Mentally?"

"Well..." Tin-Tin considered her answer. "You're quieter. Maybe a little down. You're not as, erm..." she tried to find the appropriate word, "upbeat as you were... But when you consider the strain that we are all under, that is not really a surprise...Why?" Gordon looked back at his plate and muttered something. "Pardon?"

Gordon's head hung lower.

"Gordon?" Tin-Tin took his hand and tried to get him to look at her. "What did you say?"

Gordon was still staring at the sandwich. "I think I'm going mad."

Tin-Tin attempted a light-hearted laugh. "I am sure that living with Marina would be likely to drive anyone mad."

"No…" Gordon pulled his hand free from hers and walked away. He put the still full plate on a workbench. "I mean insane. Crazy. A few fish short of a school. Call out the men in white coats..." He turned, but couldn't quite face his friend. "I'm scared I'm bi-polar or something."

Tin-Tin felt a chill run down her spine. "What?"

"Sometimes I get angry. Really, really angry. I don't know why and just the silliest, most insignificant things can set me off. I feel like all it will take is for someone to look at me the wrong way and I'll floor them… The next thing I know I'm happy, I'm friends with everyone, and all's right with the world." He managed to meet her eyes. "I'm scared, Tin-Tin."

This was an unexpected statement from a Tracy and Tin-Tin's heart went out to him. She stepped forward and took both his hands in hers. "Don't be scared, Gordon," she pleaded. "They can treat diseases like bi-polar disorder these days. With the right medication you'll be fine."

"What if it's something where there isn't a treatment?"

"You won't know until you see a specialist. Have you told anyone?"

Gordon shook his head. "No."

Tin-Tin didn't know whether she wanted to hug her brother-in-law and tell him that everything was going to be all right, or shake some sense into him. "You should!"

"I can't! I can't take the time off to go to the mainland!"

"Then tell Scott!"

"I can't do that either. He's got enough to worry about without me piling this onto him. He'd think that he'd have to pull me out of the mission and there's no one else capable of taking over for me!"

Tin-Tin held his hands tight. "I haven't seen you really angry in weeks! Maybe it was the stress of Doomsday that had been affecting you? Maybe the fact that you're doing something to stop it is suppressing whatever's affecting you?"

"No, this is one thing that I can't blame Doomsday for. I was like this a long time before we heard about it. Since before I was married..." Gordon grimaced. "Maybe I've been working so hard these last few weeks that my brain hasn't had the chance to head off on its tangent."

"How long have you been like this?"

"I don't know. It kinda crept up on me. There were times that it was so bad that even the guys at the research institute, guys who I considered to be my friends, asked to be taken off the team if I stayed on. I had to do some major grovelling to convince them to stay. And then when I think of what I did to Marina…" He looked away.

The chill crept down Tin-Tin's spine again. "What did you do to her?"

"I…" Gordon hesitated. "Well, I didn't. But I nearly did. I wanted to. But I managed to stop myself…"

"Gordon!" Tin-Tin pulled his ramblings to a halt. "What did you nearly do to Marina?"

His head went down again. "I nearly hit her," he whispered.

"You did what!?"

"I know. I _know_!" Gordon tried to pull free, but Tin-Tin kept a firm hold on his hands. "The idea's obscene! Hitting a woman is wrong. Hitting _anyone_ is wrong! But I wanted to. I _had_ to!"

"Gordon? What do you mean you had to?"

He was silent for a moment, and Tin-Tin could see his jaw working as he tried to summon the courage to continue his confession.

She waited.

"I'd just got home from a research trip. My fuse had been getting shorter and shorter and by the end of the week the guys were keeping their distance. Of course knowing that everyone was avoiding me didn't help my temper. I thought I'd be better when I got home…"

"But you weren't?"

Gordon shook his head. "I can't even remember what set us off, but I was no sooner through the door when we were yelling at each other. I was angry and I was tired, and I just wanted to shut her up, and the easiest way to do it seemed to be with my fist."

"But you didn't… Did you?"

"No. I'd grabbed her and was ready to strike her when I saw her fear. I'd made this vow that I was going to protect her through better and worse and here I was being her worst nightmare. She was terrified of me and that scared me."

"What did you do?"

"Let go of her and took a step back before I did something we'd both regret. But I knew that if I stayed around any longer then I wouldn't have been able to stop myself from hitting her. So I walked out."

Tin-Tin compared what she was hearing with her own marriage. She and Alan had had the odd quarrel, but nothing too stressful, and not once had he threatened physical violence. She would have flattened him if he had. "Where did you go?"

"Swimming." Gordon gave a grim smile. "That's one advantage of living on a houseboat. I dove over the side and made a beeline away from there. I wanted to get away from the monster I was becoming."

"How far did you swim?"

"I don't know. I just swam, and I swam, and I swam. I tried to out-swim that need to hit someone. I mean, I'd never hit any… I've never hit a woman in my life, Tin-Tin; not in anger. And to want to hurt the one that I was supposed to love…" He hung his head. "I'm despicable."

Tin-Tin gave his hands a reassuring squeeze. "No, you are not."

"But I wanted to hit Marina!"

"You wanted to hit her, but you didn't! You knew it was wrong and you realised that you had to walk away from the situation before you did something you'd regret and Marina got hurt. That's not the actions of someone despicable. That is not the action of a wife beater." Gordon cringed. "Listen to me!" She let go of one of his hands and waggled a finger at him. "You are a good person, Gordon Tracy! You would never have realised that you were about to do something wrong and stopped yourself from doing it if you weren't."

"Maybe," he mumbled.

She huffed to herself. "When did you stop swimming?"

"After I was nearly run over by a motor boat and decided that it was safer on land. Then I walked the long road home; determined that I was going to walk in, grab a few things, and leave forever. I didn't want to see that fear on her face again."

"What happened when you got home?"

"It was a hot sticky day, and I was just as hot and sticky when I reached the houseboat. Marina was waiting for me. I apologised and she suggested that I have a shower to cool down, while she fixed me a drink. Afterwards we talked, and it was like we fell in love all over again... See! I'm down one minute and up the next!" Gordon clenched his free hand into a fist and held it against his chest. "I'm scared, Tin-Tin."

She rubbed his upper arm. "There is no need to be scared, Gordon. You have left Marina. You need never see her again. You will never want to hit her again. And, once we've tackled Doomsday you can get help and all will be well."

"But what about in the meantime? What if I start swinging at someone here? What if I hurt someone I actually care for?"

Tin-Tin laughed. "Come on, Gordon. There's no way that you'd ever harm one of us. I know you'd never hit me, or Brains, or Father. And I definitely know that you'd never hurt one of your brothers."

Gordon's head drooped again.

"Gordon?" Realising that he couldn't look at her, Tin-Tin reached out towards him.

He pulled away. "What you just said," he mumbled. "It's not true."

"Not true? You've wanted to hurt one of us?"

"Not wanted to... I..." Gordon gulped. "I have."

Stunned by the revelation Tin-Tin dropped his other hand. "Who?"

Gordon turned so he couldn't see the reproach on his friend's face. "Scott."

"You... You hit Scott?"

"Yes."

This was almost impossible to believe. "Scott? Your brother Scott!?"

"Yes. I hit my brother!" Gordon buried his face in his hands. "I'm not proud of what I did, Tin-Tin."

Tin-Tin took a moment to recover her wits. "When?"

Trying to regain his composure, Gordon took a few steps away from her. "It was a couple of days before my wedding."

It was like a light bulb being illuminated. "Before your wedding? Is that why you two...?"

Gordon, his back to her, nodded.

"What happened? Why did you do it?"

Still not looking at Tin-Tin, Gordon sat back against Thunderbird Four. His hands twisted together. "He tried to talk me out of marrying Marina. He was quiet, and reasonable, and offered up hundreds of sensible reasons why we shouldn't proceed with the ceremony. But I was in one of my moods. All I could think was that he had no right to tell me what to do. As far as I was concerned he'd spent all my life issuing orders; and here he was, on the eve of one of most important things that I, as an adult, would ever choose to do, and he was still ordering me around! I wanted him to stop..." Gordon grabbed at his hair and squeezed his eyes shut as if it would block out the memory. "I made him stop."

As hard as she tried, Tin-Tin couldn't imagine the scene. "What did Scott do?"

"What can you do when you've been literally floored by someone you're supposed to trust?" Gordon asked. "He didn't say anything. I remember that he touched his face and looked at the blood on it. And then he looked up at me... I'll never forget his expression: the surprise and the pain and..." Gordon wrapped his arms about himself. "And there's me; prancing around crowing like I've just taken out the heavyweight champion of the world." He sniffed and rubbed his nose. "And Scott just picked himself off the floor and walked out. He didn't say another word to me... Not for months..." He sniffed again.

"What did you do after he left?"

"What did I do?" Gordon gave an ironic laugh. "Oh, I told myself I was a big man. I'd finally beaten the tyrant. That's what I told myself. And Marina agreed with me when I told her. She said it was time that Scott was taught a lesson. But now..." His eyes red, Gordon finally found the strength to look at Tin-Tin. "I'm not even sure what that lesson was supposed to be."

Unable to help herself Tin-Tin hugged him. Then she sat next to her brother-in-law with her arm still about his shoulders, but was unable to think of anything to say that wouldn't sound accusatory or condescending.

"It was months before I was able to face him again," Gordon admitted. "I don't know why, but I always seemed at my angriest when I was near him, so it was safer not to get too close. I knew that if he saw me hit Scott it would kill Dad... Right before my brothers killed me."

"You're exaggerating, Gordon."

"Am I? It seemed like a real possibility at the time. I was furious with him. I thought he'd spoiled my wedding for me."

Tin-Tin had clear recollections of the day of Gordon's wedding and the night before. Alan, his brother's best man, had gone to Gordon's bachelor party with the intention of making sure that the groom maintained a clear head in the hope that he might come to his senses before it was too late. He'd reported back that Gordon had been quite happy to stick to fruit juice. John, busy at the office, hadn't participated in that night's festivities; and neither had Virgil who had claimed he had a prior appointment. She now knew the real reason why Scott had not made an appearance.

Marina had not invited Tin-Tin to her pre-wedding celebration.

The wedding hadn't been the happy family event that you would've expected of a close-knit family like the Tracys.

Because it was Gordon getting married Jeff had been desperate to be there; but he'd been equally desperate not to show his approval of the union. He'd fretted so much over the whole affair that he'd made himself sick and was unable to attend.

Scott had rung Tin-Tin and, clearly bitter, had explained that there was no way that he could even appear to condone the admission of Marina into the family circle and had excused himself. "I tried to talk to him, Tin-Tin," he'd said; videophone set to the voice-only setting, "but he wouldn't listen to me."

Virgil had been torn between his loyalty to Scott and a similar loyalty to Gordon. In the end it had been Gustav who had attended, not Virgil Tracy. And the artist had left as soon as the ceremony was over.

With only John, Alan, and herself present, it was a reduced representation of the Tracy family at Gordon Tracy's wedding. Gordon had said that he didn't care. He'd said that he was happy to be marrying the woman that he loved, and that that was all that mattered; but Tin-Tin had seen those quick glances towards the door and the sadness in his eyes when he'd realised that most of the most important people in his world weren't willing to participate in the most significant day of his life...

"I realise now that it was my fault that the wedding was ruined," Gordon was saying. "Not Scott's."

Tin-Tin still couldn't find the words to say. To agree with him seemed wrong, but then so did denying the fact. "Have the pair of you talked about what happened?"

"No."

"I think you should."

"But what would I say?"

"Start by saying you're sorry for hitting him, Gordon. You'll probably both feel better."

"Maybe."

Desperate to cheer Gordon up, Tin-Tin decided to try a different tack. "When did you last play a practical joke on someone?"

The change of conversation threw Gordon. "What?!"

Tin-Tin repeated the question.

"A joke? Oh, it must have been…" Gordon hesitated. "No…" He screwed his face up in thought. "No idea. It's been months, if not years."

"I thought so… You need to start doing them again."

"I don't think my brothers will agree with you; especially Scott. We haven't got the time to waste."

"They'd never admit it, but I'm sure that deep down they miss the old, happy, irrepressible Gordon Tracy."

"Don't you mean irresponsible?"

"No."

"But I haven't got the inspiration or inclination," Gordon admitted. "Like I said, I haven't had it in years."

"Then try to get some! Things are going to get much harder from now on and we're all going to need a little levity to stop us from going insane…"

"In my case we're too late," he groaned.

"Now, don't be negative. You don't know that you've got a mental illness."

"Tin-Tin," Gordon protested. "Where am I supposed to get the inspiration for a practical joke?"

"I don't know. You never used to have any problems."

"And now I'm swamped with them," he reminded her. "It's not exactly conducive to creativity." He sighed. "It's weird, but I feel better. Maybe not one hundred percent, but better than I did. I don't know..." he looked around Thunderbird Four's bay. "Maybe it's because I'm here... I feel like I've come home. I feel like I'm at peace while on the island…" He put his arm about Tin-Tin and gave her a squeeze.

Neither of them had seen Alan slip through the door behind them.

"…Thanks."

"What for? Giving you a chance to talk?"

"Yeah. And just being here. I haven't had a home with so much love in it for a long time. I wish I could stay here with you forever."

Tin-Tin smiled up at him. "Well, don't forget. If you ever need me, you know where to find me."

Gordon groaned. "Yeah. Neither of us are going anywhere in a hurry." He kissed his sister-in-law on the temple. "We'd better get back to work." After one final squeeze of her shoulders he pushed himself away from Thunderbird Four.

"Don't forget to eat your lunch." Tin-Tin went in the other direction, towards the door.

She was surprised when Alan stepped out of the shadows. "What's going on?"

"He's upset about Marina and the divorce," Tin-Tin told him. "I was trying to cheer him up. Is Scott still having lunch?"

"He's finished. He's back working on Thunderbird One."

"Good. I want a word with him."

"Tin-Tin," Alan protested. "You haven't had your lunch yet."

"I'll grab something to eat before I head back to the lab, but I want to see Scott first." Suddenly grateful for their warm and loving marriage, and overwhelmed by the affection she had for her husband, Tin-Tin pulled Alan into an embrace; kissing him on the lips. "We're so lucky," she whispered. "See you at dinner."

Alan watched as she left for Thunderbird One's hangar. He'd known Tin-Tin nearly all their lives and he knew when she was lying.

She was lying.

-F-A-B-

"Scott... Scott!"

"In here." Tin-Tin heard his reply from one of the workshops off the hangar. He looked up when she entered. "What's up?"

"I've just been talking to Gordon."

"Yeah?" Scott picked up a part and examined it. "Did Marina say something else that I need to know about?"

"No." Tin-Tin had already decided that there was only one part of her conversation with Gordon that she was prepared to discuss with his brother. "He told me what happened between the pair of you."

Scott looked up sharply. "And what was that?"

Tin-Tin realised that he'd asked that question because he didn't trust her, just as he was struggling to trust anyone in his family. He had to convince himself that she wasn't trying to trick him into revealing what had happened. In light of what she'd just learned she didn't know whether to be insulted or saddened. "That he hit you."

Scott froze, staring at the component in his hand. "Oh."

"I thought you might like to talk about it."

"We haven't got time," he mumbled.

"Sometimes you've got to make time for the things that are important," Tin-Tin reminded him. "Like learning to trust your family again."

Scott hung his head in shame, and she was struck by how similar to Gordon he was. "I can't help it," he admitted. "It's not that I don't want to trust anyone. It's that I don't seem to be able to anymore."

"Because Gordon made one mistake?"

He shook his head. "No. That's not the only reason."

"Like you said, we haven't got a lot of time." Tin-Tin settled onto a stool. "Like I said, I want to help..." Whereas Gordon had opened up when she'd made physical contact with him, she had a feeling that Scott would only pull back if she used the same method. "So we'd better start talking." She sat and waited.

Scott shrugged. "What do you want me to say?"

"I'd like to hear your side of the story."

He hesitated, then sat on the workbench, dropping the part he'd been holding beside him. "I thought he was making a huge mistake marrying Marina, and I wanted to make sure that he'd considered all the angles before it was too late. But... instead of discussing it with him, man-to-man, I laid down an ultimatum... And he laid me out."

"Did he knock you unconscious?"

"No... But it sure hurt. I had a black eye that lasted for weeks. I didn't want anyone to see me like that, especially no one in the family, so I hid from them all." Scott gave a bitter chuckle. "Maybe I should have asked Virgil for some makeup to cover the bruise."

Despite herself, Tin-Tin couldn't suppress a tiny smile at the idea. "Or you could have asked me."

"I couldn't ask either of you. What was I supposed to say? That I'd walked into a cupboard? I didn't want the family mad at Gordon; not on his wedding day; especially not when the whole thing was my fault."

"Are you sure it was your fault?"

"Of course it was my fault," "Scott stated. "I was the one demanding that he dump Marina."

"I don't think that he sees it that way."

"He doesn't?"

"No."

"Oh..." Scott picked up the component again and stared at it as he turned it in his hands. "At first I was furious with him. That's when I rang you up and said I wasn't going to the wedding. Then I flew back home to New York... And I spent the entire day of the ceremony cursing myself. It was one of the most important days of Gordon's life and I should have been a part of it. I should have been there for him; not for me. It was my problem that I didn't like Marina; not his." He sighed. "It was a long time before I was able to face him again without feeling guilty." The component was tossed back onto the bench top. "I still can't."

Tin-Tin listened to his speech, marvelling at the way that two people participating in the same event could have such differing views of proceedings. "He doesn't blame you, Scott. He blames himself."

"He shouldn't do that. I'm the one who refused to treat him like an adult. He told me that."

"I'm sure that's not what you were doing. You were trying to help him make an adult decision, to stop him being hurt."

"Yeah..." Once again the component was picked up and toyed with. "I didn't want him hurt like I was."

Tin-Tin leant forward. "Like you were?" She frowned. "Scott? Does this have something to do with your breakup with Farrah?"

It was a full minute before he nodded. "I'd only found out that morning she was already married."

Tin-Tin sat up straight. "She was what!?"

"She'd been lying to me. I didn't trust Marina and I didn't want to see Gordon hurt the way I'd been." Scott snorted. "Boy, what was a fun day that was. First Farrah's husband tried to flatten me and then Gordon succeeded!"

Tin-Tin sat back. Two betrayals in the one day. Both by people that Scott would have trusted intimately. No wonder he was finding it so difficult to have faith in anyone now. "Don't let that one day poison your relationship with your family, Scott. Gordon regrets what happened between you. Please, don't let one mistake spoil everything."

"I keep telling myself that," he admitted. "It doesn't help."

"What would help?"

Scott shrugged. "I wish I knew. I suppose the only cure is time..." He looked at his watch. "And that's something I don't have." He slipped off the workbench. "We'd better get back to work."

Tin-Tin took her cue and left...

_To be continued..._


	14. Chapter 14 - Aggravation

**Chapter 14: Aggravation**

Breakfast

Day thirty seven

Week six

Month two

Scott, carrying his tablet PC, was the first at the meal table; followed by John, Gordon, Kyrano, and, looking like he'd pulled yet another all nighter, Brains.

Groaning, John sank into a chair. "I thought I'd be used to those exercises you've given me by now, Gordon. But I'm still aching all over when I wake up each morning. It's taking me all my time to get out of bed."

Gordon handed him a coffee. "You're not stiff because of my exercises. It's because your body's not getting the chance to recover."

John attempted a stretch and decided against it. "You've got that right."

"The only reason I'm mobile is because of my swimming." Gordon claimed the seat beside him. "I'll change your routine again. You can come swimming with me before breakfast. That way we can work out the kinks together."

John raised an eyebrow. "A corporate blob compete against an Olympic champion?"

"First: I won my gold decades ago. Second: you're nowhere near as fat and unfit as you were. Third: I'm not planning on a competition; just some gentle exercises to get us moving each morning." Gordon sipped at his coffee and looked at his brother over his cup. "Are you in?"

"I'm in. Thanks." John clutched his mug. "I don't know how Virg does it. He gets up before anyone else, does a full day's work, goes to bed later than the rest of us, and still manages to keep moving." He accepted his breakfast from Kyrano. "How about you, Scott? Are you getting any morning aches and pains?"

Scott shrugged, not wanting to get involved in the conversation. He checked his tablet PC. "Everyone know what they're doing today?"

"Yep." John dipped a spoon into his bowl. "Alan and I are doing another supply run up to Thunderbird Five. She's got so much stuffed into her that's she's bursting at the seams. We've filled the storerooms and have started on other redundant areas. We've used up every inch of space in bedroom number two. I hope that I don't discover that something important, like my entire stock of toothpaste, is trapped at the bottom of it all. I must check that when I get there today…" He looked at his watch. "That's if the kid ever surfaces."

Kyrano gave a little bow. "Mister Alan and my Tin-Tin have decided to take breakfast in their room."

Scott's head snapped up from the tablet. "Is everything all right?"

Kyrano smiled. "All is well. But from now on they will breakfast alone. They wish to have a little time to share each other's company before they are parted."

"Some quality time, huh?" Gordon poured out his morning fruit juice. "That's not a stupid idea."

Scott frowned. "But this is the best time to go over the day's activities and discuss what needs to be done."

"Leave 'em, Scott," John advised. "If they're going to be spending at least four months apart, the least we can do now is grant them half an hour's grace each morning."

Scott grunted; not pleased, but not wanting to be the one to deny the couple's last fleeting moments of intimacy. "Where's Virgil? Has he eaten yet?"

Kyrano smiled again. "Do not worry yourself, Mister Scott. I have seen to Mister Virgil's breakfast personally."

Scott managed a smile of his own. "Thanks, Kyrano. I knew I could count on you."

"Gee. That's a first," John drawled. "Don't tell me you're actually going to trust someone."

Scott glared at him. "What are your plans for the day, Gordon?"

"What I've been doing almost every other day; working on Thunderbird Four. With any luck we'll be able to launch her next Friday."

For the first time Brains showed some interest in the conversation. "Th-That is good news. Once you are, er, convinced that Four is seaworthy, we c-can install the ACG deployment device."

"This'll be the first major milestone we've reached since we switched on Thunderbird Five," John noted. "I might start to feel like we're getting somewhere!"

"Yeah," Gordon agreed. "Up till now it's seemed as though we've been treading water."

John managed a grin. "You have a problem with treading water?"

"In this case, yes," Gordon groaned. "At the moment swimming is for fitness, not pleasure. It's just a case of get in the water; do a few laps; get out. What I would give to be able to dive in, do a couple of strokes and then roll over, float on my back, and do nothing…"

Scott pointed the tablet's stylus at him. "We haven't got time for that."

"Do you think I don't know that?!" Gordon snapped.

"It's something we're all too aware of, Scott," John added. "You don't need to rub our noses in it."

"I'm not! I..."

"T-Talking fitness," Brains interjected, before an argument had a chance to erupt. "I want you all to have another physical soon."

John gave his piece of dry toast a morose once over. "With any luck this time I won't get a heart attack just reading the results." He looked over at Brains. "And that I'll be allowed an occasional break from my diet?"

"W-We'll, er, see… I'll want to collect more blood for storage from everyone too."

Scott eyed him from over the top of his tablet PC. "Isn't it a bit soon? It's been little more than a month since you took the last batch."

"Yeah," John chipped in. "I flaked out last time; I don't want to do it again."

"I think the supplements you've all been taking sh-should prevent any, er, problems." Brains peered owlishly through his spectacles. "I won't, er, attempt to take yours until I'm sure you're r-r-ready for it, John. Your collection will be last."

"Thanks."

"Can't you make enough synthetic blood from what you got the first time around?" Scott asked. "Are you sure you need more?"

"I don't h-have enough time to produce enough synthetic blood to s-s-sustain any of you should you need it."

"But what's the likelihood we'll need it anyway?" Gordon pointed out. "The biggest danger will be when we're on our missions. And if that happens none of us are going to be within reach of rescue and won't be able to get the blood anyway."

"It's in case something happens to you _before_ your mission, Gordon," Scott told him. He 'flipped' a couple of pages on the tablet PC. "When did you say you were hoping to test Thunderbird Four?"

"Friday."

Scott made a note.

"And you can write down that I'm not planning on crashing her so I won't need Brains' blood... I'll do a runway launch since Thunderbird Two's not ready yet."

Scott was still writing. "At the rate Virgil's going she'll never be ready."

"Be fair," John told him. "He's working on Thunderbird Two AND the Mole. None of us are available to help him."

"'Sides," Gordon buttered his toast. "I don't see Thunderbird One zooming around the island."

Holding the tablet like a defensive shield, Scott looked over it. "She needs a lot done to her."

"And if you didn't spend half your time checking up on the rest of us you'd have most of it done," John reminded him. "We know what we're doing."

Giving Scott a forceful nudge, Gordon pointed towards John. "Listen to your boss."

"He's not my boss anymore. I resigned from Tracy Aviation, remember. Besides, you all agreed that I'd be in charge."

"And if I showed the lack of trust in my team that you're showing in yours," John informed him, "Tracy Industries would have collapsed years ago."

He was surprised when Gordon chose to side with their elder brother. "Maybe he's got a good reason not to trust us?"

"A good reason!? What good reason? Last time International Rescue was operational we lived or died on our ability to trust one another! Why should it be different this time?"

Gordon's reply was lost when Scott, scribbling on his tablet with the stylus, started musing out loud. "We're going to have to start thinking of a plan B…"

"Plan B?" Gordon stared at him. "How can we have a plan B? It's all or nothing, isn't it? Brains?"

Brains nodded. "You are right, Gordon. If we, er, fail with our present course we will not have the time to a-attempt anything else."

Gordon turned back to Scott. "So what plan B?"

"What if Virgil doesn't get Thunderbird Two finished in time? You're almost ready to launch Thunderbird Four…"

"Yeah. Which means I'll have the time to help Virgil with Thunderbird Two."

"But we've got to be prepared. We need a contingency plan in place in case Thunderbird Two's unable to airlift you to the Mariana Trench." Scott pursed his lips as he thought. "I wonder if we could call upon the USN Sentinel again?"

John stared at him. "After what you said about that ship after it shot Virgil down I'm surprised to hear you even mention the name."

"That wasn't the ship's fault, it was the crew's. And all that happened about fifteen years ago. The captain should have retired by now. Besides, if they discover that International Rescue's trying to save the planet they should be falling over themselves to help us."

"What about the Mole? Making the hypothetical assumption that Thunderbird Two's not ready, how are you going to get it to the Dead Sea Transform? Get the Sentinel to call in here, pick up Four and the Mole, drop Gordon off by the Philippines, sail around Cape Horn, up the Atlantic, through the Mediterranean, and then offload the Mole and expect it to travel the hundred odd kilometres cross country to the Dead Sea? Do you have any idea how long that would take, even at the Sentinel's speeds?"

Scott glared at John. "That's the whole point of planning in advance. Working out what's feasible and what's not!"

Gordon leant forward. "Okay, then. Since you're so keen on advance planning; what's your plan B if you don't get Thunderbird One operational in time?"

Scott was immediately on the defensive. "She'll be ready."

"Are you sure? You're the one who wants to be prepared. I say we should have a contingency plan in case Thunderbird One's not airworthy. Don't you, John?"

"Yes."

Gordon pretended to be deep in thought. "Now… What can we use to strafe the Bentley Subglacial Trench…?

"I've got it!" John snapped his fingers.

"Ah. We hear from the brains of the family... Sorry, Brains." Gordon turned to John. "What?"

"You've heard of Snoopy versus the Red Baron? We've got the International Rescue version: Scotty versus the White Bentley."

"Huh?"

"We'll use Thunderbird Six!"

Gordon burst out laughing. "I can just see it. Scott, at the controls of the Tiger Moth, coming in low beneath the ice storm. Wind howling. Snow horizontal..."

"Goggles fogged up. Fingers frozen to the control yoke. Icicle hanging off his nose..."

Gordon formed two rings with this thumbs and forefingers and used them as an approximation of a pair of aviator goggles and helmet. "_Dis id Dunderbird Sigs" _He gave an exaggerated sniff."_Darn cold... Am on fidal approach. Preparig do fire..._" He mimed operating a machine gun. "Ratta-tatta-tatta-tat..._ Arrgh! I've hit the propeller. I'm going down! I'm going down! Mayday! Mayday! _Nnyarrrrrrr..." The crashing biplane disappeared behind the table. "BOOM!"

"Get up and shut up, Gordon," Scott growled over John's laughter. "If you can't be serious don't say anything."

"If that's the rule then we'll never shut you up." John said as Gordon reclaimed his seat. "Hi, Tin-Tin."

She looked pale as she attempted a smile. "Good morning, John."

"Thanks, Kyrano." Alan handed his father-in-law the tray that held the substantial remains of their morning's breakfast. "What are we discussing?"

"Scott's amputation of his funny bone," John told him.

"Yeah. His Boy Scout complex is in overdrive," Gordon expounded.

"These guys seem to find it funny that I'm trying to consider every contingency," Scott amended.

"Okay, Scott," Gordon challenged. "What are your contingency plans if something happens to Thunderbird Three before liftoff?"

Tin-Tin gulped. Her face crumpled, and she put her hand to it as she ran from the room.

"Not again," Alan moaned. "Tin-Tin... I'm coming, Honey..." He jogged out the door after his wife.

"Oops." Gordon looked sheepish. "I didn't think it was that bad. It's not like I said that Thunderbird Three exploded at liftoff."

Scott pointed at him. "See what happens when you don't take the situation seriously!? Save your jokes until we've got time to enjoy them!"

"What do you expect us to do, Scott?! Do you think that just because the world's going to end in three months we should all walk around with our funeral faces on?!"

John sided with Gordon. "If we don't try to lighten the load we're going to lose what little sanity we've got left!"

Gordon shot him a sharp look.

"What you guys don't seem to realise," Scott snapped, "is that we're on a restricted timetable…"

"What you don't seem to realise, Scott," Gordon snapped back, "is that some people find it easier to cope with stress if they are given permission to laugh."

"Gordon's right," John agreed. "We're not all automatons able to switch off our emotions just because we've got a mammoth-sized challenge ahead of us." He gave his elder brother a disgusted look. "Unlike some I could mention."

Scott rounded on him. "And what's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that you've got tunnel vision! You walk around all day clutching that tablet of yours like a security blanket, making notes and ticking off check boxes. It's a wonder you don't get Brains to surgically attach it to your brain so you can download straight to it…" Brains looked alarmed at his inclusion into the escalating discussion. He bent low over his breakfast as he ate, trying to make himself as invisible as possible.

"John's right!" Gordon agreed. "_And_ you stick your nose into everyone else's business!"

"I what?!" Scott protested. "I'm making sure that everything's going like clockwork."

"And you're not concentrating on fixing Thunderbird One while you're doing it!" Gordon sat back and folded his arms. "Don't expect me to help you when I've finished working on Thunderbird Four."

"I don't!"

"If he did he knows he might be asking for trouble!"

"What?!" Gordon swung his attention around to John.

"Whatever happened between you two broke down your relationship for months. Scott doesn't want to risk that happening again. And the rest of us feel the same."

"The rest of you?"

"Stop it, John!" Scott ordered. "What happened between Gordon and me has nothing to do with you or anyone else."

"Doesn't it? You didn't talk to each other. You wouldn't look at each other. You ignored each other. How do you think that made the rest of us feel? Thank heavens Grandma wasn't here to see you two rip the family apart!"

Brains looked around, wondering if he could slip away unnoticed.

"If you were so concerned, why didn't you do something about it?" Gordon challenged.

"I tried. But you're both so pig-headed…"

"Pig-headed!"

"Yeah. Pig-headed! You didn't want to talk to me or anyone else!"

"Maybe that was because you were too busy being the big boss to stop and listen!"

"Let it go, Fellas," Scott advised. "All that's in the past."

If John was prepared to take his advice, Gordon wasn't. "All we hear from you, Mr Chief Executive, are moans about how unfit you are. Whose fault is that?"

"At least I'm taking responsibility for it and I'm doing something about it. Not like...!"

There was a loud bang. Surprised the Tracys turned.

Kyrano was standing beside the marble bench; holding a wooden rolling pin with an ominous dent in its side. When he spoke it was in his usual quiet, measured tones. "I shall be videophoning your father later," he reminded the three brothers. "Is there anything that I should tell him?"

John looked at Gordon.

Gordon looked at John.

They both looked at Scott.

Scott placed his tablet PC on another chair out of reach and looked at his siblings. "No, Kyrano. You don't need to worry him about anything." He began eating.

"Scott's right," John agreed. "Everything's okay." He bit into his toast.

"Just tell him that we all miss him," Gordon added, and scooped up a spoonful of cereal as Brains took advantage of the unexpected lull and escaped the breakfast table.

Kyrano smiled. "Good. He will be pleased to hear that you are all working together in harmony... Now I shall go and see my daughter..."

A raucous alarm filled the complex. Swallowing what was probably going to be the last mouthful of their unfinished breakfasts, the three brothers ran into the lounge. As Scott claimed the seat at his father's desk and fired up one of their security computer connections, Alan ran into the room. "Have we got visitors?"

Scott nodded. "It's the 200 kilometre alarm. We're waiting for the plane to fly past one of the video buoys... Which'll be happening – any – second... Ah. Gotcha!" A still photo came up on screen of a helijet, the markings of the World News network displayed on its side. "Oh, great... It's the press."

John groaned. "What do they want?!"

"There's a sucker born every minute," Gordon theorised.

"You think they believed Marina?"

"It doesn't matter what they believe," Scott stated. "The problem is that they're coming here."

"There's no doubt about it?" John asked. "It is heading for Tracy Island?"

Scott gave a grim nod. "Yes. Is there anything lying around that could reveal what we're doing?"

"There shouldn't be," Alan reminded him. "We're all working in the hangars and the lab."

"Where's Tin-Tin?" Gordon asked.

"Freshening up. She'll be out in a minute."

Brains entered the room, asking the obvious question. "Do we have an intruder?"

Before Scott gave him his answer, Kyrano entered, followed by Tin-Tin, who was looking brighter than she had before. "What is happening?" she asked.

Scott indicated the screen. "There's a World News helijet heading in our direction."

"What? Why?"

Running feet heralded Virgil's arrival. "Intruder alert?"

"The W-World News," Brains told him.

"Oh, great! We haven't got the time to deal with them."

"Whether we've got time or not, we're going to have to," Scott told him. "The question is: how do we get them out of here in quick time, without raising suspicions?"

"Erm… I might have an idea."

Everyone turned to look at Gordon. He had an expression on his face that would under normal circumstances have encouraged everyone to abandon all family loyalties and hide in the hopes that his attentions would be directed towards someone else.

It was an expression that they hadn't seen in months.

"Yes?" While Scott was a master of the carefully constructed or hastily devised plan, no one could top Gordon for unrestrained trickery. He looked at his prankster brother. "What's your idea?"

"What are they expecting to find?" Gordon asked.

"What did Marina tell you?" Scott asked. "I'd assume that that's what they're interested in."

Gordon frowned at the mention of his wife. "Apart from the crazy idea that we're making a spaceship big enough to get us all to the moon… Anyone?"

"We don't have time to play games, Gordon," John reminded him. "What do you think they're expecting to see?"

"Five playboys and their friends living out their final days in unrestrained debauchery on their father's tropical paradise. So why don't we give them what they expect?"

"The problem with that," Tin-Tin remarked, "is that none of us look like we've been spending the last month relaxing out in the sun." She gazed around at her family. "You all look like you've spent six months cooped up in a fridge."

Scott had to admit that she had a point. Each and every one of them was pale and drawn, with dark shadows under their eyes. But he wasn't worried. "We've got plenty of artificial tan."

John stared at him. "We have? Why?"

Scott smirked. "I wanted to be prepared in case we had unwanted visitors. It's called advance planning."

John grinned. "And no one does it better."

Scott sat forward. "Okay, Gordon, what do you want us to do?"

Gordon outlined his plan, detailing each person's role in the drama that they were about to enact. "Those of you who don't need a lot of exposed skin tanned, help those who do."

"I'll help you, Gordon," Scott offered.

"Thanks."

Another claxon sounded.

"That's the 100 K warning," Scott announced. "Okay, everyone. You know what you've got to do. Go get your party gear on."

Gordon caught Tin-Tin by the arm as everyone hurried out the door. "Do you mind?"

"Of course not." Tin-Tin treated him to a big smile. "You are enjoying yourself, aren't you, Gordon?"

"I hate to admit it but I am." Gordon grinned. "You're right, Doctor Tin-Tin. Tricking someone in the name of International Rescue is just the prescription I need. I'm just sorry that I've got you caught up in all this.

"I am a member of International Rescue. And I am willing to do whatever is necessary…" Tin-Tin giggled. "Within reason."

"You're a real sport." Gordon kissed her on the cheek, just as Alan walked in to find out what had delayed his wife.

He glared at Gordon, who didn't notice as he jogged past. "What was that for?"

Tin-Tin touched her cheek. "Gordon was thanking me for being willing to help out."

"What's so special about that?" Alan frowned. "Why wouldn't you help? You're a part of International Rescue too."

"That's what I told him." Tin-Tin looped her arm through her husband's. "Come on, I've got to decide what I'm going to wear."

Gordon had found his loudest board shorts and an old floral shirt when Scott arrived with a spray can of instant tan. He grabbed the container. "Is this water resistant?"

"If you give it long enough to dry. So don't show off your swimming skills as soon our guests arrive."

Gordon saluted. "Message received." He scanned the label. "How does this stuff work?"

"The quickest and easiest way to apply it would be if you stand in the shower and I'll spray you," Scott suggested.

Gordon gave him an odd look as they headed for the bathroom. "Are you sure this isn't green paint and this whole thing's a ruse to make me look like a geranium?"

"This is me, Gordon. The one with the funeral face, remember?"

"Ah… Yeah…" Gordon cringed. "Sorry about that."

"Don't worry about it. We're all tired and stressed at the moment. Here…" Scott sprayed some of the instant tan onto a cloth. "Start wiping that on your face." He crouched down and began coating Gordon's legs.

"Gaah!" Gordon took a hurried step back. "It's cold!"

"Keep still!"

"Sorry." Gordon submitted to having his legs, torso and arms sprayed brown. "How's my face look?"

"Give me the cloth," Scott did a few touch-ups. "There. That'll do."

"Thanks. You'd better go and check that everyone else looks okay before you get into your battle gear. I'm going to see what Kyrano's got for halitosis."

Gordon found his friend in the kitchen stirring an evil looking concoction. He took a deep sniff. "Whoa! That reeks!"

"Is that not what you require?" Kyrano asked.

"Yeah. Just so long as it doesn't make me sick. What have you got in it?"

"Onions, garlic…" Kyrano smiled as if he'd temporarily been possessed by a malevolent half-brother, "and a few secret ingredients."

"It smells like it should work. So I just eat it and then try not to get too close to the varnish, huh?"

"That is correct."

"Okay. Here goes…" Gordon pinched his nose and took a big spoonful of the mixture. He tried not to gag. "That's disgusting!"

"I will make you something to compensate for your sacrifice for when the media have left."

"I'm going to hold you to that." Gordon ate another spoonful and screwed up his face. "The things I do for International Rescue."

Kyrano cocked his head. "I do not yet hear a motor, but I believe that you should hurry."

"I believe that too." Gordon started heading for the door. "Thanks for your help, Kyrano."

He met the rest of the family in the lounge. "Okay, does everyone know what they're doing?"

Alan took a step backwards, flapping his hand in front of his face. "Geez, Gordon. What have you been eating?"

"I've been taste testing tonight's dinner." Gordon turned to John who was fiddling with the computer at Jeff's desk. "Is the sound system A-OK?"

John looked at Scott. "Care to give us a one - two?"

Scott had a headset on. He spoke into the microphone, and his voice came out of the computer's speakers. "Testing. One, two, three. Testing."

John gave Gordon the thumbs up, just as they heard a third alarm.

Scott clapped his hands. "Okay, that's the 25 kilometre alarm. Everyone get into their places… Where are you going, Gordon!?"

Gordon was back a moment later carrying a few glasses and some bottles of beer. "Creating atmosphere," he announced. Leaving John, Scott and Kyrano inside, he followed everyone else down the steps leading to the pool. At the bottom he left in disarray a couple of the glasses and one of the bottles. More of the glasses were scattered about the tables and one of the bottles was opened. He sloshed a portion of its contents down his front before pouring the remainder in a haphazard manner into the various glasses. Then he tipped over some of the poolside deckchairs. "Virgil! You can lie down on here." He laid the now empty bottle on its side next to a sun lounger.

"And I'm supposed to be asleep?" Virgil confirmed as he settled into the chair. He hadn't gone for the tanned torso look and was wearing a shirt.

"You're supposed to be zonked. Put your arm there." Gordon grabbed his brother's hand and positioned it so it was relaxed on the paving stones surrounding the pool. "Are your sleeves long enough to keep that bandage on your other hand hidden?"

"Near enough... I don't know if I can keep still very long. I won't be able to stop thinking about all that's got to be done."

"Well, you're going to have to."

"What if they don't leave right away?"

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it." Gordon picked up a large straw hat and dumped it over his brother's face. "This will hide your highlights." He stood back. "That's the best you've looked for weeks!"

There was a muffled sarcastic "thanks" from beneath the hat.

"Any time." Gordon looked towards the skies. "Here they come..."

The helijet zoomed low past the villa and descended towards the runway. Catching a monorail down to the hangar, Gordon ran across to meet it, tripping over his feet and only just managing to keep his footing. "Hooray!" he yelled when its door opened. "Now the party can start."

Three men climbed out of the helijet and, giving the impression of great disappointment, Gordon looked between them. Then, pushing his sunhat back and pulling his sunglasses down his nose so he could see over them, he peered into the aircraft. "Where's the girlz?"

The man who wasn't in pilot's uniform or carrying a video camera on his shoulder, held out his hand in greeting. "I'm Niko Brand," he stated. "I'm with the World News. This is my cameraman…"

Gordon looked at him slightly cross-eyed above his sunglasses and then pushed them back up his nose. "Where'z the girls?" he repeated.

"Erm… Girls?" Brand repeated.

"Yeah. We ordered sssome girls. Where' they?" Gordon peered back into the helijet as if he were hopeful of finding the fictitious females hiding inside.

"Ah… We don't have any girls with us," Brand explained.

"No girlsss? Bu' we ordered girls."

"We are with the World News," Brand repeated.

"The world knew what?"

"No. The World News. We are a media organisation and we…"

Gordon cackled and hit Brand on the back in a familiar manner. "'m teasin' ya, Nikky. I knows who y'are. You write for tha' paper."

Brand wrinkled up his nose at an unpleasant odour. "No. I'm a television reporter and this is…"

"You didn' happen t' see any girlz on y' travels?" Gordon was pleased to see an exasperated expression pass between their guests.

"No…"

"Bu' we ordered zome more. We wore the last lot out." Gordon treated the TV crew to a lecherous wink.

Brand sighed. "May I ask you your name?"

"Lea." Gordon thrust out his hand and almost overbalanced. Brand caught him before he could fall. "Thankz. Darn earthquakes. We been havin' 'em y' know."

Brand reeled back against the force of Gordon's breath. He coughed. "Earthquakes?"

"Yup. The volcano's gonna blow. Pwuush!" Gordon indicated the rocky peak that towered over them. "We been havin' a rock 'n rollin' good time..." He frowned. "Well, we would if those girlz would arrive... You shure you ain't seen 'em?"

"No... We're here to investigate a rumour about Jeff Tracy's sons."

"A wumour?" Gordon's eyes gleamed. "Gossip?! Tell me, tell me, tell me," he sang.

"Are you related to the Tracys?"

"Oh, yeah. Me 'n them are like tha'." Gordon snapped his fingers together like a pair of scissors.

The exasperated glance passed between the reporter and his associates again. "We have heard that the Tracys are building a spaceship to es..."

Gordon was nodding his head in a drunken manner. "Id'z finished."

A gleam penetrated Brand's eye and the cameraman and pilot exchanged triumphant looks. "Do you think we could see it?"

Gordon gave an unconcerned shrug. "May as well. Nothin' better t' do until the girls ge' 'ere." He swung his arm over in an exaggerated gesture. "Follow me." He led the three intruders, the cameraman struggling under the weight of his camera, sound gear and other associated paraphernalia, up the longest, rockiest track to the swimming pool. "Hey! Alan!"

The reporter and his team gazed around at the scene before them. There was evidence of heavy drinking; indeed, one person appeared to be deep in a drunken stupor, stretched out on one of the many loungers that surrounded the pool, his arm flopped onto the paving stones.

This man didn't so much as flinch when Gordon shouted again. "Alan! Where are you?"

There was a shout from a grove of bushes. "I'm busy!"

"We've got guests!"

"Guests?" High above them a figure appeared on the balcony. He was wearing a big floppy hat which, along with his sunglasses, shaded his face. "Have the girls arrived, Gordon?" John yelled down.

"Nope!" Gordon yelled back. "We go' other guests. Bedder order some more."

"Hey, Scott!" John yelled to an unseen brother in the lounge.

"What?"

"Better order some more girls!"

"How many?"

"Three...!" John looked down over the balcony. "No! Wait a minute... Virgil looks like he's not going to need his. Make it two!"

"Coming right up!"

-F-A-B-

Down in the hangar that faced onto the island's runway, Scott Tracy switched off his microphone, but left the earpiece operational so he could be alerted should he need to make a quick exit. He crouched low, his camouflage gear concealing his activities from unwanted eyes. He scurried from one boulder to another, working closer to the helijet, which was sitting on the left side of the runway.

He knew it was unattended. He'd been listening in on Gordon's conversation with the intruders via his brother's hidden microphone, and Gordon's comments about the island's volcano had been the tipoff that the helijet was empty.

Unhooking what looked like a small satellite dish from his belt he pointed it at the helijet. This device, like the larger model onboard Thunderbird One, was capable of using electromagnetism to wipe all film in the helijet. He activated the unit and a blue glow swamped the craft.

Now it was time for the most risky part of the operation. All the film on and around the aircraft was now useless, but the camera carried by the hapless cameraman was still capable of capturing potentially damaging footage.

Scott paused a moment, his ears straining to pick up any telltale sounds from his earpiece that might mean that he was close to being exposed.

All seemed well.

His tired body was almost screaming abuse at him for crouching for so long, and for a brief moment he wondered if he would even be able to make it across the tarmac to the helijet. But then his singular determination took control and he threw himself across the open space; before rolling under the World News craft; ending up staring at the underbelly of the helijet. He crawled on his back closer to the passenger cabin in the nose and pulled a fingernail sized device from his breast pocket. Rubbing his thumb across one side of the object released a tiny antenna, no thicker than a human hair. He placed the object against the chassis of the helijet and pressed it into place. A blue glow told him it was activated.

Reaching back into his pocket Scott removed another similar sized device. This time he pushed against one side, which slid forward doubling the object's surface area. A flick of a tiny switch with his thumbnail and the device was armed.

Now he had to get it into position. To an aeronautical fanatic like Scott Tracy, who knew the schematics of most aircraft like most people knew the layout of their homes, choosing the optimum spot was easy. Placing it there without making it look like there'd been an intruder at work was the hard bit.

The pilot had set down the helijet so it wasn't parallel to the runway, and the right side of the craft offered a reduced chance of his activities being seen from the villa. In one smooth motion Scott rolled out from underneath the fuselage and pulled open the right cabin door. Keeping low, he reached under the rear passenger seat and magnetically welded his device into a hollow that he knew would be there. Now he knew that any film exposed in the cabin would be rendered useless. This state of affairs would continue until the unit stuck to the undercarriage of the helijet was no longer receiving a signal from Tracy Island. Once this point had passed, about 200 kilometres from home, the receiver under the helijet would drop off, meaning that the chances of someone discovering both these tiny pieces of technology were remote. And if anyone did strike it lucky, both gizmos would be so far away from International Rescue's base that they would have already done their job and there would be nothing remaining to hint at their purposes or where they had came from.

Scott crept back out of the cabin and shut the door before rolling back underneath the helijet.

His job was done. All he had to do was get out of there.

His body was telling him to stay lying in the shade under the helijet. That the best thing he could do right now was close his eyes and drift off to sleep; but his mind told him that to do so meant that things could get very hazardous, very soon.

He checked the earpiece. All was clear. Rolling back out from under the helijet, Scott picked himself up off the sand that had been blown onto the runway and ran for cover. Then, using the same care that he had on his outward journey, he retreated to the safety of the hangar, where he took the monorail back up to the house.

John was waiting just inside the patio doors where he could look down on the pool's courtyard without being seen. "All done?"

"Yep. All onboard cameras are clean and as soon as that camera is in the cabin all its film will be wiped."

"He hasn't filmed anything yet. Gordon's been giving them the run-around." John pushed himself off the wall he'd been propped against. "Better go and tell him to wind up the show."

-F-A-B-

Niko Brand looked at the intoxicated man who'd just been yelling up to the one on the balcony. "Didn't he just call you Gordon?"

"Yup."

"But didn't you say your name was Lea?"

Gordon chortled and put his arms about the shoulders of the cameraman and the pilot and treated Niko Brand to a boozy wink. "Jus' warmin' you guyz up. Wait'll the girlz get here. It's gonna be a blast."

"I'm afraid we won't have time for that, Lea, er, Gordon," Brand told him. "We're here for a reason."

"Yeah?" Gordon frowned. "What waz tha'?"

"To see your spaceship."

"_My_ spaceship?" Gordon started to laugh. "It ain't mine. It'z..."

His spectacles missing, but otherwise clothed, Brains wandered out from one of the changing rooms. Unable to see properly he zigzagged across the courtyard before falling into the pool.

Gordon seemed unfazed by his friend's unusual antics. Extolling the virtues of the "girlz" that were due to arrive at any moment; he reached one hand down to a floundering Brains, grabbed him by the collar, and hauled him out of the water. "Get out of here!" he hissed in his friend's ear. "Your tan's running!" Then he pointed the engineer back in the direction of the changing room and gave him a gentle push.

Brains staggered away and managed to find the entrance to one of the changing sheds. He disappeared inside.

Brand stared after him. "Who was that?"

"Him?" Gordon giggled. "Friend o' mine. Can't handle the drink." He mimed drinking from a glass. "He kinda loses touch wi' his spegta... specto... spectroclez... glassez when he's had too much."

"But he wasn't wearing glasses," the pilot pointed out.

"He wasn't?" Gordon let loose a braying laugh into the man's face, causing the pilot to try to pull away from the stench. "That 'splainz why he can't zee." He laughed again, turning to face the cameraman. He looked down at the camera. "Wotz that?"

"This is my video camera," the cameraman explained.

"Camera! Whoa! No photoz." Gordon released his grip on the two men and staggered backwards with his hands raised. "Daddy don' like photoz." He tripped and landed on his backside. "Daddy won' be happy."

"All we want is some footage of your spaceship, Lea, ah, Gordon…" Brand looked confused. "What _is_ your name? Are you the former Olympian?"

"Footage?" Gordon was looking even more confused than the reporter. "Spaceshipz don' have feet. I know. I saw Daddy's."

"Massa! Massa …!" Kyrano came hurrying from the vicinity of the villa. Gabbling something in his native Malay that may as well have been Greek, or at least some other Oriental language to the visiting reporters, Kyrano helped the younger man to his feet. "Kato help Massa."

"Wha…?" Fortunately for Gordon the intruders took his sudden shocked silence to mean that he'd retreated into a drunken stupor.

"Is Massa arl light?"

"Ah, yeah. Thanks, er, Kato," Gordon said, still nonplussed by his friend's performance. He pulled himself together and got back into character. "I'm all light. I mean, right…" He hiccoughed.

Kyrano took a step back; his head bowed in a gesture of subservience, and his arms crossed within the sleeves of his oriental gown. "Massa sure no hurt?"

"'M fine…" Gordon reassured him. "Bin havin' some good aniss… Some good annies-th… Some good pain killas." He laughed like a maniac.

"Girl no alive yet?"

"Girl…?" Gordon hiccoughed again as he contended with Kyrano's exaggerated accent. "No. Only these guyz."

Kyrano bowed low to the newcomers. "You wait for girl?"

"No," Niko told him.

"You wait for runch?"

"Runch?"

"Lunch," Gordon translated. "Kato make the bezt."

Kyrano bowed low. "I thank, Massa. Kato hope no have to punish his-self this time."

Gordon almost couldn't believe that this was the man that he knew and admired. Kyrano may have taken on what could be regarded as the most menial tasks around the Tracy household; but he chose this role because he wanted to help and because it appeased his strong code of honour towards the family that had done so much for his own. He was valued and respected by the Tracys, and this obsequious servitude persona didn't sit well with the younger man.

But at this moment Kyrano was caught up in his role. "I been baking, Massa. Better than rast time. Kato punish his-self rast time for bad baking. Kato hope you happy this time." He glanced at the reporters and then moved closer to Gordon, turning his back on the intruders as if he was trying to conceal what he was about to say. "I use best…" he gave a nervous glance over his shoulder, "_prants_," he whispered, "from garden. Massa will have gleat ecstacy." He bowed low. "I go now. Start baking. Will be leady when girl alive."

"Good… Ah… Thanks…" Gordon mumbled as Kyrano, bowing low again and again, backed away.

Relieved that his friend had gone, Gordon turned back to the reporters who were looking at him in disapproval. "Great guy. Do anythin' for me."

"Gordon?" Brand said.

Gordon gave him a lopsided grin and leant on the pilot's shoulder. "No, 'is name's Kato."

"No, I mean..." Brand caught himself. He couldn't be bothered getting into that argument. "Can we see your spaceship?"

"Ain't mine. It's Alan'z."

"Can we see Alan's spaceship?"

"Dunno." Gordon pushed himself off the pilot. "Alan!"

"What?!"

"Zome guyz wanna see ya."

"Whaddaya want?!" Tucking his shirt into his trousers and his hair awry, Alan stepped out from behind some vegetation. "Me and the missus are busy, ya know?" He attempted to do up his belt.

"These guyz wanna see ya spaceship."

"Alan…" Seeming to be clad in nothing but the towel that was wrapped about her, and with her bare shoulders showing tan marks, Tin-Tin stepped out from her hiding place. Her make up was much heavier than usual, and a lot of it had come off onto Alan's face and neck. She pulled at her husband's arm. "I'm waiting, baby."

Alan leered at her. "Be right with you, sweetheart."

But Tin-Tin didn't seem willing to wait. She grabbed him and pulled him into a passionate kiss that he was more than willing to enjoy, and which lasted several minutes; leaving everyone watching wishing they were somewhere else. By the time she'd finished Alan seemed to have forgotten that he'd been summonsed. He let her drag him back into the vegetation.

The film crew were surprised and glad when Gordon revealed himself to be alert enough to stop him. "Alan!"

Alan stopped and scowled at his brother. "What!?"

Tin-Tin pouted. "Come on, baby." She attempted to drag him away again.

Gordon indicated Brand and the others. "These guyz wanna see y' zpazeship."

Alan flapped his hand. "You know where it is." Pulling off his shirt he ran after a giggling Tin-Tin back to their hiding place.

Gordon looked up to the balcony and saw John lounging there. He turned back to the intruders. "C'mon." Staggering he started trekking away from the pool.

Relieved that they were getting somewhere at last, the three men followed behind; the cameraman with the camera hoisted to his shoulder, ready to start filming the instant they saw the fabled rocket.

Gordon kept up an inane chatter as they descended back down the rocky trail and Brand grew uneasy. They'd flown past this area before they landed and had seen nothing that looked the tiniest bit like a spaceship. "Where are we going?"

Gordon stopped and the reporter cannoned into his back, but the red-head didn't appear to notice. "The beach."

"The beach?" Brand looked at the cameraman who looked back with a frown and a shrug. Neither of them had seen anything of interest on the beach.

Unperturbed by their reaction, Gordon continued walking. "Alan'z been workin' on it f' weekz."

"How big is it?"

"Thirty." They reached the beach and Gordon ploughed through the white sands.

"Thirty? Thirty what? Feet? Yards? Metres?"

Gordon stopped, and, with a triumphant grin, pointed. "Centy-metres."

The World News team stared at the grey spaceship pointing towards the sky. They'd found what they'd come for; except none of them had expected their find to be so short that it didn't even reach their knees.

"Is that it?!" the pilot exclaimed.

"That'z it," Gordon replied. "He'z done good. Dunno why the World News is interezted though."

The World News were wondering that too.

"Wanna zee it go?" Gordon asked. He reached into one pocket and then started searching another. "Gotta match?" He took a step backwards, knocked over the rocket and, unperturbed, continued searching.

"Er, no." Brand took a step backwards with visions of a rogue rocket soaring around their heads.

Tracy Island heaved as the volcano stretched, throwing the four men to the ground. The camera went scudding across the sand and into a rock.

The pilot ended up sprawled across Niko Brand. "I think we should get out of here."

"Now hold on," Brand protested as the cameraman picked up his camera and tried to clean the sand out of it. "An erupting volcano could be a good story."

"If you want it, you can stay here and get it," the pilot told him. "Just because I've only got three months of my life left, doesn't mean I'm willing to make it any shorter. I'm flying out now."

"But..."

"If you two want to stay, then you'll have to find your own way back to the States." The pilot pointed at a supine Gordon who showed no inclination to get up. "You can get him to fly you." He turned and started marching back to the helijet.

Brand turned to the cameraman. "What do you think?"

The cameraman indicated his camera. "I think there's a possibility that this is damaged and we'd never get the pictures anyway. Why risk our necks for no good reason?"

Brand had to concede that this was a valid argument. "In that case we'll be leaving, Gordon. Thank you for showing us around."

Not bothering to get up, Gordon waved at him. "Come ag'in zometime. I won'd zee you off. I'm tired..." He closed his eyes. "I think I'll 'ave a liddle zleep."

"You do that," Brand agreed. "Come on," he whispered to the cameraman. "Let's get off this nut farm."

Gordon did doze off, only to be awakened by the helijet's engine. He awoke groggy, confused, his mouth tasting like a sewer, and wondering what the roaring noise was in his ears was. He got to his feet and staggered to the hangar before collapsing into one of the monorail's seats. He set the vehicle moving and then flopped back against the wall with his eyes closed. He felt revolting. That short sleep, instead of refreshing him, had made him feel worse than he had for days.

-F-A-B-

Niko Brand pushed delete on his computer notebook and removed all his notes about the Tracy family and the island they lived on. "Well, that was a complete waste of time."

"You don't think it's a story worth broadcasting?" the cameraman asked.

"Nah. Who'd buy it except some gossip mag? I couldn't do that to Jeff Tracy."

"Their father? Is he still alive?"

"Yes, I think so. Though he hasn't got out much since his stroke."

"Why are you protecting him?"

Brand hesitated. His wasn't a widely known story. "When she was six my kid sister developed a rare disease. The treatment was available, but in another state, not close to home; and there was no way that my parents could have afforded to pay for it and put me through journalism school as well. I was ready to drop out and get a job so I could help them pay the bills when I thought of writing to Jeff Tracy and telling him our story. I never expected an answer, let alone some action; but the next thing I know our local hospital's got one of the machines that will save her life and I'm off to complete my education."

"Your kid sister? That hot brunette?"

Brand chuckled. "That's her. So I kinda owe Jeff Tracy. If it wasn't for him I wouldn't be sitting next to you on the way home from a no-story story, and you guys wouldn't be trying to hit on my sister."

"I wonder if Jeff Tracy knows what a load of degenerates he's raised," the cameraman mused. "He was always reported as being straight-laced. I can't see him approving of his sons buying in a load of 'girlz'."

Brand thought for a moment. "I suppose that if you've got all the money in the world, but you know that even that much money can't do anything to stop the world from ending and nothing can save you, then you may as well decide to spend your last days completely anesthetised from what's about to happen..." He thought some more.

The cameraman nudged him. "What?"

Brand leant forward and tapped the pilot on the shoulder. "Don't we have to stop off in Hawaii for refuelling?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Thanks." Brand sat back. "Maybe the Tracys haven't got such a bad idea."

The cameraman grinned.

-F-A-B-

The monorail stopped at the lounge and Gordon hesitated before alighting; dreading the thought of having to go back to work for the rest of the day.

He perked up a little when he stepped out to be greeted by his congratulating family.

Scott clapped him on the back. "Well done, Gordon. They've just passed the 100 kilometre mark and they're still flying."

John grabbed Alan's chin and bent his little brother's head away so that everyone could see the lipstick on his neck. "It looks like you're not the only one who got caught up by our little scam."

Alan pushed him away. "It was all done in the interests of believability."

"Sure, Alan," Gordon scoffed. "We believe you."

Tin-Tin had pulled the straps of her top back onto her shoulders and tied her towel about her waist. "See. I told you the joker was still hiding in there. You just had to set him free again."

Kyrano, carrying a tray with a single glass on it, approached the group. He bowed low to Gordon and offered him the tray. "To take the taste away..." His eyes twinkled. "Massa Gordon."

"Thanks, Kato..." Gordon winked. "I mean, Kyrano... I hope I never see you behave like that again. I felt like shaking you and tell you to stand up for yourself." He downed the drink in one gulp and smacked his lips, enjoying the fresh sensation of peppermint. "That's better." He looked around the group. "Has Virgil already gone back to work?"

"Virgil?" Alan gazed about the lounge as if he expected his brother to pop up from behind one of the chairs. "I didn't see him go past."

"Me neither," John agreed.

"H-He didn't." Brains, dripping on the patio, pointed down towards the courtyard.

The rest of the family joined him. Down below, stretched out on the lounger, sunhat still covering his face, arm still flopped on the tiles, lay Virgil.

"He is alive, isn't he?" John leant over the balcony rail. "You guys weren't exactly quiet when you came back upstairs."

Gordon feeling more alert than he had five minutes earlier, grinned. "We might have to start looking for Plan B."

The family trooped down until they surrounded the lounger and its recumbent occupant. Scott removed the sunhat.

Virgil lay there, sound asleep, his face relaxed and at peace.

"He really _is_ zonked," Alan chuckled. "All the noise we've been making and he hasn't moved a muscle."

Tin-Tin reached out to her brother-in-law. "Virgil..."

Scott caught her arm. "No. Don't wake him."

She straightened. "Scott?"

"Virgil's giving us our second warning," Scott stated. "And our behaviour at breakfast this morning was the first. We need a break."

"Sure, we need one," John agreed. "But can we afford to take one?"

"Can we afford not to?" Scott asked. "We've worked for five weeks straight. We're all tired. We're all stressed. And if we keep going like this we're going to start making mistakes, which has the potential to slow down our progress, or worse. If we take a break today then, with any luck, we'll start again tomorrow rejuvenated, and able to survive the next five weeks."

"W-What do you mean, er, take a break?" Brains asked.

"I mean that until tomorrow morning we don't do anything related to International Rescue. We don't dwell on what we think we should be doing. If it's at all possible, and the volcano cooperates, we don't think about Doomsday. Do whatever you want to do. Sleep, read, call your friends, indulge in your favourite hobby; do whatever you need to recharge your batteries... Any comments?"

"Yeah." At the mention of some time out, Gordon had managed to reclaim some of the successful prank buzz that he'd lost down on the beach. "Are you saying that we can do anything we want?"

"So long as it's got nothing to do with International Rescue or Doomsday, yes."

"No repercussions?"

Recognising the gleam in his brother's eye, Scott gave him a sideways look. "Depends on what, and who, you have in mind."

Gordon withdrew a pair of scissors from his pocket. "Just a bit of barbering." He eyed up Virgil's blue goatee.

"He'll kill you," Alan stated.

"He might thank us." Gordon treated him to an innocent smile. "If he were awake that might be how he'd plan on spending his day. We're just enabling him to do the two things that he most wants to do. Catch up on his sleep, _and_ tidy up his appearance." He bent forward; scissors at the ready...

"Stop!"

Surprised, Gordon looked at his eldest sibling.

"Don't do it, Gordon."

Gordon looked back down at his sleeping brother. "Don't tell me you want him to stay like that!"

Scott had his hand held out. "Give the scissors to me."

Unwilling to miss a golden opportunity, Gordon hesitated.

"Hand 'em over, Brother..." Scott's outstretched hand didn't move. "I'll do it."

"You'll..." Gordon stared in shock. Then he grinned, reversing his grip on the scissors and laying them across his arm like a swordsman handing over his weapon. "It would be a pleasure and an honour, Sirrah," he announced in his worst English accent.

Scott accepted the scissors. With no hesitation he bent down, grabbed the blue point that stuck out from Virgil's chin, cut just above the margin with the natural brown colouring, and then straightened, holding the hair in his hand aloft.

"Eww!" Tin-Tin screwed up her nose.

There was no sign of a reaction from the goatee's former owner.

John grinned at Scott. "You enjoyed that, didn't you?"

Scott responded with a grin of his own. "I've got to admit that it did give me a lot of satisfaction." He looked at the blue strands in his fingers. "Now what do I do with it?"

"Here." Gordon had fished some sticky tape out of his pocket. "Stick it to this and we can give it back to him to glue on again later if he complains."

After moving a sunshade so that Virgil couldn't get burnt, everyone went their separate ways.

"Scott!"

Scott halfway up the steps, turned. "Gordon?"

"I, ah..." Gordon looked awkward. "I want to tell you that you were right."

Scott grinned as the pair of them continued walking up to the villa. "Aren't I always?"

"I mean you were right about Marina."

"Oh." Scott stopped walking and turned to his brother. "I'm sorry, Gordon. I wish I wasn't. Nothing would have made me more pleased than to have been proved wrong and for you two to be happy together."

"Well, you weren't wrong, and... I..." On his second attempt Gordon managed to hold Scott's gaze. "I'm sorry that I..."

Scott laid his hand on his brother's shoulder. "I know. I wish I'd supported you instead of telling you what to do."

"But you were trying to stop me from doing something stupid, and I wouldn't listen."

"Forget it, Gordon. It's not as though I had any more luck in my relationship with Farrah."

This was an opening too big to ignore. "What happened between you two?"

Scott started walking again. "It's a long story, and I plan on enjoying myself this afternoon, not going over past mistakes."

"I understand," Gordon sympathised. "Maybe after all this is over we should go and cry on each other's shoulder over a couple of drinks?"

Scott's smile returned. "That sounds like a good idea; although I think that Virgil might appreciate joining us."

"Kasey?"

"Kasey."

"Okay," Gordon agreed. "Let's make a date for sometime next year."

Scott grinned. "You're on... What are your plans for the rest of the day? Are you going to go swimming?"

"To be honest, I think I'm going to hit the sack. I'm so tired I actually fell asleep down on the beach."

"I know," Scott admitted. "I could hear you."

"What are you going to do?"

"The same. I almost dozed off under the helijet. But first I'm going to ring Father and warn him that we've just trashed the Tracy name."

Gordon's face lit up. "Can I join you?" he asked. "Just to say hello."

Scott's grin broadened. "We'd both be disappointed if you didn't." The pair of them entered the lounge. "Now tell me, Gordon... Just what were you imagining we'd done to them when you said we'd worn out the first lot of girls?"

Gordon put on his most angelic expression. "We took them for a hike up the hill to see the crater of an active volcano, of course. What did you think I meant?"

Scott chuckled. "Gordon, the way your mind works, I hesitated to think at all!"

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

It was a rested and more invigorated family that sat down to dinner that evening. All of them except for one...

The first course had barely been dished out when the sound of running feet heralded Virgil's entrance. He burst into the dining room, panting from his exertions and frantic with the realisation that precious time had passed. "I'm so sorry. Really, really sorry... Why didn't someone wake me...?"

"Virgil..." Scott began.

"Didn't you realise I was still outside?"

"Virgil..."

"How long have I been asleep for?" Virgil looked at his watch. "Oh, heck! It's been hours!" He offered his family a look that begged for forgiveness. "I'm really sorry," he repeated. "I'll go make a start now..."

"Virgil!"

Virgil turned, ashamed and unable to look at his brother as he examined the bandage on his hand. "Yes, Scott?"

"Calm down and sit down. None of us have done any work today."

Virgil stared at his brother. "What?"

John chuckled. "You're not the only one who's been slacking."

"We all had the day off," Alan confirmed.

"You did?" Bemused, Virgil ran his hand down his chin, down his beard, and off into thin air. Something didn't feel right and, even more bemused, he repeated the gesture again. It was only when he saw his family's smirks that he realised that something was missing. He fled the room to the sound of laughter.

He was back a short time later with what remained of his beard neatly trimmed. "I don't know whether to say thank you or have you guys up for assault."

"Gordon's reasoning was that you would have trimmed it yourself if you had been awake to do it," Tin-Tin told him.

"Oh, yeah? I might have guessed that Gordon would be behind this." Virgil helped himself to some potatoes.

Gordon held his hands up in surrender. "It wasn't me who cut it, and I have six witnesses to prove it."

Virgil looked surprised. "It wasn't?"

"Nope."

"Then who..." Virgil looked around the group latching onto the one gaze that was unable to hold his own. "Figures... I'm surprised you didn't cut my hair too, Scott."

"He couldn't," Alan smirked. "You were lying on it."

"That wasn't the reason," Scott corrected. "Cutting your hair without your permission would have been a step too far."

"So why haven't you guys done any work today?" Virgil asked, helping himself to more food. "Or are you just saying that to make me feel better?"

"Most people have weekends," John explained. "And Scott decided that we deserved a month-end... Well, a month-and-a-week-end. Most of us took a page out of your book and had a good sleep."

"And while we're on the subject..." Scott laid down his cutlery. "I want everyone to remember that the amnesty lasts until tomorrow. That doesn't mean that you can get up at midnight and work. We all want to get as much rest as we can, while we can. Understood?"

They all understood. Tomorrow the slog would begin again...

_To be continued..._


	15. Chapter 15 - Deliveries

**Chapter 15 - Deliveries**

"Penny!" Alan Tracy climbed into the pink aeroplane. "I was expecting to see the mail plane, not you." He grinned. "But you're a lot more welcome…"

Lady Penelope smiled. "It is good to see you again."

"And you. Hiya, Parker."

"'Ello, Mister Alan."

"Sorry to be pushy, Penny, but could you move your plane off the runway? You can put her in the hangar."

"It would be my pleasure."

"Great. Give me a minute and I'll open the doors for you."

Task completed, Alan was back a short time later. "What brings you to the workhouse…?" He reached into the aeroplane. "I'll take that, Parker."

Parker handed out the first of his mistress' many cases. "Ta, Mister Alan."

Lady Penelope spoke the truth. "I promised your father that I would give him a full report on you all. And it has been so long since I've seen you I decided that it was time to pay you a visit."

Alan's face had opened into a beaming smile when his father was mentioned. "How is he?"

"He is doing very well, and he will be even better after I report back. And how are you all, dear boy?"

"We're holding up…" Alan admitted. "Just…"

"Just?"

"We all had the day off yesterday to try to recharge our batteries," Alan explained. "Actually it's a pity you didn't arrive then, Penny. You could have added a bit of glamour to Gordon's scam."

"Gordon's scam?"

"We had a reporter and his team turn up from the World News. You've heard of Niko Brand?"

"I believe so."

"There's a rumour going around that Jeff Tracy's sons are building a rocket to the Moon base so that they can escape Doomsday. We had to pretend that we've spent the last month doing nothing more strenuous than lifting a finger to beckon our servants." Alan chuckled. "So if you read in the news that we're a bunch of lazy playboys then you know where the rumour started. Virgil was supposed to pretend that he was asleep, but he just crashed. We couldn't wake him, so we all took the hint and did the same. I got a heck of a surprise when Scott suggested it, but I was glad he did."

"I am sure you were."

"I think yesterday's break has rejuvenated us all. We should be able to work faster and smarter now." They could hear a drone in the distance growing louder. "There's the mail. Excuse me a minute. I'd better go get it." Wheeling a trolley before him, Alan headed back out into the sun leaving Lady Penelope and Parker to finish offloading.

The mail plane landed and bumped to a stop. "Gudday, Alan," the Australian pilot called.

"Hi, David."

"It's been so long since one of your family's met me I was beginning to think this place was deserted." David grinned. "Or else you were all avoiding me for some reason." He sniffed his armpit.

Alan chuckled. "Got anything interesting for us today?"

"Dunno. Lots of food as usual. Not too many letters; I suppose you get most of them via email."

"Yeah." Yesterday was the first day that Alan had found time to check his email inbox. It was full and he'd been ruthless in deleting those that he didn't want.

"I presume there are a few bills in that lot," David was saying. "Guess even way out here in the middle of nowhere you can't escape them."

"Nope." Alan started taking the boxes and bags from David and placing them on the trolley.

"Though you'd think that with the end of the world coming they wouldn't bother… Still I suppose we've all got to eat until then."

"I guess you're right, David. Got any news?"

"Nothing you'd be interested in… Our cricket team got thrashed by those Kiwis again," David griped. "But the Wallabies roasted the Springboks. That was a match and a half. Our hooker had a blinder…"

Alan let the Australian rave on about his sporting heroes. After being isolated for so long it felt good to hear a different voice, even if the voice was talking about things he had no interest in.

At last the trolley was full, the mail plane empty, and the pilot was back at the controls and heading home.

Alan was rearranging the trolley when he realised that he had company. "Sorry I deserted you, Penny."

"Don't worry about it, dear boy. I don't expect you to stop working on my account."

Certain that this was the last chance they'd have alone; Alan looked hopefully at her ladyship. "Do you have more news about Marina?"

"Nothing more than I was able to divulge in our last phone call."

"Oh…" Alan was disappointed. "I was hoping that maybe you'd got something really juicy on her. She had the nerve to try to worm her way back into Gordon's affections, just because she thought that he was her ticket to salvation."

"With the supposed rocket aimed for the Moon base?"

"That's the one. Still, it was thanks to her that we had some warning as to why Brand showed up before he got here. But I would like you to find something definite that Gordon can show a judge to prove that Marina's been playing around."

"I am working on it, Alan," Lady Penelope assured him. "But, to ensure that all evidence can stand up in court, we must tread carefully."

"I guess so." Alan smiled at her. "Thanks for all you've done so far. Don't forget to send me the final bill." Alan surprised Lady Penelope by planting a kiss on her cheek. "Call that a deposit…"

Tin-Tin had heard the mail plane arrive. Expecting more supplies she'd intended to meet David herself. That plan had been thwarted when she looked down and saw two people on the tarmac. Then she saw the kiss…

So did Parker who looked a little disapproving when they rejoined him in the hangar.

Alan laughed at the butler's expression. "I was just rewarding her ladyship for all the work you've done so far. Do you want your share, Parker?"

Parker responded with a prim, "No, thank you, Mister Alan."

Alan assisted Lady Penelope into the monorail and then pushed the trolley into the cargo hold. "You seem to be in high spirits," she commented.

"I suppose I am," he admitted. "Things are progressing; Gordon's hoping to launch Thunderbird Four on Friday; Thunderbirds One and Two are looking good for launching sometime in the next month. Thunderbird Three hasn't had a single fault since we launched her, and Thunderbird Five's proving to be equally as reliable and… Well…" He smiled a smile that spoke of some hidden joyous secret as he started the monorail. "Let's just say that I'm feeling positive about the future. Tin-Tin and I took some time out yesterday, just the two of us, and we made plans. For a short time we even managed to forget about Doomsday and Arnie. It was great after so long. It's almost been like we're a couple of strangers who happen to collapse into the same bed every night. I enjoyed the opportunity to get to know her again..." He suddenly appeared to realise what he was saying, and who he was saying it to, and, embarrassed, stopped talking.

Aware of his embarrassment Lady Penelope diverted the topic. "Are your brothers feeling positive too?"

"I think so. We've still got a lot of work ahead of us, what with adding on the detonator deployment devices, but once we've got the Thunderbirds flying, or in Four's case, submerging, that'll be a big psychological milestone passed." The car slowed down. "I thought you might like to say hi to Virg before we head up to the house. We won't see him until dinner."

Mindful of the amount of work that still had to be done, the visit was short. The next stop was a kind of holding room where Alan offloaded the mail. He was soon joined by Gordon, who greeted the visitors warmly, and Tin-Tin who offered Lady Penelope a rather formal hello.

"I've been waiting on the last couple of parts for Thunderbird Four," Gordon explained. "Plus Virgil's given me his order of what he expects me to take back to him."

"Are you expecting anything from Tempest Aquatics, Gordon?" Alan called.

"Yep! 'Scuse me, Penny."

"Of course, dear boy. We are not here to hold you up in your work... Hello, Kyrano."

Kyrano bowed. "Hello, Lady Penelope. Hello, Mr Parker. Please excuse me. I have ordered perishables which must be returned to refrigeration."

Lady Penelope and Parker stood back and allowed the Tracys to sort through their various mail items. As they watched, they saw Alan slip his arm about Tin-Tin's waist.

Lady Penelope smiled at his unselfconscious act. "It is obvious that he loves her," she whispered to her companion. "It must be awful to realise that they are going to spend four months apart."

But Tin-Tin appeared to stiffen at her husband's touch. And when he leant closer to brush his lips against her cheek, she leant away.

"'Ello. Looks like e's in 'er bad books," Parker commented. "Wonder why?"

Seeming to be confused by Tin-Tin's behaviour, Alan stared at her for a moment. Then he glared at his brother.

Oblivious to the frown he was receiving Gordon carried on sorting the mail. He put the last bit of wrapping in the appropriate recycling box. "I think that's everything."

"No." On the other side of the large table they were working around, Kyrano held a parcel, about as big as a videophone, and marked fragile. "This is addressed to you personally."

"Me? Who's it from?"

Kyrano turned the box in his hands. His face hardened, in what for such a gentle and forgiving man, was an expression of extreme dislike. "Your Mrs Tracy."

"Marina!" Gordon took a step back from the table with his hands raised. "I don't want it!"

"What is she doing sending you gifts?" Alan asked. "Is she trying to bribe you into letting her get on our mythical flight to the Moon?"

"I don't care what she's doing or why she's doing it," Gordon snarled. "I just don't want anything to do with it. I don't want to see it! I don't want to touch it! Get it out of my sight, Kyrano."

"Yes, Mister Gordon."

Leaving his trolley of supplies, Gordon stomped off towards the door that led to the villa. "Gordon!" Tin-Tin called. "Where are you going? What about your other mail?"

"I'll come back for that. I'm going to call my lawyer and get a restraining order slapped on her!"

Lady Penelope and Parker watched as Gordon stormed out of the room.

Alan picked up a few items of mail and returned to their guests. "Come on," he said. "Let's head on up to the house."

They disembarked through a wall panel in the lounge and Lady Penelope appraised the room. "I see the piano has not been uncovered."

"No," Alan admitted. "No one's had the time to play it. Virgil must be suffering withdrawal symptoms by now." He put his mail on a coffee table and headed for the door. "Let's go and find Scott."

But Lady Penelope didn't move and something in her manner told her companions that she was displeased. She pointed at her portrait. "What is that?!"

Alan looked at the painting. There on the tip of an elegant chin was a sky-blue goatee beard.

Once it had been parted from Virgil, Gordon had taped it to the chin of one of the oriental statues that graced the lounge. A short time later it disappeared from there, only to turn up covering one of the light switches. In the intervening 24 hours it had been moved from place to place as someone would find it and then move it to a new hiding spot; only to be found and shifted again. Once Scott had even found Virgil taping it to the chin of his own portrait. When he realised he'd been caught, Virgil had offered a guilty: "I wanted to see what I looked like."

It had become a game: the smallest piece of frivolity in an insanely intense world. But it was obvious that not everyone appreciated the family's sense of humour.

Alan whipped the goatee off the portrait and stuffed it into his pocket. "It was Virgil's," he explained.

"I take it he did not cut it off and leave it there?"

"I don't know who would have," Alan admitted. "It's just a bit of fun. You know; someone sticks it somewhere and then someone else finds it and puts it somewhere else. Anyone could have put it there."

"Well, 'Anyone' can keep it away from my portrait!"

"Ah, yes, Lady Penelope." Alan tried to act contrite, but he and Parker shared a grin behind her ladyship's back.

And once Lady Penelope had retired to her quarters, Scott, in a photo of him accepting his medal for valour, found himself with a long, blue mohawk.

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

Shortly after lunch the family had excused themselves and returned to their various tasks, leaving Lady Penelope and Parker to do the rounds to inspect the work already completed and to congratulate everyone on their progress. It therefore was much later in the day when the pair were finally alone.

Parker found himself in the medical wing of the complex, "H-I don't like this, m'Lady. This seems kinda personal like. They've always been good to me and H-I feel like H-I'm betrayin' 'em."

Lady Penelope pursed her lips. "I agree. However I do not believe that we have much choice. We need proof, no matter how tenuous, that our suspicions are correct."

"H-If we told someone wot we're doin', then we could get their permission," Parker suggested. He shrugged. "H-I know. We don't want to worry 'em, but H-I can't 'elp thinkin' that they'll worry h-about h-us if they find h-us breakin' and h-enterin'."

Lady Penelope bestowed him with a bright smile. "But with your talents they will never know, Parker."

Parker gave a quiet chuckle at her flattery. "So wot's the plan, m'Lady?"

"The plan, Parker, is to try to find further evidence of Marina's activities."

"An' you think we'll find that 'ere?"

"Maybe; maybe not. We can but try."

"H-If we do find somethin', h-and h-it's not degraded beyond h-all recognition, it'd never stand up in court," Parker pointed out with the air of one who knew a lot about the machinations of the legal system.

"True, but at least it will confirm our suspicions. Let me just check that the, er, coast is clear, and then you can start your work."

"Thank you, ma'am." Parker withdrew a small case, which he opened with the reverence of a philatelist opening his most treasured stamp album. "All clear?"

"All clear, Parker."

"Rightio." Parker set to work. "Wot do you suppose their security's like?"

"In here? Almost non-existent, apart from the locks, which would be for safety rather than security purposes. They would assume that they would have no need for alarm systems and cameras."

"Good. 'Cause I 'ope they never get wind of wot we're doin'." The lock snicked. "Bingo!" He pulled the door open. "This looks promisin'."

"Well done, Parker," Lady Penelope surveyed the room's fitments, contemplating row after row of multi-coloured cupboards and drawers. "The question is: where do we start looking?"

"H-It'd need refrigeration. That narrows h-it down a bit."

Lady Penelope indicated the various hued fixtures. "Do you know what these colour codes signify?"

Parker regarded the various doors. "Pretty repetitive, ain't they. An' they're all labelled in code."

"I am sure that those codes make perfect sense to every person in this household."

"H-If H-I were to make an h-intelligent guess," Parker mused. "H-I'd..." he stepped forward and laid his hand on an orange fridge, "pick this one."

Lady Penelope regarded the colour scheme again. "I do believe that you are right." She opened the fridge's door and read the labels on its contents. "Now... Which one do we require?"

"The h-oldest. H-If they needed h-it they'd want to use the freshest first an' h-only use the h-older ones in an h-emergency. Maybe it'd be one h-of the ones at the back?"

Lady Penelope reached into the fridge. "When were we here last?"

"Eighth July."

She pulled out a clear, liquid-filled bag and read the computer printout sticker. "This is dated the ninth of July, and it's not labelled synthetic like the others. I think that this is what we are looking for." She withdrew a hypodermic syringe from her pocket. "Now we don't want to risk contamination..." Choosing her injection point with care she withdrew a vial full of red liquid, before holding it up to the light. "This should do splendidly. Lock everything away, Parker."

"Very good, m'Lady." Taking care to make sure that everything was replaced exactly as they'd found it, Parker locked the fridge up again. He turned back to his mistress who had placed the vial in a refrigeration container of its own. "H-Is h-it time to get out h-of 'ere?"

Lady Penelope smiled. "It is time to get out of here..."

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

Lady Penelope and Parker returned to their world, leaving the Tracys and their friends trapped in a claustrophobic world of their own. Their day off faded into memory, becoming something akin to a magical dream; remembered in a hazy kind of way, but not really accepted as fact as one day melded into the next and none had any special meaning. Virgil's birthday came and went and no one noticed... Not even Virgil.

The date of Doomsday grew closer...

The volcano's 'quakes grew more prevalent...

They worked harder and harder...

Stress levels increased...

Tiredness was superseded by exhaustion...

It was nearly lunchtime. Scott Tracy, having finished working in his office and with seven eighths of his mind occupied with future tasks and the other eighth thinking about his next meal, stopped walking. A wailing could be heard. A wailing that was growing louder.

Alan and Gordon stepped up next to him.

"What's that?" Gordon asked.

Alan shushed him. "It's Tin-Tin!"

It was Tin-Tin; followed by an extremely flustered John. She flung herself into her husband's arms as her brother-in-law offered his apologies. He sounded like he'd been doing it for some time. "I said I'm sorry, Tin-Tin..."

Alan held his wife protectively. "Shh, Honey. It's okay." He looked over her shoulder at John. "What happened?"

John made a bemused gesture. "I was helping Tin-Tin in the lab and we were talking. We were wondering what Kyrano's got planned for lunch..."

Tin-Tin lifted her head long enough from Alan's shoulder to point at John and wail: "he said I was getting fat!" Sobbing, she buried her head again and Alan pulled her closer.

He glared at John. "You did what!?"

"I didn't... I wouldn't..."

Virgil and Brains had emerged from their respective burrows. "What's wrong?" Virgil asked.

Scott shrugged. "John?"

"I never said she was fat," John protested. "I was saying that my diet has been working and that I was sure that others could benefit from it. I never meant that Tin-Tin..."

"You think I'm fat!"

"Honest, Honey, I don't..."

"Geez, John," Alan snapped. "Couldn't you have chosen your words more carefully?"

"I didn't know that she was going to become a human waterfall!"

It was at that point that everyone decided that they all had to voice their opinion. They also decided that they had to do it loudly, in unison, and to the accompaniment of Tin-Tin's sobs and wails.

"He said I was fat!"

"When are you going to learn to think...?"

"I've never thought that!"

"...before you speak, John?!"

"Come on, Tin-Tin, he didn't mean it!"

"If anything, m-my tests sh-show w-w-we're all l-l-losing weight."

*sniff* "Am I fat?"

"How could you even say that Tin-Tin is overweight?!"

"You're not fat, Honey. You're more beautiful than ever."

"I didn't!"

"You're gorgeous... And not fat."

"It's the st-st-stress we're all und-d-er."

"You keep out of this!"

"I – never – said – that – Tin-Tin – was – fat!"

"What have I done?!"

"You must have said something!"

"Leave him alone...!"

"What is this? Pick on John Tracy day?"

"Why should I?"

"Calm down, everyone."

"All I meant was that obesity's a worldwide problem..."

"Quiet down... Please..."

"You don't care about me...!"

"I'm getting a headache..."

"I don't what!?"

"H-H-He's right. Ob-b-besity is a m-major health issue...!"

A loud whistle filled the hall, shutting everyone up as effectively as if Thunderbird Two had landed on them.

Scott removed his fingers from his mouth and took a deep breath to ward off the headache. "Thank you... Now... I want you all to turn around... walk away... and disappear to somewhere in the complex as far away from everyone else as you can."

"But Scott," Brains protested. "W-W-W-What about lunch?"

Scott, only just, managed to keep it together. "When everyone has cooled down enough to be civil to one another then you can come back for lunch. I'll tell Kyrano to expect us at different times."

Whether because they could see the merit in his order, or because they wanted to get away from these people who were driving them crazy, everyone dispersed as he'd directed...

...Everyone except Virgil. "Scott... Are you all right?"

Scott had closed his eyes and was pinching the bridge of his nose to try to ward off the headache. It looked like he wasn't going to have any luck soon. "Virgil... Just go away, would you?"

"Fine," Virgil snapped. "You just love being a martyr, don't you?"

"Wha...?" Scott stared at his brother's departing back. Deciding that he couldn't face the trip to the kitchen, he retreated back to his room. He called Kyrano on the in-house intercom and explained the situation. "...so you're going to have us straggling in for lunch. I'm sorry, Kyrano."

"I understand, Mister Scott." Kyrano's concerned face looked out of the video screen. "Forgive me asking; but are you all right?"

"I've got a bit of a headache," Scott admitted. "I think I'll skip lunch."

"That is not good. You need food in your stomach," Kyrano told him. "You must keep up your strength. I will bring you something to your room to eat when you are ready."

"I don't want to cause you any trouble, Kyrano."

"It is no trouble. I shall be along soon." Scott didn't even have the chance to say thank you before the screen went blank.

He only had time to down a couple of painkillers when Kyrano, a tray of simple fare in his hands, was at the door. "Please try to eat," Kyrano instructed. "And rest."

"I don't have time to rest."

"You must make time. You can-not work if you are ill. Please call me if you need me."

This time Scott managed to get in his thanks. "Where would we be without you?"

Kyrano inclined his head. "I will permit you to rest." The door closed between them.

Scott looked at the tray on his table, but didn't feel inclined to eat anything. He should be working, but his pounding head would have made it difficult, if not impossible. He lay down on his bed and tried to relax, but his mind was a confusion of disquieting thoughts. He wished he had someone he could talk to.

But maybe he did? He did a quick calculation. It would be late; but hopefully not too late.

He dialled a familiar number.

The man who answered the phone greeted him with a big smile. "'Lo, Sgo." Then the smile disappeared. _"Are you all right?"_

"I've got a headache the size of Thunderbird Two," Scott admitted. "How are you, Father?"

But Jeff Tracy wasn't going to be dissuaded that easily. _"You should be resting."_

"Kyrano told me that; and I did try... But my mind keeps on going around and around... I needed someone to talk to..."

"_What's wrong?"_ Scott had not called more than four times since they'd banded together again, and Jeff knew that for him to make a call now had to mean that something was troubling his eldest.

Scott hesitated. He didn't really want to lay this on his father. "We're falling apart."

"_What do you mean: falling apart?"_

"We can't handle the stress." Scott sighed. "I need your advice. I don't know what to do anymore."

"_Has something happened?"_

"John made an innocent comment to Tin-Tin... something about how good his diet's been and how it would help a lot of obese people, and Tin-Tin, for some unfathomable reason, thought he meant her. She went to pieces and ran to Alan for help, and he started on John, and everyone else joined in. It seems that we only have to look at one another and we're biting each other's heads off. We're about halfway to when Thunderbird Three launches and I don't know that we're going to make it to the end without imploding." Scott put his hand to his forehead. "What can I do? We can't afford to take more time off. I should be working now!"

Jeff examined his eldest son. Scott hadn't gone to Virgil's extremes and had shaved most days, but his hair was long overdue for a trim, exaggerating the patches of grey at his temples. That, coupled with the other visible signs of the strains he was under, made Scott Tracy look at least ten years older than he was. _"I know you think you don't have time to, Scott, but you're going to have to make the time to have a break."_

"We can't... We don't have the time..." Scott groaned and ran his hands through his hair, pushing the grey out of the way. It flopped back over his forehead, accentuating the lack of pigmentation. "I think we're simply too old to succeed this time."

"_Don't talk like that!"_

"But what if we fail? What if we haven't got a chance of saving the world? What if we're deluding ourselves and wasting our time? Wouldn't it be better if we just forgot about the Thunderbirds and relaxed, and made the most of our last months together? Wouldn't that be better than tearing the family to pieces? We've got all this money. Why shouldn't we get some enjoyment out of it…?"

"_Now stop that!"_ Jeff ordered. _"I would never have tolerated that attitude eight years ago, and I won't tolerate it now! You're only thinking like that because you are tired. The problem is you've never had to work at such intensity for such a long period before."_

"Maybe. But we've got over a month before we launch Thunderbird Three to the asteroid. And after that we'll still be working on the rest of the Thunderbirds for another couple of weeks before we can tackle Doomsday. How can we sustain the pressure?"

"_You asked me for my advice, Son, and I'm giving it. Schedule in some rest time. It doesn't have to be a full day, but make sure that everyone gets some time out to get away from work. Order everyone to get some sun before you all get a vitamin D deficiency..."_ Jeff fixed Scott with a critical stare. _"Including you."_

Scott, his head down, nodded.

"_Do you hear me, Scott?"_

"Yes, Sir..." Looking as if it took a real effort, Scott raised his eyes to Jeff's. "I shouldn't be laying this on you."

"_I'm your father. I also have a small interest in the fate of International Rescue. I don't want our most important mission to be our first major failure."_

"At least we wouldn't disappoint anyone." Scott twisted his mouth in an approximation of a wry smile. "It's not as though the world knows we're trying."

"_You'd be disappointed. Your brothers would be disappointed. So would Brains, Tin-Tin, Kyrano, Penny and Parker. __**I**__ would be disappointed. You can't give up."_

"I just don't know that we can carry on. Not without blowing the family to smithereens. After I'd sent everyone their different ways to cool off, Virgil made some comment about me being a martyr. I have no idea what he's talking about!"

Jeff huffed to himself. "_What happened to you boys? Once upon a time I would have said that the idea of you and Virgil growing further apart seemed as likely as the world coming to an end. I had hoped __that__ trying to save the planet might bring you together again."_

Scott's head had drooped again. He managed to shake it. "We hardly ever see each other."

A rare moment of anger flared up in Jeff Tracy. _"Curse this stroke! If I hadn't had it then maybe you and Virgil would still be friends; maybe John would have a life outside of work; and maybe Gordon would never have met and married that woman..."_

Scott looked alarmed at the outburst. "Calm down, Father!"

"_How can I calm down when the root of most of our problems is my fault?!"_

"That stroke was not your fault. It was genetics! Besides, chances are we would have reached a point where we all needed a life away from International Rescue anyway. Your illness just got us thinking along those lines earlier than we might have. You can't blame yourself for what was ultimately our decision."

Jeff growled. _"The only good thing to come out of that decision is that I don't think Alan would have proposed to Tin-Tin if he were still in the organisation. But I had hoped that they would have given me grandchildren to spoil by now. I'm not getting any younger."_

"On the other hand," Scott concluded, "maybe it's a good thing they don't have kids. They'd be worrying about them instead of concentrating on their work. We don't need the added complication of children."

Jeff was silent for a moment. Then he spoke. _"Scott, for a man trained to be observant, you've got __blinders__ on."_

Confused, Scott stared at him. "I'm sorry, Father; I didn't understand what you said." He ran his hand through his hair again. "I am tired," he admitted.

"_Go and get some sleep. Once you're rid of the headache, you'll feel stronger and more able to cope. Then you can think about my suggestion. If you want to discuss it further you can call me back."_

"It's getting too late to call you now."

"_Don't worry about that. I want to do more for International Rescue and my sons than just keep the piggybank full."_

Scott managed a tired smile. "You're doing plenty. Just knowing that you're on our side means a lot."

"_Are you still launching Thunderbird Four tomorrow?"_

"That's the plan."

"_Gordon will need your full support and concentration and you'll need to be on top of your game. He's got enough to worry about, Scott. Make sure you're one hundred percent okay for his sake. Go and get some rest now."_

Scott nodded. "Yes, Sir."

"_Good boy. And let me know how the test goes. I won't be able to work for worrying about it."_

"If I don't call you, Kyrano will."

"_That man is a godsend."_ Jeff smiled at his eldest son. _"I'd better let you go and get some rest."_

"And I think I'll take your advice. Thanks, Father. Thanks for listening."

"_Any time. Remember I'm only a phone call away."_

"Yes, Sir. Goodbye." Scott switched off the phone. He decided that he could stomach a couple of slices of bread before he fell into bed.

He slept for the next two hours.

And then went back to work...

_To be continued..._


	16. Chapter 16 - One Giant Leap

**Chapter 16: One Giant Leap**

Scott Tracy walked into the kitchen, grabbed the bottle and took a swig. Then, making a disgusted sound, he screwed up his face. "Nnyurgh! How can you drink that stuff?"

"Serves you and your sweet tooth right," John snatched the bottle back. "Go get your own drink and leave mine alone." He poured what was left of the dark liquid into a glass.

"But that's disgusting!" Scott grabbed his own glass and poured himself an orange juice in an attempt to remove the biting taste.

"Maybe for you. I like things a bit tart…" John sipped his drink and shuddered. "Though I will admit that this one's got a real kick." He leant against the bench and regarded his brother. "How are you? I hear you crashed for a couple of hours yesterday."

"Yeah," Scott admitted. "I had a splitting headache."

"Caused by our argument?"

"I think that was a catalyst."

"I'm sorry, Scott. I don't know what I said to her to make her take offence. I was concentrating on what I was doing and I wasn't even looking at her when I said it."

"Don't worry about it," Scott instructed. "It's all blown over now."

"I hope so. What did you do? Catch up on some sleep?"

"Eventually. After we all went our separate ways I rang Father to try and get some perspective on the situation, and he ordered me to get some rest. Turns out that was what I needed."

John's face had lit up at the mention of their father. "How is he?"

"Good. Although he's frustrated that he's doing nothing more than… What were his words…? Keeping the piggybank full."

"Well, he's doing a good job," John conceded. "I checked our finances last night and everything's running sweet. We lost a couple of new contracts because I 'put my personal life before the company', but most have stuck with us because Dad's taken over. "

"That's good to know."

"Yeah…" John straightened. "But what's not so good is that I've got the computer set up to seek out anything relating to us in the news; either as individuals, a family, or International Rescue."

"And…?"

"And there's been nothing printed about how we're lazing the rest of our lives away. Only a couple of gossip stories saying how we're building that rocket."

Scott frowned. "Maybe they haven't published that Brand guy's piece yet?"

John shook his head. "I did a search on him too. Apparently he's living it up on Hawaii. He's been kicked off the World News and I wouldn't mind betting that he never produced his story on the decadent lifestyle of Jeff Tracy's sons."

"It wouldn't have been very interesting anyway, not without pictures…" Scott bit his lip and thought. "This means we could have further intruders."

"I'm sorry to lay this on you; but I thought you needed to know."

"Don't worry about it, John. Forewarned is forearmed, as someone once said."

"It's a 16th century saying. It's not attributed to anyone."

"I knew you'd know." Scott chuckled. He drank some of his orange juice. "What a difference a day makes. Yesterday I was all but ready to throw in the towel and tell everyone that, since we didn't have a chance of finishing in time, we may as well enjoy the next two and a half months stress free…"

"Do you honestly think that we'd agree to that?" John interrupted. "We would have locked you in the storeroom until you came to your senses."

"I hope it would be the one with the chocolate bars and not that stuff." Scott indicated John's glass.

"You don't have my sophisticated palate," he was told. "Forget about yesterday. We have all had days where we've felt like walking away."

"I know. I've had to deal with the fallout from a few of them."

"You're not feeling like that today, are you?"

"Nope. Today, having had that rest, and knowing that we're about to launch Thunderbird Four, I'm feeling a lot more positive. In fact I'm starting to believe that we have a real chance of pulling off a miracle."

"Just another to add to the list." John grinned. "I'm starting to think that everything's going to be fine too. Today we're launching Thunderbird Four. And then on Tuesday we'll get to see Thunderbird Two in action."

"And on Friday I'm hoping to give Thunderbird One her first test flight."

"Thunderbird One?" John beamed at the announcement. "Really!?"

"Really."

"Yes!" John punched the air. "We've finally got something to show for all our hard work!"

Scott laughed at his brother's ecstatic reaction. "It feels good, doesn't it?"

"Good?! It feels great!"

"Enjoy the feeling, but remember that we don't want to become too excited just because we've reached one milestone…"

"Five," John interrupted. "By this time next week we'll have passed three milestones. The re-launches of Thunderbirds Five, Four, Three, Two, One..."

"Thunderbirds are go!" they chorused

Scott laughed again. "Okay, you win. Five. But then the struggle starts again. Father's suggested that I come up with a schedule that allocates each of us a break. Two hours worked for me, so we'll start with that."

If he'd been expecting any protests, he would have been disappointed. "That's a great idea!" John enthused. "Can I be first?"

Scott shrugged. "I don't see why not."

"When? Today?"

"Sure. How about the two hours after lunch?"

John beamed at the suggestion. "I'll drink to that," and the pair of them clinked glasses.

After his final sip of orange juice, Scott put the glass into the sink. "If you're going to have your break this afternoon, I guess we'd better make a start on preparations for today's test run."

John downed the rest of his drink and shuddered. "That's good stuff. Lead on, oh High Commander." Whistling, he followed Scott out of the room.

-F-A-B-

Gordon, wearing his wetsuit, stood in Thunderbird Two's hangar, frowning at a grey-metal, shapeless object.

Thunderbird Four.

To give the maximum strength to her hull, her entire surface, including the plexiglass viewport, had been covered in hexorhombi and cahelium. With no way to see outside, her lighting trough had become redundant and had been removed. Her bright yellow coat of paint was considered important, but not vital to her operation and was missing, as was the distinctive number four on her flanks and stabilising fin. There was nothing visible to say how special Thunderbird Four was, or what an important role she was going to play in saving the world.

He turned when he heard footsteps. "Are you ready?" Tin-Tin asked.

"I'm ready," Gordon admitted. "I'm not sure about Four though."

"Why? What is wrong?"

Gordon indicated the submarine. "She's bigger. She's bulkier. She's not as streamlined as she was. She's not as pretty as she was."

"Don't think about the negatives," Tin-Tin suggested. "Concentrate on the positives."

"Which are?"

"She's stronger than she was. Thunderbird Four is wearing her battle armour to protect you."

"Battle armour!?"

"What else would you call it? She will be able to withstand the pressures of the Mariana Trench... She won't be travelling huge distances; just diving and surfacing. And…" Tin-Tin thought for a moment. "Isn't it said that beauty is only skin deep? Once you are submerged you won't be able to see what she looks like. You'll be inside the love of your life again."

Gordon's frown cracked a millimetre. "Ah, Tin-Tin… Would you care to rephrase that?"

"Rephrase what?" Tin-Tin frowned to herself as she ran her words through her mind. Then her hand flew to her mouth. "I didn't think of that," she giggled. "You have a dirty mind, Gordon Tracy."

"Hey, I'm not the one who said it."

Alan, also clad in his wetsuit, approached the pair. "What are you doing here?" he asked Tin-Tin.

"I just wanted to wish Gordon good luck," his wife replied.

"Don't you believe it," Gordon chuckled. "She's talking dirty."

"Talking dirty!" Tin-Tin swiped his arm with a playful hit. "You're the one who was reading hidden meanings into perfectly innocent statements."

Gordon laughed. "Why are you here, Alan?"

"I was checking up on you to see if you needed a hand with anything."

"No," Gordon admitted. "Thunderbird Four and I are as ready as we'll ever be."

"Okay. Tin-Tin and I will go and tell Scott. Once everyone's in position you can launch her." Alan took Tin-Tin by the arm and steered her away.

"Good luck, Gordon," Tin-Tin called over her shoulder.

"Thanks…"

-F-A-B-

"Is the floating crane operational, Virgil?"

His brother's face filled the computer screen. "She's ready to go. Mobile Control's set up and waiting for you."

"Good." Scott smiled from his seat at his father's desk. "I'll be down shortly." Still smiling he turned back to John. "Where's Alan?"

"I don't know," John admitted. "While you try to find him, I'd better go and get into my wetsuit."

"Good idea. If you see him, tell him to hurry up, would you?"

Alan, still leading Tin-Tin by the arm, entered the room.

"Scott wants you to hurry up, Alan," John told him.

"Huh?" Alan stared at his brother seated behind the desk. "But..."

Scott chuckled. "Thanks for doing such a great job, John. Now you can get into your wetsuit."

"Rightio," John responded. "I'll be with you in five minutes, Al." Whistling a happy tune, he exited the room.

"Al?" Alan stared after his brother. "Since when has he started calling me Al? He's finally flipped."

"Don't say things like that, Alan," Tin-Tin reprimanded.

"But he's never called me Al. No one does."

"He's in a good mood because we're going to be launching Thunderbird Four," Tin-Tin guessed.

"He's been in good moods before," Alan grumbled, "but he's never called me Al."

"Don't worry about it," Scott told him. "Like Tin-Tin said, he's in a good mood. Once this launch is over he'll revert back to calling you plain old simple Alan."

Alan stared at his big brother, wondering if he was teasing him or stating a fact. "Flipped," he muttered under his breath.

Scott stood. "I'm heading down to Mobile Control. Let me know when you're ready to launch."

"We're ready now," John told him, as, now clad in his wetsuit, he re-entered the lounge. "Look!" He gave a spin. "It fits! I feel great."

"You look great," Scott confirmed. "Between the four of us, Gordon's got nothing to worry about if he runs into problems."

"Which he won't," John told him.

"Which he won't," Scott agreed.

"I wish I could help," Tin-Tin admitted, "but I've got too much to do. But I am going to watch Thunderbird Four's launch from Landing Control. I can't miss that!"

Scott grinned. "Gordon will appreciate your support. Let me know when you're in position… Al."

Alan growled to himself.

Everyone departed to their appointed destinations; Tin-Tin to landing control; Scott to join Virgil at the floating crane; and John and Alan to where the family motorboat was moored at the jetty. John had started whistling his tune again and Alan was finding the piercing sound aggravating. Finally he snapped. "Will you shut up!"

"I'm in a good mood."

"So everyone keeps telling me. It doesn't mean that you have to deafen everyone with it."

"Come on, Alan," John cajoled. "Cheer up! The sun's shining. The birds are singing. We're about to launch Thunderbird Four! Doesn't that make you feel happy?"

"I'd be happier if you weren't screeching in my ear."

Even Alan's grumbles weren't dampening John's good humour. "If it'll make you happy, Alan, I'll stop whistling," he offered.

...And started humming.

Alan decided that it was easier to suffer in silence. He clambered onto the boat and then held it fast as John climbed aboard. Then they cast off, motoring away from the shore until they were 200 metres out from the end of the runway.

"Looks like they're ready." John indicated the barge-like vessel with a crane mounted amidships, which was moored close to the slipway. Should Thunderbird Four sink in the shallows they'd be able to winch her out in quick time. If something went awry in deeper waters, then the two man diving bell at the stern of the barge would pick up either John or Alan before dropping down to rescue Gordon.

John raised his watch to his face. "We're ready and waiting, Scott."

"Good. I'll let Gordon know. Mobile Control, out." Scott smiled over at Virgil who was at the controls of the crane. "It felt good to be able to say that again."

"It's almost starting to feel like we're International Rescue again, isn't it?" Virgil noted. "Except I won't really feel like that until after we've got Thunderbird Two up in the air."

"And Thunderbird One… Are you ready?"

Virgil patted the mechanics of the crane. "Yep. This ol' girl's ready to go."

"Good." Scott checked his scanners. "Mobile Control to Thunderbird Four."

They heard Gordon's voice through Mobile Control's speakers. "Thunderbird Four."

"You are cleared for launch."

"Received. Launching Thunderbird Four."

"Mobile Control to Landing Control."

"L-Landing Control," Brains acknowledged.

"Open hangar door."

"Opening… You're good to g-go, G-Gordon."

-F-A-B-

Inside Landing Control Brains re-checked the scanners that protected the island. There was no sign of any intruders venturing into either International Rescue's airspace or seaspace. He smiled at Tin-Tin. "I-It looks like we're, er, ready." He pressed a button.

Tin-Tin clapped her hands together. "This is so exciting!"

Down below them, near the bottom of the cliff-face a hidden door rose up high enough for Thunderbird Four to pass through. Sunlight streamed into a hangar that hadn't seen the sun for over seven years…

-F-A-B-

As they waited for the submarine to appear, Scott stretched, enjoying the warmth on his back. "Mmn… That sun feels great."

Exposure to daylight and the feeling that they were making progress coupled with Scott's infectious good humour had raised Virgil's spirits. "Sun?" he joked. "What's that?"

Scott laughed. "It's that big round ball in the sky."

"Is that what it's called? It's been so long since I've seen it I've forgotten what it looks like."

"Make the most of it while you can," Scott advised. "Hold on… Battle stations. Here he comes…"

-F-A-B-

Inside Thunderbird Four, Gordon reflected that he was as good as blind. He could see nothing through the hexorhombi and cahelium sheath that covered all his viewports. If it weren't for the submarine's scanners he would have no idea what was around him, even though he knew full well that he was still inside Thunderbird Two's hangar. He heard Scott's voice from the radio.

"Mobile Control to Thunderbird Four."

Gordon responded. "Thunderbird Four."

"You are cleared for launch."

"Received. Launching Thunderbird Four." Gordon took another look at Thunderbird Four's control panel to convince himself that all was well with his craft, and then started the engines.

He heard Scott speak again. "Mobile Control to Landing Control."

"L-Landing Control."

"Open hangar door."

"Opening… You're good to g-go, G-Gordon."

Gordon didn't see the light that fell onto his craft. His scanners told him that an opening had appeared before him, but he could neither see nor feel the sun. He drove forwards.

He couldn't see the moment when he passed out of the hangar's gloom into the daylight. He couldn't see the palm trees that waved gently in the breeze as he motored along the runway. He couldn't see the sunlight sparkling on the waves. A change in the visual display of the scanner's readings told him when he approached the point where the runway fell away into the water. He felt Thunderbird Four's orientation change as the sub's nose pointed downwards and she slipped into the Pacific.

-F-A-B-

His exuberance set aside for a moment's intense concentration as he watched his brother launch himself onto the surface waves, John glanced at Alan. "So far so good."

"Yeah. He hasn't sunk."

Scott was back on the radio. "How does she feel, Gordon?"

Instinct kicking back into action, Gordon checked all the readouts before responding. "She feels fine, Scott. No issues with handling so far."

"That's good. Dive when you're ready."

Gordon checked the sonar readings to ensure that he was clear of the volcanic outflow that surrounded the island. "Diving." He dipped Thunderbird Four's nose beneath the waves and the submarine disappeared from sight.

Up in Landing Control, Tin-Tin sighed. "I had better get back to work," she stated. "Are you coming, Brains?"

He nodded. "They d-don't need us to stay here, and if they do, er, strike trouble, there is little that we c-could to do to help."

They heard Scott ask, "How is she performing?" as they left Landing Control.

"She's handling well," Gordon admitted. "I can feel a slight drag, but that's to be expected. The added weight isn't causing any problems."

"That's good. Do you want to take her deeper?"

"Diving to 100 fathoms."

Up to this point, Gordon had been feeling rather unemotional about the whole experience. Sure, he was back behind the controls of Thunderbird Four, but that meant nothing when all he was doing was driving along dry land or skimming across the water's surface. But as the gauges told him that they had descended past the point where sunlight could reach, he began to tune into his submarine. He couldn't see anything outside the viewports, but that was normal when diving to these depths. With a craft this sophisticated he didn't _need_ to see anything. All he needed were his ears, his controls, and that sonar beam going around and around…

With a whole ocean out there to explore, Gordon came to the delightful realisation that both he and his Thunderbird were at long last back in their natural element. Whether his 'natural element' was in the sea or inside Thunderbird Four, he wasn't sure; but all that he knew was that his heart was feeling lighter; his mind felt more relaxed and at peace; and that all of a sudden his whole outlook on life seemed brighter. He didn't care about Marina: she couldn't touch him down here beneath the waves. He wasn't worried about his mental problems: who could he hurt down here? And as for Doomsday: he now knew that the team made up of Thunderbird Four and Gordon Tracy had a good chance for success.

The newly discovered knowledge buoyed him and he felt a smile begin to spread across his face. He started Thunderbird Four on a few manoeuvres, reminding himself in the process how no other submersible craft he'd ever controlled, either before or since his International Rescue days, had been able to match her for speed, responsiveness, and manoeuvrability. He'd never admit it to anyone, especially not Tin-Tin, but he was falling in love with Thunderbird Four all over again.

The idea made him laugh.

"Is everything all right, Gordon?"

What was Scott worrying for? "Everything's great! She's behaving just the way she should. I'm going deeper."

"Take it easy," Scott warned. "You're reaching the crane's limits."

"Relax, Scotty," Gordon told him. "This girl's built to take on the Challenger Deep. Remember?"

"And this is only a test run," Scott rejoined. "Remember…? Don't push your luck."

"Luck's got nothing to do with it. This is all down to skill and a good build." Gordon checked his sonar, noticing the blip above him that had been tracing his course like a gull following a school of fish. "Race ya, Alan."

Alan laughed. "With the extra weight you're carrying? You haven't got a chance against the speed of this baby."

"Oh, yeah? Well, _this_ baby's the fastest thing in the ocean, even with the greater drag coefficient."

"I can see better than you."

"Are you kidding? I've got 360 surround-sound vision, and can avoid obstacles in all directions. You can only see above you and horizontally. You could be on the rocks before you knew it."

"Well, you'd better keep watch above and in front of _you_, because that's where you'll be chasing me. What's the course?"

"Once around the island," Gordon suggested. "First one back to the runway's the winner."

Alan gunned the speedboat's motor. "You're on. Hang on tight, John."

John was grinning like a maniac at the prospect. "Don't worry about me. Just make sure you beat him."

"Take it easy, Fellas," Scott advised. "We haven't got the time for games."

"Games?" Gordon responded. "This is serious research. Right, Alan?"

"Right."

"We're testing Thunderbird Four's strength and manoeuvrability, before I take her too deep," Gordon elucidated. "Any complaints with that, Scott?"

Scott, sitting at Mobile Control, looked at Virgil who shrugged before saying; "It can't hurt, can it? It'll give him a chance to get the feel of Thunderbird Four again."

"I suppose you're right," Scott agreed. He turned back to the microphone. "Okay. I'll give the countdown. Are all competitors on the starting line?"

"Affirmative," Gordon replied.

"Waiting, Scott," Alan confirmed.

"Okay… On my signal…" Scott gave the countdown. "Go!"

They were off: Alan and John in a spray of sea water; Gordon leaving a trail of turbulence in his wake.

The roar of the boat disappeared into the distance. "They're having fun." Sounding wistful, Virgil sighed.

"What's the matter?" Scott chuckled. "Are you upset that Gordon hasn't sunk and you're not going to get the chance to play with your toy?"

"No… Just trying to remember when was the last time we had the chance to do something simply because we wanted to; not because we had to."

"You told me you were enjoying yourself the other day."

"I don't think I said _enjoying _myself," Virgil corrected. "I'm too tired to say that I'm getting any enjoyment out of what I'm doing. But I am getting more satisfaction out of my work than I ever did painting."

"You enjoyed that sleep you had last week."

"_I_ didn't have any say in the matter. It was the heat of the sun that made me doze off and no one bothered to wake me up."

"That's because you needed the rest..." Scott checked Mobile Control's sonar. "Here comes Gordon…" The brothers watched as the blip on the screen overtook the barge, which started a gentle rocking as the submarine sped past below. "There goes Gordon…"

As fast as she was, no one had seriously expected the motorboat to be able to outrun Thunderbird Four; and Gordon took great delight in not only beating Alan and John around the course; but overtaking, or more correctly undertaking them just past the halfway point on his second, unplanned, lap. "Eat my silt, suckers!"

John grabbed the radio, leaving Alan free to coax the maximum speed out of their vessel. "Tell the truth, Gordon! You've doubled back to make us think you're showing off."

They heard a wild maniacal laugh over the radio.

Alan grinned. "I haven't seen him this happy in a long time."

John's grin matched his brother's. "And long may it last."

Gordon finished his second lap and ascended quickly beside the barge, necessitating Virgil and Scott to grab at the nearest piece of solid equipment to brace themselves against the resultant swell. He opened the top airlock and pulled himself out so he was sitting on Thunderbird Four's roof with his legs dangling into the cabin. He looked down on his brothers. "Hiya, Fellas. How are ya?"

"Seasick," Scott acknowledged, and Gordon laughed. "Do you want to do more tests?"

"Nope, that'll do for now. I've got a few tweaks I want to do before Tuesday." Gordon's eyes twinkled. "Gotta make sure she's one hundred percent in case you two have to ditch your Thunderbirds."

Virgil snorted. "That'll be the day."

For a brief moment Gordon became serious. "When you're ready to test the pod release mechanism, you can drop me off in deeper water so I can conduct further trials."

"Okay."

"You're confident enough to do that?" Scott checked.

"Yeah, she should be fine."

A roar behind them announced the arrival of the speedboat. It zoomed past, looped back and skidded to a stop broadside of Thunderbird Four; sending up a spray of salt water that came nowhere near the aquanaut on top. "Show off!" Alan yelled up to Gordon.

Gordon gave a nonchalant shrug. "It was a test."

Chuckling, Alan motored around the bow of Thunderbird Four so that the five brothers were all within shouting distance.

"Are we doing anything else this morning?" John asked.

Scott checked his watch. "No. We may as well head up to the house for lunch. I've got a couple of things I want to discuss while we're eating, so I'd appreciate it if we were all there."

Everyone looked at Virgil. "Okay, okay!" He held his hands up in surrender. "If you really can't get by without me, I'll join you."

"See you up there." Gordon dropped back into Thunderbird Four and lined her up with the runway's ramp.

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

Everyone was halfway through their midday meal when Scott manoeuvred the conversation away from the excited chatter about the morning's successful trial. "There are two things I want you to think about. The first is that Father's suggested that I schedule everyone to have regular breaks."

"Regular breaks?" Virgil frowned. "We already have meal breaks."

"And some of us have more than others," Gordon reminded him.

"We need more than meal breaks," Scott reminded them. "We need time well away from work. Time to switch off and relax..."

"We've had a day last week," Virgil protested. "We can't afford..."

Scott held up his hand for silence. "I'm not talking a full day. We'll start with each of us taking two hours off once a week. We'll evaluate that as we get closer to the deadline to see if we can afford to make it longer or more frequent."

"Or if we have to make it less frequent?" Virgil checked.

"I hope that won't be necessary," Scott acknowledged. "John's got the first break straight after lunch..."

"If someone else would rather take it, I don't mind," John interrupted. "I've got things I can carry on with."

"If you want to swap, let me know," Scott agreed. "And I'd like everyone to tell me what time suits you to have a rest and I'll draw up a schedule accordingly... And whatever time you agree on, you are expected to use it." He shot Virgil a warning glare.

Virgil didn't respond.

Scott turned to the married couple. "I'll schedule you two to have your break at the same time."

Tin-Tin's face brightened. "Thank you, Scott."

Scott poured himself another coffee. "The second thing I want to discuss," he began, "is that John's discovered that Niko Brand hasn't filed his report on us."

"You mean I put on that drunken idiot act and he hasn't written the story yet?!" Gordon clarified.

"From what I've discovered he's not planning ever to write it," John informed him. "He's been sacked from the World News and is partying the rest of his life away."

"I wonder where he got that idea from?" Alan snickered.

Gordon chuckled along with his brother. "He's going to feel like an idiot when International Rescue saves the world and he suddenly discovers he's got years left to live and nothing to live on."

"The problem is," Scott warned them, "that the world still thinks that we're building a survival spaceship."

"A-And we could still have to d-deal with, er, unwanted intruders," Brains confirmed.

Scott nodded. "We need to give this problem serious consideration. What I was thinking was if one of us was seen away from here, acting out his normal life, then the rumours should at least die down."

His idea caused consternation and a lot of simultaneous chatter.

"We can't do that!"

"There's no one we can we spare!"

"You're all n-needed here!"

"We've got too much to do!"

"You're suggesting that we risk everything because of a rumour!"

"Whoa! Shush..." Scott held up his hands and slowly everyone quietened down. "I know it's not ideal. It's just a suggestion at this point."

"But which of us would the media take notice of as an individual?" Gordon asked. "To the outside world our collective identity is as Jeff Tracy's sons. None of us rate as anything newsworthy as individuals. My days as an Olympic swimmer are long gone…"

"Yeah," Virgil agreed. "Nobody knows that I'm Gustav; and he didn't rate much on the national scene anyway."

John nodded. "Everyone knows that Dad's taken over the reins at Tracy Industries, so I'm of no interest."

"And, w-with all due respect, S-Scott," Brains took off his glasses and polished them so that he wasn't looking at the Tracy in question. "You d-don't have a p-public p-persona."

"I know..." Scott turned to his youngest brother. "Alan! When's the next race?"

"The next race?" Alan squeaked.

"For your trophy."

"Erm… September second."

"When's Mike going to able to drive again?"

"Ah... The doctor thinks it'll be the tenth at the earliest."

"How long would you need to make a credible attempt at winning?"

"Winning...?" Alan cast an uneasy glance towards Tin-Tin. "But you need me here!"

"Yes we do. But we also can't afford to have everyone's routine upset again by unwanted visitors." Scott grabbed his tablet PC and checked his notes. "Thunderbird Five needs more supplies, but John and someone else can handle that. Thunderbird Three doesn't need a lot more done to it other than having supplies loaded, and one final overall check..."

"The water filtration system needs tweaking," Alan reminded him.

"One of us can do that."

"Scott," Alan protested, "not that I want to cast aspersions on anyone, but I'd like to go over everything myself one more time before I launch. For my own peace of mind."

"I can understand that, and I wouldn't suggest this if you wouldn't have that opportunity. But you'll still have..." Scott made a quick calculation, "just over three weeks to finalise everything before you lift off... So how long would you need to make it seem like you were serious about trying to win the race?"

"Well..." Clearly unhappy at the suggestion, Alan thought. "It's at Coche Del Olor, and I've raced there tons of times, so it's not like I've got to get used to the circuit..." He screwed up his face. "Maybe a week to get back into the swing of things... But you need me here!"

"We're going to have to get by without you."

"But…"

"If you go, Alan, there'll be the added bonus that one of the two recognised astronauts of the family are obviously not involved in making a spaceship, which'll help to divert attention away from us even further."

"What about Tin-Tin?" Alan shot an almost panicked glance at his wife.

"I'm sorry, Alan, but we can't spare both of you. Do you mind, Tin-Tin?"

"You know International Rescue has my full commitment," Tin-Tin responded and received another concerned glance from her husband. "I will stay here."

"Thanks, Honey."

"B-But," Alan stammered, "people will get just as suspicious if I turn up at the track without my wife when the world's only got another two months to survive. They're going to think we've split up. Or they're going to wonder what you're all up to back here. They'll start gossiping about Tin-Tin and I don't want anyone hurting her!"

Tin-Tin took his hand. "Do not worry about me," she told him. "If you replace Mike for this one race, no one will think it is odd. People will think that it is important to you that the team has a chance to win the title. They will believe that this is the action of the man you are pretending to be."

"Tin-Tin's right." Scott offered his sister-in-law a gentle smile. "What do you say, Alan?"

"Doesn't someone else have a better idea?" Alan begged. "Gordon?!"

"Sorry, Alan, but my mind's a blank."

"Anyone?!"

No one was able to offer up any useful suggestions.

Alan sagged. "All right then. I'll call my manager once we've finished here."

"Thanks." Scott thought briefly. "And I think we're all going to have to attend Alan's race."

This brought another round of protest. "Scott!" Virgil remonstrated. "We can't take the time off!"

"I know we've only got a limited time frame, but I think we need to take the ramifications of this rumour seriously."

"You're sending Alan away because you don't want someone coming here and disrupting our routines, but you're quite happy for us all to leave the island for a day?!"

"This way we'll have some control over when we interrupt our work," Scott explained. "Only members of the family need to go."

"Have you forgotten that Tin-Tin's now Alan's wife?" Virgil demanded. "Which means Kyrano should attend too."

"I realise that."

"And isn't Brains a member of the family too?"

"Of course he is."

Brains blushed.

Not that Virgil noticed. "So shouldn't he attend as well?"

"I don't think the media will worry if he doesn't turn up." Scott could see that this argument had the potential to go on for hours. "Do you want to go to a car race, Brains?"

"Er... No. Sorry, Alan."

"That's okay."

"There you go, Virgil." Scott shrugged. "Brains doesn't want to go anyway."

"So you want to leave him here. Alone!"

"No, I don't! But I don't think we have any option. Unless you can come up with a better idea! Plus..." Scott grimaced, "we all know that if we keep going at the pace we're going, we're going to burn-out. Getting away from the island will do us good."

Virgil sneered. "Good for all of us except for Brains."

"We've already decided on how we're going to combat burn-out."

But Virgil had the bit between his teeth and he wasn't about to let go. "Two hours once a week. If you've already decided that that's going ahead; why are we going to need a full day away as well?!"

"We've covered that!" Scott snapped, exasperated by his brother's attitude. "If it'll make you feel happy, Virgil, you can forgo your two hours for the two weeks on either side of race day..."

"I..."

Scott decided that it was time to ignore one younger brother and turned his attention back to another. "When will you leave, Alan?"

The argument had unsettled Alan, who still didn't look happy at the plans they were making. "Uh… I'll have to give the team a heads up and give them a chance to get everything together... And I don't want to leave too soon. I've still got tons to do... Maybe after you've launched Thunderbird One?"

"Good. Now that that's settled we can get back to..." Gordon pushed his chair back.

"Hold on, Gordon," Scott instructed.

Groaning quietly, Gordon sat down again.

"We're trying to create the myth that we're not doing anything productive," Scott reminded them. "But like last week when those reporters arrived, we don't look like a group who have been getting a lot of sun."

"We can use the fake tan again," Tin-Tin suggested.

"And hope that it doesn't rain and the tan runs." Scott shook his head. "We've also got to think of our own health. We should get outside more and two hours once a week isn't going to be enough."

"Some of us swim outside," Gordon reminded him. "We could go for runs on the beach as part of our exercise routines."

"That's a good start," Scott conceded. "But we'll need more, especially in the two weeks leading up to Alan's race... Kyrano, would it be too much trouble for you if we were to have all our meals outside?"

Kyrano bowed his head. "It would be no trouble, Mister Scott."

Virgil had looked startled at this decision. "All our meals?"

Scott fixed him with a level stare as if daring him to dispute the decision. "Yes."

"Even breakfast?"

"Yes... Do you have a reason why we shouldn't?"

"Erm... It's not fair on Kyrano to have to carry everything so far for every meal. Why don't we get our own breakfast and then we can take it outside if we want to eat out there?"

"Kyrano has already said that it's not a problem," Scott reminded his brother.

"Yeah, but..."

"Do you have anything other arguments, Virgil?"

Virgil looked at Kyrano. Then he looked at Brains. Then he flopped back in his chair. "No."

"Have we finished?" John asked, a note of sarcasm in his voice. "Can we get back to work now?"

"I thought you were having the first break?" Gordon said.

"Huh? Oh, yeah." John shrugged. "I'd forgotten about that. I got sick of listening to Virgil rave on so I stopped listening..." Everyone cringed, expecting Virgil to explode, but he appeared lost in his own thoughts. "I've been planning what I'm going to do after lunch and those plans didn't include doing nothing. Reschedule me for another time, Scott, and make it some time when I can call Tracy Industries." He left the table.

Glad to get away, everyone else followed him.

_To be continued..._


	17. Chapter 17 - Off Track

**Chapter 17: Off Track**

Brains stroked the outstretched arm. "I'm finding it difficult to find a vein," he admitted.

Stretched out on the chair, his arm resting in the cupped holder, Virgil glanced up at him. "You haven't had any problems any other time."

"Well, I-I am n-now. There's too much scar tissue…" Needle poised, Brains hovered over the crook of the outstretched limb. "Squeeze the ball and hold it…" he instructed. "There…" The needle penetrated the skin and he smiled in satisfaction as the dark red liquid flowed out, travelled along the tube, and down to the bag lying in the container that occasionally rocked back and forth. He taped the needle into place, and then moved around to the head of Virgil's chair. "Going d-down," he quipped, adjusting the seat so that Virgil's feet were raised. "Keep pumping," he added.

Virgil squeezed the ball and released it. "I'll keep pumping if I don't fall asleep in this chair." He looked down on the slowly filling bag. "Do you know what I dislike most about this procedure? It's not the needles; or the sight of my blood, or anything like that. It's the feeling of that warm tube lying on my arm."

"I would, er, be worried if it were cold."

Virgil chuckled and squeezed the ball again.

Brains checked that the collection process was proceeding as it should. "One hundred millilitres a minute…" he read. "You're well hydrated."

"I made sure I had plenty to drink this morning."

"It's worked. W-We'll have all we need inside five minutes."

"Good." Virgil pumped the ball. "Then I can get back to work."

"Then you can rest and have fluids u-until I'm sure you're not going to, ah, collapse on me," Brains corrected. "There's only so much that I can do. You're going to have to take better care of yourself, Virgil."

"Yeah, I know." Virgil stroked his beard. "And I promise that once all this is over I'll get specialist help. But in the meantime I'm glad I've got you supporting me. I couldn't cope without you."

"Don't th-think that I'm happy with the course we've chosen."

"I know that, and neither am I, but we both know that we don't have a lot of choice." Trying not to move his draining arm, Virgil shifted in his seat. "Once everything's settled down I'll see about getting treatment. I don't want to spend the rest of my life addicted to your medication."

"I-I've said it before, and I'll say it again. I-I think you should tell Scott."

"And I've said before that there's no point. There's nothing he can do."

"He'd want to know."

Virgil frowned. "He'd only stress unnecessarily. He's got enough worries without thinking I'm going to fall apart on him."

Brains gave up. "H-Has Scott told you when you're to have your two-hour breaks?"

"No. He had a problem with Thunderbird One yesterday afternoon and didn't get the chance to organise the schedule," Virgil said, and then added. "I think it's a stupid idea."

"It's only stupid in that, ah, two hours isn't long enough," Brains corrected.

"Exactly. How much rest can you get in two hours? We may as well not bother."

"It's b-better than nothing."

Virgil raised an eyebrow at International Rescue's resident workaholic. "And what are the chances that you'll stop doing what you're doing to have a break just because Scott said so?"

"I, er..." Brains looked guilty. "I, ah, have th-things to do in the other room."

Smiling, Virgil rested his head back on the headrest as his friend hustled out. He knew that Brains wasn't the only workaholic. He also knew that the strain was beginning to tell on them all. Trying not to give in to the temptation to close his eyes and drift off to sleep, he squeezed the ball again.

"So this is what I have to do to get you to take a break!"

Virgil looked over to the door that led to the rest of the complex. "Hi, Scott."

"Where's Brains?"

"Doing something in there." Virgil gestured towards the adjacent room.

"I'm doing the rounds." Scott sat on a neighbouring seat and tapped something on his tablet PC. "What time did you say you want to schedule your break?"

"First thing in the morning."

"Any particular day?"

"It doesn't make much difference. Every day's the same as the other."

"Tell me about it," Scott grunted. "Okay… How does Sunday sound?"

"It'll do. It still won't be a day of rest."

"I know," Scott sympathised. "But things are moving on. With any luck it won't be long before we'll be able to start taking it easy. Then we'll be able to concentrate on running some simulations." He pointed at Virgil's hand. "You've stopped pumping."

Virgil squeezed the ball.

"It looks like Brains had problems finding the vein," Scott commented.

"He did. He said I've got too much scar tissue there. It's not surprising really, all the blood I've given and the number of times I was injured over the years."

Scott frowned. "A lot of that looks more recent."

Virgil gave what he hoped was a light-hearted chuckle. "It's from my daily fix." He knew straight away that he'd said the wrong thing and tried to turn his arm away so the marks were hidden from his brother.

But Scott grabbed the arm. "They're track marks!"

"Well, kind of, but not…"

"You've been taking drugs!"

"Nothing illicit. Trust me, Scott…"

"Trust you! You told me you've never taken anything!"

"Because I haven't!"

"Then what do you call those!" Scott pointed at the rows of needle marks that lined Virgil's forearm. "They're fresh!"

Virgil hadn't planned on revealing his secret to anyone else, but it was beginning to look like he wouldn't have any choice. "I didn't want to worry you, but..."

"Worry me?! Virgil! You may have jeopardised our entire mission! The whole planet could be endangered because of your habit!"

"It's not a habit! It's…"

"Just what did that letter say?"

Confused by what the sudden change of topic, Virgil frowned. "What letter?"

"The one from your lawyer. Exactly why are you trying to get out of testifying?"

"For the reason I said! Because I don't want the Tracy name dragged through the courts."

"So that we couldn't find out that you were doing drugs?"

"No! I haven't…"

Scott pointed at Virgil. "Do you realise what you have done?!"

"I haven't done anything! You've got to listen to me, Scott!"

"Listen!" Agitated, Scott got to his feet. "Listen to what? More lies?"

"I haven't lied once!"

"Virgil! You've been lying about who you were for the last seven years!"

Frustrated, Virgil tried to get into a sitting position. "Not to you!"

"What about the Hawks?"

"That wasn't a lie! I wanted to surprise you!"

"Lies! It's been all lies." Scott leant on the back of his chair. "Do you realise that you may have ruined everything!?"

Virgil's struggle to get vertical was impeded by the IV line, the armrest his arm had been lying on, and the angles of the seat. The blood collection unit started beeping a warning. "I haven't…"

Scott pushed off the chair and started pacing. "You'll have to stop work on Thunderbird Two immediately."

"What!?" Virgil froze. "You can't do that!"

"I've got no choice…" Scott ran his hand through his hair and tried to sort out the perceived chaos. "It'll put us way off schedule and we won't be able to test Thunderbird Two on Tuesday. Not until every square inch of her's been checked over first."

"You don't have to check her."

"We do! Think of what you've done!"

"All I've done is put my heart and soul into getting her ready for the mission! You can't pull me off now."

"I'm going to do more than pull you off. I'm not going to let you anywhere near her!?"

"She's my 'bird!"

"Not any more. You're no longer in charge of Thunderbird Two. And I won't let you near any of the other Thunderbirds." Scott started tapping on the tablet. "There's nothing else for it! D-day I'll have to fly both Thunderbirds One and Two."

"You can't do that!"

"I've got no choice."

"You have a choice. I…"

"I've got to go and plan this…" Scott started for the door.

"Don't go…" Virgil pleaded. "Let me explain! I'll tell you everything!"

Scott turned and for a moment Virgil thought he was going to get the chance to state his case. Then he saw the regret, sorrow and disappointment on his brother's face and knew that Scott had made up his mind. "There's nothing to explain, Virgil. All I have to say to you is that I'm disappointed in you. And that Father will be too." The elder Tracy stalked out.

Alarmed that the flow to the bag was being disrupted, the blood collection device squealed a warning.

Virgil ignored it, more concerned about the accusations being levelled against him. "Scott…!" he yelled after him. "Listen to me! I haven't done anything…! Wait!" He jumped out of the chair to chase after his brother, but the tug on his arm and sudden pain as the IV line ripped free stopped him. "Please…" he begged the closing door. "Let me ex…"

"Virgil!" Brains, having received an electronic request for help from the squealing machine, rushed back into the room. "What are you doing?"

Virgil's blood drained from his face as quickly as that running down his arm and dripping off his hand. He staggered backwards against a workbench.

Horrified Brains rushed forward. "Sit down!" he commanded. "Put your head between your legs!" Handicapped by his relatively small size, he tried to help.

Leaving a trail of blood down the front of the cabinets, Virgil collapsed to the floor. "He…"

"Don't try to talk. Lie back. Let me raise your feet."

"I…"

"I said don't talk!" Brains grabbed the sterile pad that had been waiting for after the proper removal of the needle, ripped the protective cover off, and pressed it down on the still bleeding wound.

"He doesn't trust me," Virgil moaned.

"Who?" Brains chose the most likely candidate. "Scott?"

"He… saw the scars… He thinks…" Virgil gulped. "...thinks I'm taking drugs. Got to tell him…" He tried to sit up, but was overcome by another wave of dizziness and collapsed back again.

"You can tell him later," Brains advised. He grabbed Virgil's uninjured arm and bent it across his friend's body. "Keep the pressure on that," he ordered, pressing Virgil's hand onto the pad. Then he got to his feet and gathered together various medical supplies.

When he crouched down again the first thing he pulled out was a hypodermic syringe.

Virgil groaned. "No… No more needles." He tried to sit up again.

"Keep still!" Brains demanded. "This is only a glucose solution. It'll help you feel better." Ignoring Virgil's complaints he injected the liquid. "Now, let's look at this…" He peeled the pad off Virgil's arm and tutted; noting that the bleeding had slowed, but that there were signs of swelling and that a large bruise was forming. "You're developing a haematoma, Virgil." Working with his usual efficiency Brains replaced the pad and wrapped a pressure bandage about the arm. Then he got a cold pack and strapped that over the injured area as well.

Then he got a waiting glass and filled it with water. "Do you feel up to having something to drink? Here..." He assisted his friend into a seated position and held out the glass. "Drink it slowly."

Virgil had regained his equilibrium, but was still distressed. "He doesn't want me to fly Thunderbird Two."

"I'll t-talk to him," Brains offered. "Now drink. You need to replace your fluids."

"He says someone will have to re-check the work I've done."

"I-I'm sure that's not necessary. Now drink, please."

"He said he doesn't trust me."

"I trust you." Brains finally succeeded in getting his patient to drink all the water. "Good."

Virgil put the empty glass on the floor and, still unsteady, got to his feet.

"Wh-What are you doing? You need more fluids!" Alarmed Brains stood next to him. "Y-You should rest."

"Rest?" Virgil gave a shaky laugh. "Can't rest. Got to prove to him he's wrong."

"Are you going to, er, talk to him?"

"No." Virgil shook his head and put his hand out to the bench top to stabilise himself. "He won't listen… Actions… Actions louder than words."

"You need rest, Virgil."

"No… No time... Thanks." More sure-footed than before, Virgil left the room.

Brains hesitated, unsure what to do next. He was not good at dealing with emotions, especially those of distressed Tracys. Looking at the floor he realised that he had a lot of blood to deal with, starting with that collected by the still rocking machine, which had been squealing at them throughout the entire drama. He knew that it would be some time before he'd be able to collect more and he didn't want to waste the precious little he had.

He set to work.

-F-A-B-

No longer dizzy, even if his mind was spinning with confused thoughts, Virgil hurried through the complex towards Thunderbird Two's hangar. The fact that he passed Gordon and John didn't even register on his radar.

But his pale and bloodied state did register with his brothers, who watched in surprise and alarm as he rushed past without acknowledging them.

Gordon looked at John. "What's with him?"

"I don't know. But it looks like something serious has happened. C'mon."

They followed their brother across the gloomy hangar and into Thunderbird Two. There they found her pilot in the darkened cockpit, pacing back and forth behind his seat.

"Virgil?" John asked. "What's wrong?"

"Wrong?" Virgil looked at his siblings as if he hadn't even been aware that they'd been following him and didn't know what they were talking about.

"Yeah," Gordon agreed. "What happened to you?"

He could see that he'd put Virgil onto the defensive. "Why should something have happened to me?"

"Look at you. You're covered in blood."

"I am?" Almost surprised by the revelation Virgil looked down at the dried brown streaks on his arm and the red dampness that was still staining his overalls. "I am."

"What happened?" Gordon repeated.

"Ah… Brains was collecting my blood."

"Did the bag split?"

Virgil frowned, confused by the conversation. "Bag?"

Worried, Gordon and John glanced at each other. "Yes," Gordon clarified. "The bag that Brains was collecting your blood in."

"Oh… No."

Virgil didn't seem to want to elaborate further, so John stepped up. "Did something happen to your arm?" He reached out towards the large bandage that concealed the crook of Virgil's elbow.

Virgil reacted as if John was about to burn him with hot coals. "No."

John cleared his throat. "It's a bit dark to work in here," he announced. "Why don't you start her up and put the lights on?"

Virgil shook his head in the gloom. "Power not connected yet."

"Shall I check if the emergency lights work?" Gordon queried. Without waiting for an answer he uncovered the switch and threw it.

In the dim glow of the emergency lights, the cockpit window took on the reflective characteristics of a mirror.

"Are you hurt?" John asked.

They were shocked to see Virgil's face crumple, just before he turned to face Thunderbird Two's control panel. "I've got work to do." He pretended to check some gauges and fiddle with a few switches.

Aware that none of the systems were powered up, his ruse fooled neither of his brothers and Gordon and John looked at each other, wondering how to handle this unfamiliar situation. The reflective windows were showing them just how upset Virgil was.

Gordon decided to try the light-hearted tack. "You can't expect us to go back to work without giving us the solution to this mystery. Until you give us the answers we're going to be coming up with all sorts of crazy scenarios to explain why you're a mess. Let me guess." He pretended to think. "I know! Niko Brand's come back, you've fed him to the Mole, and you've got his blood on you! Am I close?"

Unwilling to join in the joke, Virgil shook his head.

"You cut yourself shaving?" John offered.

Virgil's bearded reflection didn't crack a smile.

"Erm..." Gordon thought. "Nope. You're going to have to let us in on the secret."

"He doesn't trust me!"

The sudden outburst was nearly as surprising as the statement. "Who?" John frowned.

Virgil was silent.

"Virgil," John pressed. "Who doesn't trust you!?"

"It's Scott," Gordon guessed. "Isn't it?"

Virgil inhaled a shuddering breath.

"Come on," John soothed. "You know Scott doesn't trust any of us at the moment. It's nothing personal."

Gordon agreed. "You're not the only one he doesn't trust."

"He won't let me fly Thunderbird Two," Virgil whispered, still not looking at his brothers, who were watching his reflection in the glass. "He says he'll have to do it."

"What!?" Gordon laughed. "I know he thinks he's the best pilot on the planet, but does he honestly think he can be in three places at once?"

John laid a gentle hand on Virgil's shoulder only to have it shaken free. "Why does he think he'll have to fly Thunderbird Two?"

"Because he doesn't trust me."

"You said that, but that's not a reason."

"This is the reason!" Virgil spun about and indicated his bandage. "And this!" He tried to roll up his other sleeve, but was unable to bend his injured arm.

"Let me." John carefully folded back the material. "How far do you want me to go?"

"That's enough."

"I can't see anything," John said. "It's too dark in here. What are you showing us?"

"Injection marks."

"Injection marks? Couldn't Brains find a vein?"

"No... I mean... Yes... But... I mean he couldn't... But Scott wasn't worried about that... That's not the problem... Mornings are the problem..."

Gordon, confused, gave up trying to see the marks. "Mornings?"

Virgil leant back against the edge of the console and, eyes lowered, tried to roll his sleeve back into place before he let John pull it back down for him. "I've been finding it hard to get moving in the mornings..."

"We've all been like that," Gordon remarked. "I don't think there's been a morning in ages where I haven't woken up feeling like I've been run over by the Domo."

Virgil looked up at him. "But can you move?"

"Well, yeah... It takes a while to get going, but after a swim I'm fine."

"I can't," Virgil admitted. "I'm almost completely seized up. If I try to move it hurts so much that..." He didn't elaborate.

Gordon gave him a moment to continue and then asked: "What do you do when you're like that?"

"Back in New York, I would sometimes wake up sore," Virgil explained. "It was never as bad as it has been the last few weeks, and it didn't happen very often, and it was usually after I'd done some major lifting or something, and hadn't stretched properly. When that happened I'd visit a massage therapist and she'd get the muscles working again."

Gordon nodded. "That's good practice."

"But I've got no chance of doing that here," Virgil claimed. "I can't just fly off and get a massage...! It's got so bad that takes me all my time to call Brains on my wristwatch."

"And what does he do?" John asked.

"He gives me injections to relax my muscles. Once I can start moving I get into the spa. But it takes a long time..." Virgil stared at the ground as if he were guilty of some terrible secret. "Kyrano's been bringing me breakfast in there so I don't have to rush... And so you guys won't see me and realise how bad it is. He and Brains have been great."

"Why didn't you tell someone?"

"I didn't want anyone to worry. I didn't want anyone to think that I couldn't pull my weight..." Virgil, trying to avoid his brothers' eyes, looked toward the ceiling of the cabin. "And now Scott's going to stop..." He choked on the sentence, sniffed, and wiped his eyes on his sleeve. "Why am I letting him get to me?!"

"Because you're like the rest of us: tired," John explained. "And because he's tired he's not thinking straight." He gave Virgil a moment to pull himself together. "Why doesn't he want you to fly Thunderbird Two?"

"I..." Virgil gulped down a breath. "I was in the medical room... Brains was taking my blood..." He indicated his bandaged arm. "Scott came in... He saw the needle marks..."

"And...?"

"He wouldn't listen to me, even though I tried to explain! He was carrying on as if being an artist automatically means you're into the drug scene! Like I was a...a drug addict! He wouldn't listen to me! If he'd given me the chance I could have called Brains in to verify my story. Scott accused me of taking drugs!"

"Hey..." John soothed. "We know that you don't do drugs, Virgil. Calm down..."

"Calm down! How can I calm down?!" Virgil pushed John out of the way and started walking around the cabin. "He's taking everything away from me! He says he's going to tell Father. What will that do to him?! I've never taken drugs! Never!"

"We know that…"

"I wouldn't do anything to threaten our mission. I've worked solidly on Thunderbird Two for weeks! I haven't played the piano, or my keyboard, or painted, or drawn, or done _anything_ except work on her!"

"We know, and we're all grateful for your dedication…"

"He was saying that I was a threat to us all! He was saying that International Rescue was going to fail because of me! He was saying that the world was going to end because of me!"

"He's wrong. You know he's wrong…"

Alarmed at the way his elder brother was getting wound up, Gordon watched as Virgil circled around him. "We'll talk to Scott and put him straight. Right, John...?"

"Right."

"He won't let me fly Thunderbird Two!" Virgil intoned, seemingly not having heard the comment. "He won't let me work on her! He won't let me near her!"

"You can't get any nearer to her than you are now." Gordon's attempt at raising Virgil's spirits had no impact.

Blank-faced, glassy-eyed, and rambling as he protested his innocence, Thunderbird Two's pilot continued his circuit of her cockpit. As they watched, John and Gordon had the uncomfortable feeling that he was unaware that he had an audience and had retreated into a world of his own. "He doesn't trust me! I've slaved on her for weeks! He won't let me test her! He wants to recheck everything I've done!"

His brothers were starting to think that maybe this wasn't a bad idea.

John tried to get through. "Virgil, listen to me."

"Hours... Weeks... Months! How many months have I worked? Only a month? Well over a month. I've slaved over Thunderbird Two for well over a month. I've cared for her. I wouldn't hurt her."

John started walking at his brother's side; trying to get through. "Virgil."

"I haven't played the piano. Haven't touched it. Haven't had time…"

"Virgil…"

"Haven't listened to music. Haven't painted…"

"Listen to…"

"He doesn't call me Virg anymore."

"Huh?"

"I wouldn't hurt International Rescue."

"I know..."

"Not the family. I wouldn't hurt the family."

"We know that."

"Don't tell Father. Don't hurt him. Not his fault."

"We won't."

They passed a wide-eyed Gordon; shocked at what he was witnessing.

"I don't do drugs..."

"Listen to me, Virgil," John begged, desperate to break through this brother's mental barrier. "We know that and Father knows that."

"Never have..."

"We know…"

"Never will..."

"Virgil!" John jumped in front of his brother and, grabbing him by both arms, arrested the aimless wandering. "Stop! Listen to me! I believe you! Gordon believes you! You have never taken drugs! Do you understand? I believe you! You're exhausted that's all." He tried to gain eye contact. "Come back to me, Virgil."

He was relieved when the dead stare disappeared leaving a somewhat confused brother looking at him. "John?"

"Are you with me?"

"With you…?" Virgil gave a tired nod. "Yeah…"

"Good." John heaved a sigh of relief. "You had me worried for a moment there."

"Me too," Gordon added.

Ashamed by his behaviour, Virgil looked down. "Sorry."

"Don't you be sorry," Gordon pleaded. "It's my fault that Scott doesn't trust anyone. Not yours."

Confused, Virgil stared at him. "What?"

Almost scared that he'd zone out again, John kept hold of Virgil's arms. "Forget everything else. All that matters is that you're okay now. You are okay, aren't you?" He could almost feel the fatigue oozing out of his brother. "How much sleep have you had over the last few nights?"

"I've been using a SWSG."

"Okay, so that'll have the same effect as sleeping twice as long has you have, but how long were your eyes actually shut?"

"I'd set the timer."

"Virgil..." John was sure if his brother was being deliberately obtuse, or if sleep deprivation was still affecting him. "How long did you set the timer for?"

"Long enough."

"Long enough? How long is _long enough_?"

"Three hours," Virgil admitted.

"Three hours!" Gordon exclaimed. "How long have you been sleeping three hours a night?"

Virgil glanced across at him. "Since you and I had _that_ discussion."

Gordon frowned. "That discussion?"

"What discussion?" John asked.

Virgil was still looking at Gordon. "_That_ discussion."

"Oh... _That_ discussion." Gordon did some quick calculations. "But that's been over a month!"

John had been following their exchange as if he'd been following a tennis match. But now he concentrated on the brother before him. "Are you telling us, that you've been getting only three hours sleep a night for over a month?"

"In the slow-wave sleep generator in the pilot's quarters," Virgil clarified.

"But that equates to only six hours sleep a night! Virgil! You know as well as we do that seven to eight hours a night is considered optimal. And three hours! No wonder your body's not getting a chance to recuperate."

"I can handle it."

Both John and Gordon had seen first-hand that this wasn't the case, yet Virgil didn't appear able to comprehend the fact. They came to the conclusion that sleep deprivation was definitely scrambling his thought processes.

John knew that his brother needed sleep; he needed it soon; he needed it as far away from a slow-wave sleep generator as he could get; and that with his present stubborn frame of mind he would need to be tricked into getting it. "How does that icepack feel?"

Virgil looked down at his arm. "It's a bit warm," he admitted.

"Would you like me to change it for you? You can clean the blood off your arm and get into some clean coveralls at the same time. Then you can continue in Thunderbird Two while Gordon and I set Scott straight."

Gordon was alarmed by the idea of Virgil trying to work in his present condition. "John..." he started.

But Virgil was grateful for the offer. "You'd do that?"

"Sure," John agreed. "We'll tell him that he's got his facts wrong."

"John…" Gordon repeated. "I don't think…"

Virgil, fixated on John and his words of support, wasn't listening to him. "You'll tell him he's wrong? You'll tell him that I don't do drugs?"

"Of course we will." John smiled. "Let's head down to the infirmary and I'll get you a new icepack. Once we've got that sorted, you can do what you need to do while Gordon and I talk to Scott…" He glanced at Gordon to see if he'd managed to convey his true intentions. "By the time you've finished I promise you, Virgil, that we'll have convinced him that he was wrong."

Gordon, who hadn't quite deciphered John's plan, but was willing to go along with it in the hope that it did some good, had replaced his frown of concern with a mask of acceptance. He joined in the plot. "Leave Scott to us, Virg." He slammed his right fist into his left palm. "We'll show him he can't get away with not listening to you."

"Gordon…" John wasn't prepared to give Virgil a chance to offer any protests. "Are Thunderbird Two's infirmary batteries fully charged?"

"Yes. They're on a separate circuit to the rest of the craft. We charged them up in case we needed anything in there."

"Good. Go and get him some clean gear, will you? We'll meet you there."

"Sure." Glad to escape for a short time and equally happy to be able to do something practical, Gordon took off.

"Come on." Keeping a firm, but gentle, grip on Virgil's unbandaged arm, John steered him out of the cockpit, through Thunderbird Two, and into the sickbay. "Get out of your coveralls," he directed. "You can put on clean clothes when Gordon brings them here."

"Okay." Virgil started to obey his brother's directive. With John's assistance he stripped off his bloodied clothes.

"If you lie on the bed," John suggested, "it'll make it easier for me to put on the bandage."

Unaware that he was walking, or more correctly lying down, into John's trap, Virgil complied.

Trying not to grin at how smoothly his plan was proceeding; John pulled open a cooler door. "I assume we've still got icepacks in here… Ah. Here we are. Now; let's get rid of the old one. If you take your watch off, I'll be able to clean the blood off your arm too..." Keeping up a light-hearted, somewhat inane chatter, so that Virgil wouldn't get the chance to think about what was happening, he removed the watch, checked the original bandage, replaced the icepack, and cleaned the dried blood away from Virgil's arm. "How does that feel, Virgil...? Virgil?"

Virgil was sound asleep.

Pleased with his own ingenuity, John pocketed Virgil's watch so he wouldn't be disturbed, before he pulled a blanket up and tucked it under his brother's chin. "Pleasant dreams, Virg," he whispered. "Sleep for as long as you need. I'll make sure you're not disturbed." He tiptoed out of the sickbay.

"What shall I do...?"

"Shhhh!" John hissed. "He's asleep."

"Oh…" Gordon gave a sheepish grin. "Sorry." He glanced in through the door to where Virgil snored lightly. "Is this your devious plan?"

John smirked. "Yep. It worked like a charm."

"You're a genius!" Gordon held up the clean overalls. "What should I do with these?"

"Put them over the chair. He can put them on when he wakes up."

"Okay."

"Hold on." John looked at Virgil's watch. "Better put this in the pocket," he advised. "I'd rather nothing disturbed him, but he might need to contact us."

"If he's awake enough to think of searching his clothes." Gordon dropped the watch into a pocket and went to walk into the sickbay.

John caught his arm. "Whatever you do; don't wake him."

"I won't." Gordon crept into the room, laid the garment where Virgil would see it, and then crept out. "He's dead to the world."

John closed the door to the sickbay. "I hope he sleeps for a long time. He needs it!"

The pair of them started walking through Thunderbird Two. "That scared me," Gordon confessed. "I've never him like that before."

"I have," John admitted. "Once. Years ago. He was, ah… about five."

"What happened?"

"It was just before Christmas and Scott and I came up with this 'brilliant' plan, to play a joke on him. We told him that at the full moon before Christmas, Santa Claus would fly around the world in a mechanical sleigh, so that he could learn where all the good boys and girls were staying over Christmas, and thereby find them when he did his rounds on Christmas Eve. Virgil fell for it hook, line, and sinker."

"Let me guess…" Gordon slid open Thunderbird Two's exit hatch and the pair of them stepped out into her hangar. "He wanted to see the mechanical sleigh?"

John nodded. "Even then he was fascinated by mechanical objects. He could spot a piece of heavy machinery a mile away. And boy! Would he make a fuss until he got to see it up close!"

"But what on Earth made him believe you two?"

John shrugged. "Scott was his hero. The perfect big brother who could do no wrong…"

"Until today."

"Yeah."

"And you?"

"He thought I knew everything there was to know about astronomy… And to be honest, in those days so did I." John managed a wry grin. "Nowadays I know I know hardly anything."

Gordon chuckled. "I can relate to that... So, what happened?"

"Scott and I thought he'd forget about it before bed time. Either that or he'd get sick of waiting and nod off. But he didn't. He stayed glued to the window all night. We should have realised what was going on when he woke us up to tell us that he'd seen Santa's light streaking across the sky. I told him it was a satellite, turned over and went back to sleep."

They entered the lift that would take them up to the villa. Gordon pushed the up button. "So he stayed awake all night."

John nodded. "All night."

"What was he like the next day?"

"Grumpy. Grumpy because he'd missed seeing Santa's sleigh, and grumpy because he was tired." John screwed up his nose in thought. "It's funny how I can remember parts of this as clear as if it had only happened a few days ago; whereas there are some others I've got no recollection of. Like I _think_ Dad was away. He may have been on one of his space flights, or he might have been on duty at the base and came back late in the evening. I do remember that Ma couldn't understand what was wrong with Virg."

The lift door opened and they stepped out into the villa. Wanting to hear more of the story, Gordon stopped. "Did he do that zombie walk thing?"

"Not exactly. Like I said he was grumpy all morning. It wasn't until after lunch that he zoned out. He was playing with his blocks; only it wasn't really playing. Y'see, whenever he played with something that could exercise his creativity, he would always, ah, try to create something. But that afternoon, all he was doing was piling one block on top of the other until they fell down. Then he'd start again: one block on top of another. He wasn't interacting with any of us, or the blocks. He wasn't trying to make anything. I don't even think he was building a skyscraper. It was just the action of placing one block on top of another that he was fixated on."

"How long did this go on for?"

"I don't know," John admitted. "I was probably reading, so I wasn't paying attention to him. Ma was busy elsewhere; more than likely dealing with the two babies." Gordon gave a small smile of recognition. "It was Scott who realised that something was wrong. I think he'd asked Virgil if he wanted to play something else and Virgil had just ignored him. So Scott went and got Ma."

Gordon cast his mind back to the little he could remember of his mother. "What did she do?"

"I remember that she picked Virgil up, put him on her lap, and asked him what was wrong. Then he sort of woke up, looked around him as if he had no idea where he was, and burst into tears. Ma was trying to find out what the problem was but none of us could understand a word he was saying. He was totally inconsolable. Scott kept on asking him if he could help, but the answers sounded like total gibberish to me. Then I think Scott managed to interpret a couple of words. _Santa_ and _sleigh_."

"And his light bulb went on?"

"Yeah. He realised that Virgil was upset because he hadn't seen Santa Claus's sleigh and told Ma about our joke." John stopped talking; reliving that day over again in his mind.

Gordon nudged him. "What did Ma do then?"

"Put Virgil straight to bed."

"And that worked?"

"Yes. He slept for 24 hours straight. By the time he woke up mid-afternoon the following day, all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, and ready to play, Scott and I were convinced that we'd made him sick, and were almost sick ourselves worrying about him." John frowned. "I think Ma took him to the doctor, but he said that it was nothing to worry about. Because Virgil had been so tired; his brain kind of shut down while his body continued working on autopilot."

"He sure looked like there was no one at the controls back there." Gordon hesitated. "So you think that's what's happened to him just now?"

"Yep. Only, because he's older and he has been getting some sleep, it's taken longer to hit him."

"Some blood loss probably didn't help."

John agreed. "If there's one thing that has stuck with me about that escapade all these years, it's the look Virgil gave Scott when he realised that his hero had betrayed him. Ma didn't punish us, and neither did Dad; but either of them could have dreamt up the worst punishment in the world, and it still wouldn't have punished Scott as much as _that_ look."

"I have a feeling that he's going to get an encore."

John agreed. "Last time he was so shaken by that look that he practically became Virgil's slave as he tried to win back his trust..."

"He's going to have to work twice as hard this time... Where do you think Scott is?"

John strode into the lounge and across to their father's desk. "Let's find out shall we?" He fired up the computer and set the GPS programme into action.

"Yeah," Gordon growled. "And then we can show big brother that he can't get away with treating any member of the family like that..."

-F-A-B-

Scott slammed his tablet PC onto his desk. He _knew_ that the world that Virgil had been sucked into would have had a detrimental effect. All those phony piercings, and tattoos, and hair colouring were a mask to hide what was really going on. Drugs...

DRUGS!

That dangerous, life-destroying, health-destroying, soul-destroying world where it was so tough to extract yourself that maybe even International Rescue wouldn't be able to help.

DRUGS!

How could he have missed the signs? They must have been there; glaring at him; mocking him at his ignorance.

Scott paced up and down in front of his desk. What was he going to do?

Make some decisions: that's what.

He was going to have to put in some extra training on Thunderbird Two. That didn't worry him too much; there wasn't a plane in existence that he couldn't fly, and he'd flown Thunderbird Two often enough to be confident in her operation. He'd do all right...

But not as good as Virgil.

Why'd Virgil do it...?

What had possessed him...?

Kasey...?

Virgil had said that Kasey took drugs. Was it her who had introduced him to their addictive grasp?

Scott felt his hands clench in hatred of the woman that had taken his brother away from him.

When had Virgil started taking them? Was it a recent event? If that was the case then Scott held out some hope that there was still time to rescue his brother. But what if it had been going on for years? What damage had been done?

Drugs...

DRUGS!

Thunderbird Two would have to be checked. Every square millimetre would have to be tested, and prodded, and probed, until they were convinced that she wasn't a flying death trap. They couldn't risk Thunderbird Two crashing soon after lift-off on Thursday. That could mean the death of the pilot and the ultimate death of the planet.

Timetable. What would be the timetable for the eighth of October? Should he tackle the Bentley Subglacial Trench in Thunderbird One first, or...?

Better to work with Thunderbird Two first. That way Gordon wouldn't have too much of a delay starting his mission and afterwards he could always motor to some deserted part of Guam or, at a pinch, the Philippines. Maybe he could hide Thunderbird Four somewhere and Lady Penelope could pick him up and bring him back to the island on her yacht.

Okay. That was a plan. That was Gordon and Thunderbird Four taken care of. Then what? Come back to Tracy Island and pick up Thunderbird One for his mission, or carry on to the Dead Sea Transform? That made more sense... Unless he was trapped underground in the Mole...

The Mole! The Mole would have to be checked too! He would have to find out how much work Virgil had done on the drilling machine. How much was left to do? Who was capable of doing it? Maybe they should get an engineer from outside of International Rescue? But who could they trust and who knew the Mole as well as...

Virgil!

Why did you do it?

_Virgil wouldn't do drugs._

That little voice pulled Scott up short. That was what he'd always believed. So why was this any different?

Because he'd seen the evidence; that's why. He'd seen those marks tracking down his brother's arm. He'd seen and heard the irritable behaviour.

He'd seen the evidence.

_Circumstantial evidence._

Circumstantial? What other reason could there be for so many injections?

_There'll be a good reason._

But what? Brains wasn't taking blood that often, and not so frequently that one injection site didn't have time to heal before the next extraction.

_Surely Brains' tests would have discovered something?_

Brains' tests didn't include narcotics.

Scott knew what he'd seen. No point in second guessing it.

He turned his attention back to his plans. His forte was flying Thunderbird One. She was his baby. There was no one else capable of flying her through what could be whiteout conditions and then deploying two missiles in rapid succession in the exact same spot.

He'd have to drop Gordon and Thunderbird Four off, return to Tracy Island, launch Thunderbird One and tackle the Bentley Subglacial Trench, then come back to Tracy Island to transfer back to Thunderbird Two and take the Mole to the Dead Sea. At least that way the Mole wouldn't have to deal with the concussive forces and salt water when Pod Four hit the Pacific Ocean.

Yes. It would take more time, but they would have a better chance of success. Maybe he'd even be able to retrieve Thunderbird Four?

How much of a delay would flying to three different parts of the globe take? Would it be too much?

No. He was only talking hours, not days. He could do it. It would be a long day, and he would be shot by the end of it, but once it was over he could kick back and relax.

And get Virgil much needed help.

_Virgil?_

He's been taking drugs.

_No. No way._

But I saw the signs.

_You saw injection sites. What was his explanation for them?_

He didn't say.

_Why?_

Because I didn't give him a chance to explain.

_Why?_

I don't know.

_Hadn't you better do that?_

Yes. I should.

_Then go and do it!_

Scott turned on his heel and headed out of his room and back to where he'd last seen his brother.

Instead he found Brains, surrounded by the strong smell of fresh disinfectant and morosely mopping the floor. The little man glared at him. "Yes?"

"Where's Virgil?"

"I don't..."

Scott couldn't hang around. He had to find the truth. He marched out the door, trying to imagine where Virgil would have gone. He'd been forbidden from going anywhere near Thunderbird Two, but would that have stopped him?

Deep in troubled thought Scott was unaware that he had company. That was until he was thrust against a wall and a rock-hard arm jammed up against his throat. "Goh..."

"John!" Gordon pulled his brother off. "Leave him alone!"

"Leave him alone!?" John's face was livid. "After what he's done?!" He charged back at his target. "Let me at 'im!"

"NO!" Gordon grabbed both arms and pushed him back again, trying to diffuse the situation with humour. "Whoa! I can feel muscles there, Johnny."

"Good. I have a use for them!"

Struggling to hold an irate brother away from one who was still trying to recover from the shock attack, Gordon yelled; "Hitting him won't solve anything!"

"It'll make me feel better!"

"Believe me, it doesn't work that way! It'll only make you feel worse! Now turn and walk away until you're against that wall!" Gordon ordered. "I want you well away from him!"

"What I want...!"

"John! Move!" Gordon barked. It was a voice of command seldom heard by the Tracys, but in his WASP past it had been all that was needed to bring an unruly subordinate into line.

John glared at Scott who was massaging his bruised throat, and then obeyed; leaning on the wall so he could continue glaring.

Gordon heaved a sigh of relief. "Thank you." He turned back to Scott. "What have you got to say for yourself?"

"What have _I_ got to say for _myself_?" Scott demanded. "I'm the one who's just been half throttled!"

"A pity I didn't complete the job!"

Scott sneered. "You wouldn't have a chance."

John raised his fists. "Oh, yeah? Wanna try?!"

"John!" The WASP voice was in action again. "Quiet!"

Still glaring at Scott, John complied.

Gordon watched him for a moment to reassure himself that there wouldn't be another surprise attack. Then he turned back to Scott. "Well?"

"Well, what?" Scott snapped. "What am I supposed to have done?"

They were interrupted by a soft voice. "What is going on?" Tin-Tin asked.

"Nothing, Honey," Gordon reassured her. "You can go back to work."

"Don't patronise me, Gordon Tracy," she scolded. "I could hear you yelling from the other side of the house." She glanced over to where her father was hovering in the shadows.

"Me too." Alan had appeared from the other direction. "It's a wonder Virgil didn't hear you down in Thunderbird Two's hangar. What's up?"

"Well, it's not Virgil," Gordon told him.

"Yeah," John snarled. "No thanks to Scott."

"Is that what this is about?" Scott looked exasperated. "This is a disciplinary action. It's nothing to do with anyone else at the moment."

"Nothing to do with anyone else!?" John snapped. "Virgil's a mess because of you."

"When you have all the facts, John," Scott began with exaggerated patience, "you'll see that I'm not the reason why he's a mess."

"All the facts?!" John gave a bitter laugh. "Did you actually stop and talk to him? Did you ask him for an explanation? Did you get the full story from him?"

"Would someone care to give _us_ the full story?" Alan demanded. "What has Virgil done?"

"It's quite simple," Scott explained. "Virgil's been taking illicit drugs."

"What?!"

"It's not that simple," Gordon expanded. "He's been getting three hours sleep a night in a SWSG for the past month and his body hasn't been able to cope with working twenty one hours a day. He's been taking muscle relaxants in the morning just to get moving. And Brains has been the one administering them."

"What?" Scott laughed. "Is that what he told you? And you believed him?!" He laughed again; and then yelped when something heavy landed on his foot. "Brains!"

Brains looked angry; nearly as angry as John. "Th-Th-Th..." he pointed at the large, almost over-full, binder on the floor and gathered himself together for another attempt. "That is one volume of V-Virgil's medical records from when International Rescue was last operational. Th-There are several more like that."

Scott looked down at the large, heavy, folder. "So?"

"So..." Brains was literally quivering in anger. "The body may heal, but it may, er, remember past injuries; especially if those injuries are aggravated over time. Without the proper treatment, which Virgil is unable to receive here on the island, those injuries flare up when the muscles are placed under excessive stress."

Gordon nodded. "He's right. That's why I'm not mobile until I've been swimming. I've got to loosen up my muscles first."

"Exactly," Brains agreed. "Virgil's muscles s-seize up to such an extent that each morning they, ah, are barely able to move without him experiencing great pain." He pointed at the volume again. "Your m-medical records are nearly as extensive, Scott. Can you honestly say that you awake each morning pain-free and able to move?"

Faced with this evidence, Scott was beginning to feel sick. "I... Ah..."

"Every m-morning I give Virgil an injection of a mild muscle r-relaxant."

"You do...?" Scott decided to go back onto the attack. "Who else knew this?!"

Kyrano stepped forward. "I also know, Mister Scott. It is I who takes Mister Virgil his breakfast each morning."

"Is this true?"Almost panicked, Scott looked around, trying to find someone who would support him; but everywhere he encountered hostile glares.

Kyrano spoke again. "What Mister Gordon has told you is the truth. What Mister Brains has told you is the truth." There was a meaningful pause. "What Mister Virgil would tell you would be the truth, if you would listen."

John made an angry sound. "What's wrong with you, Scott? Don't you even believe Brains and Kyrano?"

"I... Ah... Yes. Yes, of course I do."

"So you should! A few simple questions and you would have had all the answers. But no, you had to go off half-cocked. When are you going to learn to trust us!?"

"I..." Realising that there was no point denying it, Scott did the only thing he could do. "You're right. I didn't give him a chance," he admitted. "But, after _I'd_ had a chance to think about it, I realised that I needed to talk to him. That's where I was going. I was trying to find him." If he'd hoped his admission would appease his family, he was wrong.

"I hope you haven't told Dad your unfounded allegations," Alan growled. "We don't want to worry him unnecessarily."

"No… NO, of course I haven't. I don't want to hurt him either. Like I said, I was going to talk to Virgil first to get the full story, but then I was attacked by John…"

"Attacked!" John seemed determined to beat him into submission one way or another and Gordon stepped between them again. "That was nothing compared to what you've done to Virgil."

"I didn't want…"

"What's wrong with you, Scott?" Alan demanded. "What happened to you? Why don't you trust us anymore?"

Tin-Tin glanced across at Gordon, who looked uncomfortable. No one else noticed his guilty expression; caught up as they were in the battle of words.

Scott said nothing.

"One of the basic tenets of International Rescue is trust!" John reminded his brother. "You've betrayed that trust!"

Scott tried to look him in the eye, and failed. "I have."

"If you're not going to trust us; then why should we trust you?"

Scott, wanting the nightmare to go away, spread his hands in a gesture of surrender.

"Right…" John knew he had him on the ropes. "What are you going to do about it?"

Scott saw a chance for escape, and, seizing the opportunity, he took a step forward. "Where's Virgil? I'll go and talk to him."

John took his own threatening step, and Gordon edged closer, ready to intercept him. "You leave him alone!"

"What?" Scott stared. "One minute you're telling me that I should have talked to him; the next you're telling me not to!"

"I'm telling you because he's asleep! Naturally: without a SWSG! You are not to disturb him!" John fixed his brother with a meaningful stare. "Remember Santa's sleigh?"

"Santa's sleigh? Huh...?" A memory surfaced and Scott sagged back against the wall. "Is he that bad?"

"Worse."

"Oh, heck." Scott ran his hands through his hair. "This is my fault." He clasped the greying strands in his fists. "What am I going to do?"

"An apology would be a good place to start," Gordon suggested. "Once he's awake."

Scott nodded. "I will. I'll do that."

"That's if he'll accept it," John told him. "In the meantime, we've got to check Thunderbird Two. Virgil's been that tired that he may have made mistakes without realising it. And those mistakes could be disastrous. We'll have to find any flaws before he wakes up and realises what we're doing. It'll kill him if he thinks we don't trust him either."

"I'll help, John," Brains offered.

"Good," John approved. "We're going to need your expertise… Tin-Tin, can you run the diagnostic checks on the electronics?"

"Of course."

"Alan. You check the wings."

"Sure."

"Virgil was working on the landing gear and legs while he was still fresh," John mused. "So that should be okay. But I don't want to take any chances. Gordon, once you've given them a quick once over you can check the pod connections."

"Gotcha."

"And I'll check his paperwork, in case there's anything there that will give us a lead to any problems… But one thing we must _not_ do, is wake Virgil," John warned. "He needs to sleep until he's ready to wake up."

"Where is he?" Alan asked.

"In Thunderbird Two's infirmary."

Alan nodded. "Good. It's fully vibration and sound-proofed. We shouldn't disturb him."

"Okay everyone." John clapped his hands to hurry them along. "Let's get moving. We don't know how much time we'll have until he wakes up."

"What can I do?" Scott asked.

John pointed a finger at him. "You can keep well away from Two's hangar. I don't want you anywhere near Thunderbird Two or Virgil. I don't care what you do, or where you do it, just so long as you keep clear!"

And Scott, feeling ostracised by family and sickened by his own actions, was left alone in the hall.

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

With only the shortest of breaks for Kyrano's lunch, everyone worked solidly throughout the day. By the time they assembled in an office off to one side of the hangar, they'd checked over every inch of Thunderbird Two.

"I found a couple of welds that weren't up to standard," Alan informed them. "But nothing load-bearing."

"I found a whole series of bolts that seemed to have only been tightened by hand," Tin-Tin admitted. "But they were not ones that were vital to the operation of Thunderbird Two. They may have caused a rattle on the flight deck, but that is all."

Gordon had collapsed into a chair opposite John; who was seated at the desk staring at a computer screen. "I didn't find anything wrong except a couple of scratches to the paintwork. The fact that he hadn't touched them up tells me that he wasn't _compos mentis_ enough to worry about Thunderbird Two's aesthetics when they happened, but apart from that everything's fine." He looked across the desk. "You should have finished ages ago!"

John glanced up from his work. "Are you saying I had the easy job? Here…" he turned a tablet PC around so Gordon could read it. "Tell me what that says."

"Erm…" Gordon picked up the tablet. "It says…" He looked over at John. "Is this Virgil's record keeping?"

Tin-Tin was reading over his shoulder. "_Fuzdn_… something with a tail… _with eight_… or is it a six… something… _belt`_. It doesn't make any sense."

"Looks like gibberish to me," Alan agreed. "His hand writing's that bad that even the text recognition software hasn't been able to recognise it."

"Let's see what our medical man makes of it." Gordon held the tablet out. "Pretend it's a prescription."

Brains accepted the tablet and peered at it short-sightedly, turning back a few screens. Then he shook his head. "No. I c-can't understand it either."

John took the tablet PC back. "You can trace his deterioration over the last couple of weeks. His notes have become less thorough. Then there are days when he's hardly written anything; he's probably planned on updating them the following day and didn't get around to it. Then he started not bothering about correcting any spelling mistakes. As time's passed the TR software has had more and more trouble interpreting what he's written, until we've ended up with this mess." He put the tablet back on the desk.

"Poor Virgil," Tin-Tin sighed. "He must have put all his energies into working on Thunderbird Two."

"Yeah," Gordon agreed. "Until he ran himself dry."

John shut the computer down. "I'm wasting time here." He looked around the rest of the group. "Is everyone satisfied with Thunderbird Two?"

"I'd fly her," Gordon reassured him.

"Good. Is everything the way Virgil left it?"

"She was, er, on the ground when we started," Brains remembered. "However at present Th-Thunderbird Two is s-still standing on her legs."

John looked at his watch. "It's just on dinner time. Gordon, do you want to lower Thunderbird Two, and we'll meet you upstairs?"

Gordon nodded. "See you there."

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

It was a weary group who, having washed and tidied up, sat at the dinner table that had been set up outside by the pool. They were surprised to be joined by an unexpected member of the family.

"Virgil!" Gordon exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"

Tin-Tin left her chair and rushed over to give her brother-in-law a comforting hug. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." Virgil accepted her embrace, and then claimed his seat at the table.

John looked at him in concern. "I thought you'd be sleeping for hours yet."

"Don't panic." Virgil gave him a tired smile. "I intend to head off to my own bed once I've finished here. No one's going to stop me from giving Thunderbird Two her first test flight. Not even me."

"Did your stomach wake you up?" Alan asked.

"No," Virgil admitted. "I dreamt that we were out on a rescue and someone had tied me up and was hijacking Thunderbird Two. She'd just settled down over her pod, when the bump woke me up…" He missed the glances that passed between the others as everyone wondered how much had been a dream. "I decided that I was hungry, so I thought I'd grab something to eat before I seized up too much and couldn't move." He frowned. "I don't remember going into the infirmary."

"We helped you," John told him.

"Oh… Thanks… I'm sorry if I caused any problems."

"It wasn't a problem, Virg," Gordon reassured him. "We wanted to help."

"Your dinner, Mister Virgil." Kyrano placed a plate full of food on the table.

"Thanks, Kyrano." Virgil started eating. Then he slowed down before stopping altogether. "I know I crashed because I was tired, and I know it was a mistake to get that tired, but I can't ignore the fact that I did. I guess over the last few days I kind of lost touch with reality… And I'm scared that I may have made mistakes working on Thunderbird Two… I know that we're running short on time, and I don't want to impose, but… Would anyone have the time to check her over? My records should tell you where I've been working this past week." He yawned; missing the second flurry of shared glances. "Sorry," he apologised. "I'm still shot."

"Don't worry about it, Virgil," John reassured him. "We'll all take a look at her while you're asleep."

"Thanks." Satisfied Virgil started eating again, unaware of the third round of looks that passed between those present at the table.

"In fact," John continued. "I'm wondering if perhaps it's something we should do to all the Thunderbirds. We're all tired and we know that sleep deprivation affects your mental capacity and physical functions. Can any of us confidently say that there's no way that we haven't made a mistake in our work?"

Gordon shrugged. "It doesn't worry me if someone wants to give Four the once over."

"We've been using Thunderbird Three with no problems," Alan reminded his family, "but I'm going to be a long way from a mechanic for a long time. I'd welcome someone checking her over." Hearing a sound he looked over towards the house.

Scott, unsure if he'd be welcome, was approaching the table. Not receiving any indication of direct animosity, but not receiving a greeting either, he took his place. It was only then that he realised who he was going to be dining with. "Virgil! What are...?!" Realising that anxiety and guilt had made him sound more brusque than he'd intended, he attempted to modify his tone of voice. "I mean I…"

Knocking his chair to the ground as he stood, Virgil picked up his plate and strode into the house.

"Virgil…" Scott attempted to follow him.

John caught his arm. "Leave him alone!"

"I only want to apologise," Scott declared. "I was wrong this morning."

Gordon pointed his knife at him. "That has got to be the understatement of the decade."

Scott tried to pull free of the vicelike grip. "Let me go, John."

But John wasn't about to obey him. "We're warning you, Scott…"

"I don't want to hurt him!" Scott protested. "I want to apologise to him... I've _got_ to apologise to him!"

"And that's all?" John warned.

"That's all. Will you let me go?"

"All right," John released his grip. "But make sure that's all you say. He's still fragile. If you upset him again, you'll have to answer to us."

"Don't worry, I'll apologise and leave." Desperate to make amends, Scott hurried away.

Gordon watched his brother leave. "It looks like Virgil hasn't forgotten everything."

In the silence that followed they heard music drift down from the villa.

Alan shook his head. "Trust Virgil to feel Thunderbird Two moving. If anyone else had been in her infirmary, they wouldn't have felt a thing."

"Even, er, that short sleep has r-refreshed him somewhat," Brains added. "He will be b-better tomorrow, and if he continues to get adequate sleep he'll be ready for Thunderbird Two's test flight on Tuesday."

Wary at what might be about to happen; John was still watching the door. "That's if nothing, or no one, upsets him."

Brains looked abashed. "I should have, ah, realised how tired he was in the m-mornings," he admitted. "I am to blame."

"We all should have realised, Brains," Tin-Tin reassured him. "We are all at fault."

She'd no sooner finished speaking when Scott returned. He took two steps towards the group before, aware that everyone was regarding him with hostile stares, stopping. "He refuses to talk to me," he admitted. "He wouldn't open his door and turned his stereo up so he couldn't hear me."

Alan rolled his eyes. "Do you blame him?"

"No…" Scott hesitated. "I…" He made a couple more false starts before steeling himself. "I know I should have given Virgil a chance to explain. I levelled a serious accusation at him, and then convicted him of a crime of which he was innocent without a proper investigation and without giving him the chance to give his side of the story. It's obvious that I've lost your respect, and I don't blame you; if I was in your shoes I'd feel the same way. I know that I no longer deserve your loyalty and that I've lost the right to lead International Rescue..." He paused; the music continuing to haunt him. "So I'll stand down as your commander. I'll leave you to decide who will succeed me. Whoever you elect will be guaranteed my full support…" He ran his hand through his hair. "I, ah, I'll be in my room when you want to let me know your decision." He placed his tablet computer on the table and turned to leave.

"Mister Scott!"

Scott turned back. "Yes, Kyrano?"

Kyrano held out a full plate. "Your dinner, Mister Scott. You must keep up your strength."

Scott took the dish, wondering if he had the stomach to eat it. "Thanks," he mumbled. "I'll be in my room."

When he reached his suite, he put the plate on a table before sitting at his desk. He couldn't face food at this time. Not when he was gorging himself on humble pie topped with a heavy icing of guilt. Not when he'd destroyed his relationship with his family and possibly jeopardised the fate of the world. His stomach turned when he remembered how he'd used that very argument against Virgil barely half a day ago.

He buried his face in his hands. "Why did I do it?" he moaned.

He had no answer.

He could have made excuses for his behaviour. He was tired. He was under a lot of stress. He'd had a shock seeing those track marks and overreacted. But none of those reasons could excuse the fact that he didn't ask a sensible question and listen to the logical answer.

He had failed.

Almost without thinking he reached out and pressed the speed dial on his videophone. While it rang he mused on how, with a few words, it was so easy to destroy everything that was good in his world.

Jeff answered the phone. "Sgo?" He rubbed his eyes with his good hand. _"Do you know what __time it is__?"_

"Oh…" Scott thought he'd hit rock bottom, but found himself descending even further into a pit of shame. "I'm sorry. I'd call back later, but I wanted to talk to you before someone else did."

"_I'm listening,"_ Jeff growled, trying to wake himself up enough to comprehend what his eldest was about to tell him.

"I've resigned as acting commander of International Rescue."

Jeff, his brain still clogged with sleep and confused by the statement, blinked. _"You've what?"_

"I've fallen on my sword."

"_What!? Why?"_

"I'm not fit to lead."

"_Who says?"_

"I do."

"_Why, for Pete's sake?"_

"Because I can't trust myself to trust them!"

"_Scott? What are you talking about?"_

"I'd taken your advice and was scheduling everyone's two-hour breaks..." Scott gave a bitter laugh. "Two hours! What use is two hours rest once a week?! I had two hours the other day and it did me no good! Look at what I've done!"

So far Jeff had no idea what was going on. _"What did you do, Scott?"_

Scott sighed. "I wanted to check when Virgil wanted his break. He was in the blood-bank for his second collection and he had his sleeve rolled up... He had all these injection marks on his arm..."

Jeff seemed unfazed by this revelation.

"I saw the marks and I... I don't know why I did it... I just..."

"_You did what?"_

"I jumped to the wrong conclusion. I accused him of taking drugs. I know I was wrong. I know I should have asked him about the scars before I accused him, but I convinced myself that he was a danger to us all and I told him that I wasn't going to let him anywhere near Thunderbird Two. If I'd given him the chance to speak I would have discovered that he's only been getting three hours sleep a night in a slow-wave sleep generator and that his body is seizing up on him. Brains and Kyrano have been helping him. I should have realised that it was something as innocent as muscle relaxants. I should have trusted him. I should have _realised_! I had a good look at his arms when we first flew out here and there was nothing suspicious on them."

Jeff huffed to himself. _"I told him he should have told you."_

Scott stared at his father. "You knew?!"

"_He told me about needing injections. He didn't tell me that he's been getting hardly any sleep. I would have told him to take better care of himself if I'd known."_

"At least you would have talked to him. I started ranting about how he'd jeopardised everything, and how he'd betrayed us, and how I was going to have to fly Thunderbird Two as well as Thunderbird One... My tirade must have been the last straw. Remember that Christmas I told him that Santa was going to arrive early to see who'd been good, and Virgil stayed awake all night to see his mechanical sleigh?"

"_I remember your mother telling me about it."_

"John says he was like that." Scott sighed. "And now that the others know what I've done I've lost their respect."

"_I can't believe what you're telling me." _Jeff shook his head._ "Why did you do it, Scott?"_

Scott made a helpless gesture. "I could make tons of excuses, but none of them are acceptable. I've failed, so I've got to take responsibility for my actions and accept the consequences. End of story. I've told them to vote on who'll take my place, and that I'll accept whatever decision they make. I can't expect them to be loyal to me when I've betrayed them."

"_Who do you think will take over?"_

Scott responded without hesitation. "John: He's got leadership experience. And he's got their respect; they're already following his directions. He instructed everyone to check Thunderbird Two over in case Virgil's made any mistakes, but they wouldn't let me anywhere near her..."

Jeff was frowning. _"Will you be able to work beneath John?"_

"I've been doing it for the last seven years, remember? He's a fair leader, and a hard worker. He'll see us through to the end."

There was a knock on the door. Scott glanced over his shoulder. "Come in."

The door slid open, and Gordon, stony-faced, stepped into the room. "We've made our decision."

"Oh... Right... Thanks... I'll be right out." Scott turned back to the videophone. "I'd better go and find out who I'm going to be answering to."

"_Let me know what happens,"_ Jeff instructed. _"Call me as soon as you can."_

"The next one of us to contact you will be my successor," Scott told him. "I'll tell... That is, I'll ask him to phone."

Behind Scott's back, Jeff was astonished to see Gordon's face break into a huge grin. A grin which was accompanied by an equally big wink, before the original impassive mask slipped back into place. "We're waiting."

Scott nodded. "I'll talk to you sometime soon, Father. I won't ask for luck. I don't deserve it." He disconnected the videophone link and turned to his brother. "Let's go."

He was led out to where everyone was waiting in the lounge. Except for Virgil, who was seated at the closed piano, Scott's family were all standing or sitting in a rough semi-circle facing him. Gordon claimed a seat next to Kyrano, and Scott, feeling like a naughty school boy called up in front of the entire teaching staff, stood alone. He waited to hear his fate.

John was standing in front of their father's desk, the tablet PC on its top, and, as Scott had expected, took the lead. "I'm sure I don't need to tell you, Scott, that we're all furious with you. Furious, and disappointed. You have repeatedly betrayed not only Virgil, but all of us. Right through from when we reformed International Rescue, you've shown a complete lack of trust towards us all. Your unfounded accusation against Virgil is the most serious of a number of transgressions; and, as you are aware, we can't afford to allow such mistrust to continue. It will undermine International Rescue, and could ultimately destroy any chance we've got of success."

Scott nodded. He knew it was the truth.

"We've had a thorough discussion about who we believe would be the best person to lead International Rescue from here on," John continued. "We have come to a decision as to who we want to command us, and we expect you to uphold our wishes."

"I will," Scott agreed. "You have my word."

"Good." John walked forward. "So that no one would feel pressured into selecting, or not selecting, a particular candidate, we held a secret ballot." He held out a small assortment of papers to Scott. "We want you to see who we believe are the best people to lead us."

Wishing that they'd stop this torture and just tell him who the new commander was so they could get on with their lives, Scott accepted the papers. "Thank you," he mumbled.

John returned to the desk, and leant on it; his arms folded and his gaze fixed on his elder brother.

Scott took a deep breath and looked at the first ballot. It might have been 'secret', but he had no trouble recognising John's writing. What surprised him was the single word written on the page.

_Scott._

Astonished, he looked up at John, who, showing no trace of emotion, stared back.

Scott slid his brother's vote to the back of the pile and looked at the next one, recognising Alan's writing.

_Scott._

Disbelieving, he shuffled Alan's to the bottom, and read Tin-Tin's ballot.

_Scott._

Gordon had written _me_ and then crossed it out, before writing _Scott._

_Mister Scott_ could only have been Kyrano's vote.

Brains' vote would have been indecipherable, if it wasn't for the squiggle at the beginning, the rise at the end, and the line transecting the word.

That left only one ballot, the one that Scott dreaded seeing most of all. He decided that there wasn't much point in discovering who Virgil believed would be a better leader, since the others had clearly, if astonishingly, outvoted him.

Scott indicated the papers in his hand. "I don't understand."

"The simple fact, Scott," John told him, "is that there is no one here who could lead us as well as you do. Yes, you made a mistake. And yes, it was a big one. But it's your only mistake in all the years International Rescue has been together, and if we were to throw you out now, it would be more disruptive than keeping you on. We're in too deep to make changes." He picked up the tablet PC and walked across to his humbled brother. "But consider this a warning. You've got to learn to trust us again. You must know that none of us here would betray you; or anyone else in the family; or International Rescue."

Scott nodded. "I know... I'll work on it."

John smiled. "That's all we're asking." He held out the tablet PC. "That's yours."

Scott accepted the device. "Thank you."

"That's the real reason why no one else got the job," Gordon commented. "None of us could follow your notes on that thing."

Scott shared a relieved chuckle at his brother's joke, before becoming serious. "I'm surprised that you've elected to keep me on. Surprised; shocked; and grateful. And I'm going to do my best not to betray your faith in me. Thank you for giving me a second chance." He raised his hands in a helpless gesture. "I don't know what else to say."

"I can think of one thing." John gave a pointed look towards the piano. "We've got better things to do than hang around here." He patted Scott on the arm. "We'll see you later."

Hugging the tablet to his chest Scott waited until his family had filed past and out of the room. Then he picked up a chair and placed it next to the piano. He sat down. "I'm sorry."

Virgil was running his fingers along the edge of the closed lid as if wanted nothing more than to open it and start playing.

Scott watched him for a moment. "I'm sorry," he repeated as he put the tablet PC onto the white surface. "I'm sorry for the way I reacted, and I'm sorry that I didn't give you a chance to explain. I'm sorry for everything I said. I was wrong."

Virgil didn't say anything.

Scott fidgeted; shuffling the ballot papers. "Is it really that bad...?" he asked. "In the morning?"

Virgil nodded slowly.

"I wish you'd told me. I would have helped."

"You couldn't have done anything."

Relieved that Virgil was talking to him, Scott smiled. "I would have gone easy on you."

"You couldn't afford to do that. You had your work that needed to be done, and I had mine."

"I would have thought of something." Scott glanced down and froze. Staring at him was the one vote he hadn't read earlier.

_Scott._

"You...?" Scott cleared his throat and tried again. "You voted for me? Why? "

Virgil shrugged. "It was like John said."

"But... But I betrayed you."

"Yes."

"Does this mean you forgive me?"

Virgil stared Scott in the eye. "No."

"Oh," Scott tried not to feel hurt by the blunt answer. "I und..."

"I'm not Farrah!" Virgil hissed.

Scott's brief sensation of relief had vanished, to be replaced by a now familiar deep sense of shame. "I know."

"Don't punish me for what she did! Just because you trusted her and she betrayed you, doesn't mean that everyone does it!"

"I know," Scott repeated.

"It doesn't mean that _I_ would do it!"

"I know," Scott repeated a third time. "I understand why you can't forgive me. I don't blame you." He noticed that Virgil was still stroking the piano lid. "Why don't you play something?"

"Haven't got time." Virgil stood. "I'm going to bed to catch up on my sleep. _I've_ got a test flight on Tuesday."

"And I won't stop..." but Virgil had gone, leaving Scott alone seated next to a vacant piano. "...you."

He was still sitting there, deep in morose thought, when Tin-Tin entered the lounge. "Scott? Are you all right?"

Scott made a helpless gesture. "I've destroyed a lifelong friendship. How all right can I be?"

Feeling sorry for him despite everything, Tin-Tin put her arm about his shoulders. "Give him time, Scott. He's hurting now, but he will be your friend again."

"Why should he be? Look at what I did to him."

"He will be, because your relationship is stronger than anything."

Scott looked up at his sister-in-law. "Are you sure about that? We've been growing apart for years. This morning I finally erected a wall in that gap between us."

"And International Rescue has had many experiences of breaking down walls to reunite families. You and Virgil will be no different."

"The problem is that even though I may have days rather than seconds to work a miracle this time; if we can't beat Doomsday or Arnie, I'm still in a race against the clock."

"You will succeed, Scott," Tin-Tin reassured him.

Scott squeezed her hand. "Does this mean you're not mad at me?"

"I am furious with you," Tin-Tin corrected. "But, judging by your expression, nothing I say could punish you as much as you are punishing yourself. I have no desire to add to your burden."

"Thanks."

"I must go." Tin-Tin kissed her brother-in-law on the top of his head. "Have a good night's sleep, Scott. Things will be better tomorrow."

"I hope so." Scott got to his feet. "But before I hit the sack I've got a videocall to make."

"Good night." Tin-Tin turned to go.

"Honey..." Scott's call stopped her. "Thanks for your faith in me..."

Tin-Tin smiled. "Do not worry. All will be well."

Back in his room, Scott initiated the videophone call. His father, looking more awake than he did last time he been called, answered the phone. _"Scott? I thought you said you'd ask the new commander to call me?"_

Despite all that had happened, Scott grinned. "You're looking at him..."

_To be continued..._


	18. Chapter 18 - Descending Deeper

**Chapter 18: Descending Deeper**

To say that things returned to normal would be wrong. Scott endured a sleepless night as his mind fought with "whys", "what ifs", "if onlys", and a deep desire to go back in time to right his wrongs. By the morning he was still struggling to come to terms with his actions, and found it difficult to strike the right balance between issuing necessary instructions, and attempting to trust everyone to do what was right.

It didn't help that Virgil was cool towards him. The younger man took the day following their confrontation slowly as he regained his energies; getting up late and fixing the minor faults that the rest of his family had found while he was asleep. He didn't ignore his brother, but neither did he encourage any unnecessary interaction. As far as he was concerned, any conversation between the pair of them was to be strictly work-related. Despite Scott's self-depreciating jokes, he displayed no warmth or friendship or any hint of the closeness the pair had enjoyed when they were younger.

The others were on edge; wondering if they'd made the right decision in retaining Scott as their leader; hoping that things would go smoothly from hereon in; and wishing that the whole nightmare, including Doomsday and Arnie, would just go away.

That was the crux of Alan and Tin-Tin's discussion when they'd finished breakfast in their room the day before Thunderbird Two's test launch.

Tin-Tin had just rinsed after brushing her teeth, when Alan came up from behind and slid his arms about her tummy. He wanted to imprint her in his mind; never forgetting the way she felt, the way she smelt, the way she looked, the way she sounded, even the way she tasted. He kissed her on the neck. "You okay?" He looked into her eyes reflected in the mirror.

"Yes."

"I wish I didn't have to leave you."

Tin-Tin leant back against her husband. "That was your choice, remember? I wanted to go with you."

"I know. But you must admit now that we've made the right choice."

"You are not leaving for another month. Things might be better by then."

"Or they might be worse. At least with you remaining on Earth I know that if something happens you won't be far from help."

"Unless your brothers fail to beat Doomsday." Tin-Tin turned around and put her arms about his neck. "And what if something should happen to you?"

He inhaled the minty freshness of her breath. "That's a chance I've got to take."

"Oh, Alan!" Tin-Tin pulled him close and buried her head into his shoulder. "Why do things have to be so uncertain? Sometimes I am frightened by what the future might hold."

"Look on the bright side," he suggested. "We're better off than most of the people in the world."

"We are?"

"Yes. At least we know that there is a chance that the planet will be saved. No one else knows that International Rescue is back in action yet."

"When do you think Scott will tell the World President?"

"I don't know. He's got enough to worry about at the moment. Maybe he'll wait until the day before D-Day?"

"October 7th?" Tin-Tin thought. "Maybe he won't tell her at all. It might be better if we do not get people's hopes up."

"We'll probably have to let the governments in the area around the Dead Sea Transform know. We don't want some trigger-happy general shooting Virgil out of the sky again."

"Poor Virgil," Tin-Tin sighed. "I wish he'd told us things were so bad."

"Yeah." Alan let her go and reached for his own tooth cleaning kit. "It's upset the whole family dynamic… I still can't get over how angry John looked. Almost as if he could have punched Scott's lights out." Hit bit down on the 'brush' and there was a brief burst of noise as the hypersonic cleaner did its work. He replaced his kit.

"If Gordon hadn't been there, I think he would have," Tin-Tin admitted.

Alan rinsed out his mouth. "John?! No way. I don't remember him ever getting violent towards anybody. Even when we were kids he was never that keen on getting involved in our play-wrestling. I think he was scared he'd snap those stick insect limbs of his."

"Well, I'm sure he wanted to hurt Scott on Saturday. He was so angry! But Gordon was wonderful the way he took control."

Alan washed his face. "You would think that."

"What?!"

Hiding from his wife's glare, Alan buried his face into his towel. "Nothing," he mumbled.

If he'd hoped the towel would shield him from her questions, he was wrong. "It didn't sound like 'nothing'," Tin-Tin rebuked. "What did you say?"

Alan gritted his teeth, already regretting his initial comment. "That you would think that Gordon was wonderful."

Tin-Tin didn't like the way he'd said that. "What do you mean?"

"Just forget it," he told her.

"I won't forget it," Tin-Tin snapped. "It sounded like you were accusing me of something."

"Do I have anything to accuse you of?"

"Of course not! Why would you say that, Alan Tracy?"

"Oh, I don't know," he sneered. "Maybe the way you look at Gordon. Or the way he looks at you…"

Tin-Tin gaped at him. "What!"

"The way you hug him…"

"The way I what!"

"The way he kisses you."

"Kisses!? ME?!"

"Yes!" Alan snapped; all his simmering fears and concerns suddenly boiling over. "Don't try to deny it. I've seen you two together... With my own eyes!"

"Me?! And… And…" Tin-Tin spluttered. "Gordon!?"

Alan twisted the towel in his hands. "I'm not stupid...!"

"Are you sure of that?!"

"...But why, of all people, did it have to be him...!?" The towel was being wrung as if Alan was imagining it was someone's neck in his hands.

"Nothing's happened!"

"...And why do you have to do it right under my nose...?"

"We haven't done anything!"

"Couldn't you at least have the decency to wait until I'm on my way to Jupiter before you start your affair?!"

"Affair!" Tin-Tin was furious. "How dare you accuse me of having an affair!?"

"I dare because it's the truth!"

"It is not the truth! And how could you accuse Gordon? He's your brother!"

"That's what really hurts. My own brother, Tin-Tin. Why couldn't it have been with a stranger?"

"It hasn't been with anyone! I love you, you idiot!"

"You have a funny way of showing it."

"Oh, excuse me! So putting up with your silly moods, and... and... and the way you get dirt all over everything, and the way that you have to do everything as if you always have to be the first to the finish line, isn't showing that I love you?!"

"You could do that with anyone... Like Gordon."

Tin-Tin's eyes flashed. "Get out!"

Alan glared at her. "What?!"

"I said get out! Get out of my room!"

"This is my room too, remember. We are married! Or have you forgotten, Tin-Tin? Have you forgotten our marriage vows? The one that said you'd be true to me forever!"

"How about the vow _you_ made? The one where you said you'd trust me forever." Tin-Tin looked at Alan in disgust. "You're just like Scott."

"Yeah, well maybe he had the right idea; remaining a bachelor!"

"If that's what you want, then you can just leave!"

"Maybe I will!" Alan stormed. "I don't want to be the third wheel in your life."

"Like I've always been?"

Alan's jaw dropped. "What?!"

"If it hasn't been some other woman you've drooled over, it's been a race car. And if it's not a race car, it's a spaceship! You're just like a little boy; only happy if you've got a toy to play with."

"A little boy, am I?"

"Yes!"

"Fine..." Alan snatched up his jacket. "Then I'll go play elsewhere!" He slammed his hand against the panel that opened the door that led into the hall.

"Morning, Alan," Gordon said cheerfully. "Morning Tin-T..."

Alan threw himself at his brother. "You keep away from her!"

Tin-Tin screamed. "Stop, Alan!"

"Alan!" Gordon found himself pressed up against the wall, soaking the wallpaper after his swim, and trying to defend himself against his irate younger brother. "What's got into you?!"

His own face cerise in rage, Alan got right into Gordon's. "I don't want you anywhere near her!"

Tin-Tin tried to pull him free. "Get off him!"

Gordon attempted to push Alan off. "What have I done?"

"You know what you've done!" Alan raised his fist. "After all I've done for you!"

"Alan!" Alan was dragged away from his hostage. He fought to free himself from the grasp that held his arms captive, and heard Virgil's voice in his ear. "Stop struggling! It hurts."

Alan took no notice as he battled against Virgil's grip; his full attention on his target. "I hate you, Gordon!" he screamed. "I won't let you take Tin-Tin away from me!"

Gordon had been knocked to the floor when Virgil had pulled Alan off him. "What are you talking about?" Bewildered, he struggled to his feet.

"What's going on?" Scott demanded, panting slightly after his dash to find out what the noise was all about. He was in his gym gear, and his hair was still wet after a long session. He helped Gordon stand. "I could hear you guys down the corridor."

"I also."

"Father!" Tin-Tin burst into tears and ran into her father's arms. "Alan thinks I'm having an affair."

"I've seen you!" Alan yelled at her. "I've seen you and Gordon together!"

"Me?" A bemused brother stared at him. "And Tin-Tin?!" Gordon gave a nervous laugh. "That's crazy!"

Tin-Tin buried her head into Kyrano's robes. "Alan doesn't believe me, Father!" she sobbed.

"I believe what I've seen," Alan exclaimed. "And I've seen the way you and Gordon carry on when you think you're alone!"

"I don't know what you've seen, Alan," Gordon told him. "But whatever it was, you've interpreted it wrong. Why would I have an affair with Tin-Tin?"

"Because she's available!"

Tin-Tin turned on him. "What!"

"Huh?" Alan looked startled at her reaction. "Oh...! No, I didn't mean it like that. I mean you're the only woman around for miles."

Gordon held up a placating hand. "This is me, remember? The guy who married Marina? Do you think I've got the intelligence and taste to hit on someone like Tin-Tin?"

"I've seen you kiss her!"

"Not like..." Gordon squirmed. "That."

"Sure," Alan sneered. He tried to pull free of Virgil's hold. "Let me at him!"

Virgil tightened his grip. "No!"

"You can't think that I would come between you and Tin-Tin, Alan," Gordon was saying. "I've already ruined one marriage. I don't want to destroy yours as well."

"Gordon!" Alan raged. "If I..."

"You hypocrite!" Tin-Tin pointed her finger at her husband. "What about you and Lady Penelope?!"

"...hear that you..." Suddenly aware of his wife's accusation, and confused by its meaning, Alan stopped struggling against his captor. He stared at her. "What?"

"You and Lady Penelope!" she hissed. "I've seen you together. I've seen you kissing _that_ woman when you thought no one was looking."

"I haven't..."

"Hello? What have we got here?" John asked cheerfully. Unaware of the unfolding drama, he'd just returned from his morning run. "Are we having a party or something?"

He gave a yelp of surprise when Tin-Tin, her hands extended like claws, leapt past him towards her husband. "You liar!" she screeched. "I've seen you!"

Her father grabbed her and held her back. "Do not do this, my daughter."

Virgil had reacted nearly as quickly; swinging Alan out of harm's way while he tried to maintain a rock-solid hold on his youngest brother. "I wish you two would behave yourselves. It's way too early to exert myself like this. I haven't had a chance to loosen up properly yet."

Tin-Tin ignored his plea. "You can't deny it!" she screamed. "I've seen you. I've seen your secret meetings! I've heard your secret phone calls!"

"Oh..." Alan sagged in Virgil's grasp. "It's not what you think."

"Oh, isn't it!?"

"What's going on?" John whispered to his eldest brother.

Scott raised his hand for silence. "Okay," his voice was quiet, but commanding. "Let's start at the beginning, shall we? Alan: have you been carrying on with Lady Penelope?"

"No!" Alan protested. "Of course not! I wouldn't!"

"Okay, okay..." Scott held up a pacifying hand. "I'm just trying to ascertain the facts. Now... Why would Tin-Tin think you have been behaving inappropriately with Lady Penelope?"

Alan hesitated. He glanced at Tin-Tin; then he looked towards Gordon. "I knew you wanted to get your divorce over as quickly and painlessly as possible, but I don't want to see you ripped off. So I've asked Penny to see if she could dig up any dirt on Marina. The phone calls have been when she was reporting on what she'd found. I've kept it secret 'cos we've got enough to worry about and I didn't want anyone sidetracked from their work because they were wondering what she was going to find. If the divorce was imminent then I would have said something, but there didn't seem to be much point when it's months away."

Scott nodded, keeping his reactions non-committal. "And has she found out anything?"

"Erm... Yeah..." Now Alan looked apologetic. "I'm sorry, Gordon, but Penny's found evidence that Marina was having an affair while you were together."

Gordon stared at him as if he didn't know how he should react.

"But what about the kisses, Alan?" Tin-Tin jeered. "I saw you kiss Lady Penelope! What excuse do you have for that!?"

"Hush, Tin-Tin," Kyrano admonished. "Let your husband speak."

"I can only think of one time that I did kiss her," Alan admitted. "I was thanking her for all that she'd done for me, and Gordon, up to that point. And, if I remember correctly, it was only a peck on the cheek." He looked over at Scott. "I swear that's all it was. And Parker was there. He saw me do it. He didn't approve of a common American soiling her Ladyship's skin." He looked back at Tin-Tin; his expression pleading. "Honest. That's all that's going on between Lady Penelope and me."

"All right." Scott turned to Tin-Tin. "Why does Alan think you're having an affair with Gordon?"

"I am not. I am trying to help him."

"If that's the case, why does Alan think it's more than that?"

"Tell them everything, Tin-Tin," Gordon advised; and Virgil, who'd relaxed somewhat while Alan had been talking, tightened his grip on his youngest brother.

Tin-Tin straightened, trying to hide her confusion over Alan's confession. "I could see that Gordon's divorce was upsetting him, and I wanted to help. We talked. Yes, I hugged him, but that was because he needed comfort."

"Tin-Tin's telling the truth," Gordon confirmed. "If anyone did any kissing, it was me... But it was nothing intimate!" he added hurriedly when he saw Alan's fists tense up again.

"Watch what you say, Gordon," Virgil pleaded. "Stopping Alan from beating you to a pulp isn't part of my normal morning loosening up routine."

"Let him go, Virgil," Scott commanded.

Despite his complaining muscles, Virgil wasn't about to give up that easily. "Are you sure?"

"You can let me go," Alan told his brother. "I won't attack him."

Virgil wasn't convinced. "You promise?"

"I promise."

"Come and stand next to me, Alan," Scott commanded. "I want you where I can keep an eye on you."

Deciding that any protests against being treated like a child would fall on deaf ears, Alan shoved his hands into his pockets and obeyed. Virgil gave a sigh of relief and leant back against the wall, gingerly stretching his aching limbs.

"Like you, Alan, it was only a peck on the cheek," Gordon continued, "because I was grateful for the support she was giving me. I didn't want to worry anyone, and I didn't ask to involve Tin-Tin in my problems. But she's given me some good advice, and I suppose I've used her as my confessional. I've been able to tell her things that I would never discuss with you guys, because, as a rule, they're things men don't talk about."

He was surprised when Scott nodded. "I can vouch for that, Alan."

Alan stared at him. "You can?"

"Yes. I know that Gordon's discussed, ah... things with Tin-Tin that aren't in the public domain. I don't know about the other guys, but she's also let me discuss... things."

"You're lucky to have her, Alan," Gordon added.

"Uh... Yeah..." Alan hung his head. "That's why I don't want to lose her."

"Believe me. None of us want that." Scott faced Tin-Tin. "Are you happy with his explanation?"

She hesitated. A large part of her wanted to believe Alan, but she'd heard him say things...

Scott noticed her indecision. "Well, there's one way of settling this once and for all. We'll use the communications unit in the lounge."

"What?" Alan paled. "You're not going to call Penny are you? You'll embarrass her."

"I won't embarrass her..." Scott fixed him with a warning glare. "Unless there is something to Tin-Tin's accusations."

"I'm not worried about that. It's just... Well... It's Lady Penelope. I don't think she'll take too kindly to being labelled as the _other woman_."

"And if you let me do the talking she won't even know. Come on." Scott strode down to the lounge.

Trying to look as if he didn't have any concerns about the upcoming call, Alan obeyed. Clinging to her father as if she was expecting to need his support, Tin-Tin followed.

That left John, Virgil, and Gordon.

John folded his arms and eyed his red-headed brother. "Just what have you been up to this time, Gordon?"

"Nothing!"

"Sure..." John jeered.

"I've said it before and I'll say it again. Tin-Tin's like a sister. I could never have any other type of relationship with her."

John grinned. "Don't worry, we believe you. Right, Virg?"

"I'll believe anything so long as it doesn't involve holding onto an angry Alan first thing in the morning."

"Come on," Gordon started walking. "I want to hear what Penny has to say."

Scott, in Jeff's seat at their father's desk, hadn't initiated the call. "I was beginning to wonder if you were joining us, Gordon."

"Are you kidding? I want to hear what evidence Lady Penelope has against Marina. The more I think about that woman, the less I like her."

"Right." Scott pressed a button which linked the videophone with a display on the wall. "Everyone stand well clear of the video camera. I don't want her to know that anyone else is listening." He pushed the speed dial.

Barely a second had passed when Parker answered the videophone. "Good h-evening, Mister Scott."

"Good day, Parker. Can I have a quick word with her Ladyship, please?"

"Certainly, Sir. H-I shall h-ascertain h-if she h-is h-available."

"Thanks."

This time the wait was slightly longer, and the Tracys watched a slide show of English pastoral scenes. Then a bucolic photo of lambs gambolling in a field faded out.

"Scott!" Lady Penelope smiled. "It is good to see you."

"And it's good to see you too, Penny. I can't stop and chat for long, but Alan's let me in on your little secret."

"I am so glad that he has told someone." Lady Penelope made the admission with no hesitation. "I know he is trying to protect you all from further worries, but I am sure that Gordon would be happier knowing that someone is looking out for his interests. Are you going to inform him of Marina's infidelities?"

Scott sidestepped her query. "You have evidence?"

"Unfortunately, nothing that will stand in court. With Parker's help I have been using the tools of my trade to get what information I can. I know that she has betrayed Gordon, but my evidence would be inadmissible."

"Anything I can do to help?"

"Just concentrate on saving the world, dear boy. There is no point in us all stressing over what the courts will accept if there is no judicial system to accept it."

"You have a good point there," Scott agreed. "And I'd better get back to work. Call us if you have further news."

"You know I shall. Give my love to everyone."

"Will do. Talk to you later, Penny." Scott hung up the phone.

Relaxing in an easy chair in the Creighton-Ward manor, Lady Penelope eyed her videophone. "How odd."

"H-Odd, m'Lady?"

Lady Penelope regarded her butler. "He did not ask after his father."

Half a world away, Scott vacated the desk. Without a word he put his arm about Gordon's shoulders to comfort and guide him, and indicated that their brothers should leave the room with them. They obeyed without comment; closely followed by Kyrano.

Leaving Alan and Tin-Tin alone. "I'm sorry," they said together, and managed an embarrassed laugh at their overlapping apology.

"Since I started the argument, can I go first?" Alan requested. "I should have known that you would never betray me, Tin-Tin. It's just that I'm going to be away from you for months... And I'm scared that you'll stop loving me."

"I could never stop loving you."

Alan spread his hands in supplication. "I'm an idiot. Can you forgive me?"

"Of course I forgive you. And you are not an idiot," Tin-Tin corrected. "You are tired, and stressed, and when you asked I did not tell you the whole story... I am sorry too. I know that when you were younger you were attracted to Lady Penelope..."

"Me and every guy in the universe," Alan interrupted. "But I learnt a long time ago that she's not the woman for me."

"But now that I'm growing ugly and fat..."

"Hey..." Alan laid his finger on her lips. "You are not fat." He picked up one of her hands and kissed her fingers. "And even with broken fingernails," he raised his hand to her face, his thumb caressing her cheek, "and with dark circles under your eyes, and wearing that shapeless lab coat instead of one of your designer dresses, you are more beautiful now than you've ever been. I don't want to spend my life with some posh dame who makes me feel that she'd kill me with a single karate chop if I used the wrong fork at dinner. I want to spend it with someone who knows and understands me better than anyone; who puts up with my moods and insecurities; who makes me feel like a man instead of a little kid. I want to spend my life with you. And when I can't, it's your photo I want on the wall of Thunderbird Three, not Lady Penelope's." He wrapped his arms about her. "I love you, Tin-Tin."

Tin-Tin laid her head against his chest. "Do you forgive me?"

"I could forgive you anything."

-F-A-B-

"Are you okay, Gordon?" Scott asked.

"Huh?" Gordon had lapsed into some kind of reverie. "Oh... Yeah... I guess so. I mean, I don't want Marina back. I don't love her. But it is kind of a shock to realise that she cheated on me. We were only married seven months." He sighed. "I wish I'd listened to everyone and hadn't married her."

"Chalk it up to one of life's lessons," Virgil suggested. "Call it an experiment." Gordon gave him a look that told him that he didn't know what he was talking about. "Don't worry about Alan and Tin-Tin. They've had their squabbles before and they've always made up."

"They've never accused each other of having an affair before," Gordon pointed out. "And I've never been cited as the other man." He threw his hands up in horror. "I just wish people would stop trying to help me!"

"It was a misunderstanding," John reminded him. "Alan grabbed the wrong end of the stick... And tried to beat you up with it."

"Yeah, well, I think that gave me more of a shock than the revelation that I wasn't the only man in Marina's life."

"You told me that you thought she had a boyfriend," John recollected.

"It was only a supposition. I didn't have any real evidence."

"And you still don't," Scott noted. "What are you going to do?"

"Call my lawyer."

"What are you going to tell him?" John asked. "That you've got a friend who's a spy and that she's been tapping into Marina's phone calls?"

"No. I'll just say that I've heard a rumour and get him to check it out using more legitimate means." Gordon heaved a sigh. "Catch you guys later."

"I'd better get moving too," Virgil agreed. "I've got work to do. I'll see you at lunchtime."

"I want to have a meeting after lunch," Scott told them. "Can you make it?"

Virgil met his eyes with an impersonal stare. "If it's necessary."

"I think it will be."

"Then I'll be there."

"Thanks. Gordon?"

"Yeah. I should be a few thousand dollars poorer by then."

As both brothers left the room John held Scott back. "Look… I need to say something and I'd appreciate it if you'd let me get it out before you responded."

Scott felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. But he nodded. "Do you want to talk in my room?"

"Yeah. Hopefully that'll mean we don't get interrupted."

Scott led the way and ensured that the door closed behind them. "What's up?"

John took a moment to consider what he was about to say. "You've got to admit that we're at a low point."

Scott managed to stop himself from agreeing.

"We're frighteningly close to falling apart and it seems that it wouldn't take much for the family to implode. We know that none of us want that; but we're tired, our tempers are short, and we're stressed out to the max…" John took a deep breath. "Because of this I want to apologise for assaulting you the other day."

Surprised, Scott could only stare at his brother.

"I got carried away," John admitted. "I saw how you'd hurt Virgil and I wanted to hurt you just as much. It seemed that the easiest way to do that was to attack you physically. I was mad at you; heck, I'm still mad at you, but if Gordon hadn't pulled me off I would have done something that we would have both regretted. I'm ashamed that I let my emotions get carried away to that extent. It was wrong of me."

Scott took his brother's pause as an invitation to speak. "Don't worry about it, John. I would have done just the same if our role had been reversed."

"No you wouldn't. You wouldn't have physically attacked one of us, no matter how mad you were. I know that I behaved disgracefully and I want to apologise. I can't sleep at night because I'm so knotted up over what's happened… And what's happening to us all."

"You're tired and I'm tired, John," Scott reminded him. "Just like Alan and Tin-Tin are tired. We will survive this."

"Will we? I thought Alan and Tin-Tin were made for each other, and here they are accusing each other of having an affair. And citing Gordon of all people! And think how horrified Penny would be if she knew that she was labelled as the other woman."

Scott managed a wry smile. "Don't worry. I'm not going to tell her."

"But what about you and Virgil?"

Scott examined a small cut on the back of his hand. "That's my fault," he confessed. "I can't blame anyone or anything else. I can only hope that once all this is over we can become friends again."

"We all hope that, Scott," John admitted. "We need to be a family again. Not just 'International Rescue'..."

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

_12:45pm_

"We've been working solidly for 44 days," International Rescue's commander announced, "and we've made good progress. I think that it's possible that we've underestimated what we've achieved, and are overestimating the job ahead. Therefore, while I know we've all got lots to do, I think it's important to see if my assumption is correct and if we can reduce our workload from here on. Maybe if we work together we will be able to work smarter, and spread the load, thereby reducing our stress levels." Scott looked at the total population of Tracy Island.

Seated around the digital table, the total population of Tracy Island looked back at him.

"Wh-What do you have in mind?" Brains asked.

"I would like everyone to report on what tasks they have remaining. Then we'll discuss whether or not those tasks could be done quicker, or more efficiently, if more than one person was working on them. For instance..." using the digital table Scott accessed International Rescue's main computer server. "I've only got to retune Thunderbird One's port aft jet, recheck the replaced wing, and then run the full diagnostic programme before I take her for her first test flight. If that goes well then I'll be able to recalibrate her rocket launchers, and restore her horizontal landing gear. That's been a low priority, but I'd like to get it operational before October eighth." He looked at his audience. "In my case, if someone was available to check the jet unit while I checked the wing, then I'd be ready for the test flight earlier."

"Thunderbird Two's ready for her test flight tomorrow," Virgil reminded him. "Then I'll have to concentrate on The Mole. I've barely touched it."

Scott smiled at him, feeling that the smile was just that little too big and that little too forced. "Maybe someone will be able to help you. Anyone?"

"I'm giving Thunderbird Three a top-to-tail check," Alan noted.

"And we've still got several more supply runs up to Thunderbird Five to make," John added.

"It's, er, five weeks until Thunderbird Three leaves," Brains noted. "And I am s-still building the booster that Alan will use to push asteroid 2070SB into Jupiter. Tin-Tin and I will only have, ah, two further weeks after that to complete the acoustic concussion generators."

"Will you need all that time to work on the ACGs?" Virgil asked.

Brains nodded. "I believe so."

"Well, I've still got a few finishing touches to do to Thunderbird Four," Gordon admitted. "And I want to have a few more test runs in her; check that she can withstand being dropped from Thunderbird Two, that kind of thing; but I should be able to help."

"Good. Thanks." This smile, Scott decided, felt more natural.

"I should like to assist," Kyrano offered.

"You can recalibrate Thunderbird One's rocket launchers," Gordon teased.

Recognising the joke, Kyrano inclined his head.

"We're going to have to start running simulations," Virgil reminded everyone. "It's all very well our craft being ready for their missions, but we've got to be just as ready."

Scott nodded. "That's a good point. Perhaps we could ask you to run the simulations, Kyrano?"

Once again Kyrano made his characteristic head gesture. "It would be my pleasure."

"I'm sure we can do more to get things moving," Scott continued. "Can everyone access their maintenance records...?"

The next hour was taken up with everyone poring over their notes, ticking off tasks that had been completed, and making suggestions about how various processes could be streamlined. Much to their relief they began to realise that they were further advanced than they'd feared. But as they started to relax they became aware that one member of the group was flicking through his files with what appeared to be a kind of restrained panic.

John leant closer to his brother. "What's wrong, Virgil?" he whispered.

Virgil shot him a wild look. "It's my notes." He pushed one digital sheet closer. "Can you read that?" he hissed.

"I've seen them," John admitted. "I couldn't read it either."

"You couldn't?"

John kept his voice low. "Don't worry about it. We checked Thunderbird Two over, remember? She's fine."

Virgil didn't seem reassured by the admission. "That's not the point."

"This," John indicated the digital paper, "doesn't matter."

"Doesn't matter!" Virgil exclaimed. "Of course it matters!" He shrunk back when he realised that everyone was looking at him.

"Relax," John said in his normal voice. "Maybe on some other day it would be an issue, but we all know that Thunderbird Two's fine. Don't worry about the last few weeks' record keeping. You can start today with a clean slate."

"A clean slate?! How can you call this a clean slate?" Disgusted with himself Virgil pushed his 'stack' of digital papers away. "I've screwed up big time." Upset and annoyed at how he'd failed International Rescue, he slumped back into his seat, folded his arms, and glowered at his incomplete paperwork.

Tin-Tin favoured her brother-in-law with an understanding smile. "You were tired, Virgil. What matters is that most of the work you did is sound."

"We seem to be using tiredness as an excuse a lot these days," Virgil grumbled.

"A valid one this time," John reminded him. "We're the ones who should be feeling bad, because we didn't realise how exhausted you really were."

"John's right," Scott agreed; careful to not say anything that would inflame the fragile truce that existed between himself and his brother. "And I'm the most to blame, because as your commander I should have known that you were pushing yourself too hard. I should have insisted that you got some rest before you started making mistakes."

Virgil glared at him. "You didn't realise because I made a point of hiding it from you. I deceived you and I deceived myself that I could handle it!"

"You know the, ah, detrimental effects sleep deprivation has on the body, Virgil," Brains reminded him. "I-It affects your judgement. Y-You were past the stage of being able to, er, make rational decisions. And I, as a medical professional, sh-should have recognised the symptoms. If anyone was to blame, it was me."

"I hid it from you too, Brains! I should never have let myself get to that stage! Record keeping is important, and I didn't do it! I'm the one…" Virgil hit himself on the chest, "who would have been the one to blame if something had happened to Thunderbird Two!"

"But, Virgil…" Gordon leant forward. "We all checked her. Well, all except for Scott, and we all know that nothing is going to happen to Thunderbird Two that you could take the blame for. Because we all know that you didn't make any major mistakes when you were working on her."

"Gordon's right," Alan agreed. "Look at it this way, Virg. If Scott hadn't called this meeting you would probably have never had a reason to look at those notes again. If you hadn't read them you wouldn't be beating yourself up right now. So don't do it."

Virgil removed his cap, ran his hand through his long hair, piled it back onto his head, jammed the cap back down again, and said nothing.

As if it were answering for him, the earth moved. It started as a gentle quiver, quickly building in intensity until the whole room was rocking. The digital table's picture dimmed, refreshed itself, and then died. There were loud thuds as books fell off the shelves. The statuary that lined the walls swayed as if they'd come to life and were dancing to some music that only they could hear.

The ground stilled.

The digital table re-awoke.

"Whew…" Alan let out a breath. "They're getting stronger. I was seriously considering getting under the table that time."

"Me too," Scott agreed. "I never liked attending earthquakes. There's something unnerving about the ground moving."

Gordon squinted at the wall. "Was that crack there before?"

They all craned their necks to see where he was pointing. From the ceiling, across the wall, and down to a window frame, ran a diagonal jagged line.

Scott got up for a closer inspection. "It's only the paint," he said. "The walls must be flexing. But if these quakes get much stronger we're going to start seeing some real damage." He returned to his seat. "We may have to start thinking about moving The Mole and the Thunderbirds off the island for their own safety. All our hard work could come to nothing if a bit of falling rock or machinery fell and damaged them."

"Where would we take them?" John asked. "One of the other islands Dad owns?"

Scott shrugged. "It's the only option. What do you think, Brains?"

Brains had changed the digital table's surface picture and was examining a seismographic printout. He gave no indication of having heard Scott's question.

Kyrano touched his shoulder. "Mister Brains?"

"Huh?" Brains looked up. "What did you say, Kyrano?"

"We were discussing moving the Thunderbirds to another island until we're ready for action," Scott explained. "We don't want to risk any of them being damaged in a quake. What do you think?"

Brains changed the seismographic picture, before examining several more. He shook his head. "All the islands in this chain are sh-showing s-signs of s-seismic activity. There is no, er, guarantee that the Thunderbirds would be any safer there than they are on Tracy Island."

"So it's not an option?" Gordon clarified.

Brains' owlish stare was directed at him. "It is not an option," he confirmed.

"In that case we'll try not to worry about it," Scott stated. "We've got plenty of other concerns. Including holding ourselves together. We've already had two major disputes and I know none of us wants to see the family ripped apart." Everyone stared at him. "Now…" he looked uncomfortable, "I'm not trying to excuse my actions of the other day," he found that he couldn't look at Virgil who was glaring even harder at his incomplete paperwork, "because they were inexcusable, and I still can't believe that you're letting me continue to lead you. But the fact is that each, erm…" He tried to think of an appropriate, non-confrontational word. "Each incident was preceded by someone keeping secrets from someone else. And I'm fairly sure that those aren't the only secrets being concealed." He looked around the table, noting that no one was able to hold his gaze. "I'm giving you all this opportunity to come clean in the interests of our family and International Rescue. There will be no recriminations from me and I expect everyone else to behave the same. Now…Is anyone willing to speak out?"

There was silence.

Scott wasn't about to let them off that easily. "If you'd rather tell me privately, then I guarantee you that you will have my full support, and I promise that I will not share what you tell me with anyone." He looked at the group before him.

Alan looked at Tin-Tin.

Tin-Tin looked at Alan.

Kyrano looked between them both.

Virgil looked at Gordon.

Gordon looked at Scott.

John looked bemused... and then concerned.

But nobody said anything.

"Right," Scott grunted. "I still believe that you're all hiding something, but I'm going to assume that you're not prepared to reveal it here because you believe that it doesn't concern the family or International Res…"

"I wish to confess!"

Startled by Brains' sudden announcement, everyone stared at him. He'd leapt to his feet and, his face as red as Thunderbird One's nose cone, was shaking as he stood before them.

Scott cleared his throat, surprised that his request for information had been answered by such an unexpected quarter. "What do you want to say, Brains?"

"I-I-I…" Brains stammered and stopped to try to pull himself together. He pushed the digital papers on the table about and then lined them up again. He took his spectacles off, cleaned them, put them on, took them off, and cleaned them once more. He then tried to look at his friends and wound up gazing at the wall, somewhere above Gordon's shoulder. It was obvious that he was finding it uncomfortable to be under such intense scrutiny and his friends, including Scott, started wishing that the request for information hadn't been made. Not that that stopped them wondering just what the meek and mild engineer's deep, dark secret could be.

Brains made several more attempts to speak, but failed.

"Would you rather you and I had a private meeting?" Scott suggested.

"N-N-No. I-I-I…" Brains swallowed.

"Relax, Brains," Alan suggested. "It can't be that serious."

Brains, unable to look at his friends, examined his fingers. "It, er, is. I have failed us a-a-a-all."

"You have failed us?" Tin-Tin frowned. "But Brains, I have seen nothing in your work that would make me think that."

"Me neither," Scott agreed. "What have you hidden from us?"

"I-I-I should not use the f-f-fact that I h-have been w-working l-long hours and I am t-t-tired as an excuse," Brains admitted. "B-But that is the only conclusion I can r-r-reach to explain m-my behaviour." He swallowed again. "I-I-I left the lights in the laboratory turned on overnight." Ashamed, he closed his eyes and waited for the consequences.

Dumbfounded everyone looked at him.

Scott wasn't sure that he'd heard correctly. "I beg your pardon?"

Brains managed to look at International Rescue's commander; his expression beseeching. "I-I-I l-left the l-lights on all night," he stammered again, before adding. "T-Twice."

"You left the lights on?"

Brains nodded. "I-I know I should, er, extinguish them off t-to conserve energy, bu-bu-but twice I have r-returned to the lab the f-following morning to discover the lights were on. I have wasted electricity unnecessarily. I am sorry. I-I hope you can f-f-f-forgive me."

"I…" Scott, like the rest of the family, was staring at the confessor. "I don't know what to say."

Brains hung his head again. "You are annoyed with me."

"Annoyed with you? For not switching off the lights? Twice…?!"

Scott couldn't help it. He knew he shouldn't. He knew it would probably hurt Brains' feelings. He knew his friend wanted support and to know that his family would forgive him; but still Scott couldn't stop himself…

He started to laugh.

Truth be told it was probably a release from all the stresses that had been building up in his world, but at that moment it seemed that what Brains had admitted was the funniest thing he'd ever heard.

Laughter is contagious, and it didn't take long for the rest of the family to join in. Soon deep belly laughs, guffaws, giggles, and snickers resonated around the lounge.

Even the reserved Kyrano couldn't resist a smile. "I should not let this worry you, Mister Brains."

"B-But…" Bemused and a little hurt by his family's behaviour, Brains looked around at them all.

Eventually Scott managed to get himself back under control. "I'm sorry, Brains," he apologised, wiping his eyes, "I know that we shouldn't have laughed, but…" He tried to stifle a chuckle. "You've no idea how much better you've made me feel."

"Me too," John agreed, as everyone else nodded. "Thanks, Brains."

"So…" Scott continued, "if you can forgive us for laughing, I'm sure we can forgive you for two, very minor, transgressions."

Brains stared at him. "You can?"

"We didn't want to hurt your feelings," Tin-Tin clarified.

Gordon snorted a laugh and suppressed it. "Just remember that they do say that laughter's the best medicine. You've just given us a dose of the best tonic in the world."

Brains was still confused. "I have?"

"You have," Scott asserted. "And right at the time when we needed it the most. We'll forget about the lights, if you'll accept our apologies and thanks…" Not waiting for a response he picked up his tablet. "Right. Before we get back to work, does anyone else have anything to say?"

Brains still didn't get it. "Thanks?" he queried.

"No?" Scott got to his feet. "Since we're done here, we'd better get back to work. See you all at dinnertime."

And they left the room, leaving a very bemused Brains behind them.

_To be continued..._

* * *

_Stay tuned: Next week - a surprise!  
_


	19. Chapter 19 - Milestones Two

_Surprise! _

_Time to ramp it up as we head for a collision with a certain date. _From now on_ I'll be uploading on Tuesdays and Fridays...  
_

* * *

**Chapter 19 – Milestones Two**

John reached out for the sugar for his morning cereal. "Today we're passing another milestone," he announced as he powdered his porridge. "It's a pity we can't do something to celebrate."

Scott took the sugar bowl. "We will once the whole saga's over and done with. But in the meantime let's concentrate on getting Thunderbird Two airborne. Friday I'll take Thunderbird One for her test flight, and then once The Mole's ready we can switch our focus to combating Doomsday." He gave his cereal a thorough coating of sweetener.

"Our focus has been on that for months," Gordon reminded him. "When are you going to let the world know we're going to try something?"

"I want to be sure that we're capable of making a genuine attempt to solve the crisis before we get anyone's hopes up." Scott took a mouthful of his breakfast and made a note into his tablet PC.

"Morning, everyone." Alan entered the dining room with his arm around his wife's waist.

"You've surfaced early," John noted. "Decided against sleeping in today?"

"It promises to be an exciting day," Tin-Tin reminded him. "Too exciting to remain in bed. Where is Virgil? I assumed that he would be up early."

"He's probably either been up for hours giving Thunderbird Two one last inspection," Gordon hypothesised, "or he's still in bed trying to get moving."

Scott looked up from his breakfast. "Has anyone seen Brains?" he asked. "He might be helping him."

Alan took a seat. "Talking about helping," he began. "I know we kind of agreed that we were on track yesterday, but do you still think I should be heading off for a week? You could all do with an extra pair of hands. Besides, we haven't been bothered by reporters or anyone since Niko Whatsisface left." He picked up Tin-Tin's hand. "I'd be happier staying here."

Scott laid down his spoon to make another note. "I'm sure you would, Alan, but I still think we should negate any risk to International Rescue while we can. Tin-Tin can join you the day of the race."

Alan's stubborn streak came to the fore. "But isn't it going to seem a little strange if I'm playing at the race track and my wife's nowhere to be seen?"

Scott picked up his spoon again. "I, or more correctly, Lady Penelope has got that in hand. Don't worry about it." He dug into his cereal.

It was clear that Alan was worrying about it, but any further complaint was interrupted by Virgil's arrival.

His movements appeared restricted, indicating that he hadn't completed his morning loosening-up routine. Scott watched his brother, his expression saying that he wanted to check if Virgil was okay, but that he knew that to ask would only invite trouble.

So John did it for him. "You're looking a bit stiff there, Virgil. Are you going to be okay by the time Thunderbird Two's ready for her test flight?"

Virgil looked annoyed at the question, but didn't bite. "I'll be okay."

"Would you like some breakfast, Virgil?" Tin-Tin enquired.

He managed to smile at her. "I'm fine, thanks. Your father's already made sure I'll be flying on a full stomach. Speaking of which…" he leant on the back of a vacant chair. "John." Virgil regarded his brother. "Would you oversee the launch and testing today?"

"Me?!" John stared at him.

"But that's my…!" Scott bit back his protest.

Virgil ignored him; preferring to concentrate on his next eldest brother. "Would you do it, John?"

"Er… Yeah, sure," John glanced at Scott's shocked face. "If that's what you want."

"Thanks." Virgil pushed himself off the chair and headed out to prepare for the day.

The rest of the family shared astonished glances amongst themselves.

John wasn't happy at the turn of events. "Scott… I…"

Scott held up his hand. "It's okay, John. If he's more comfortable taking instructions from you, then I can live with that."

"But you're in charge."

"And someone else will have to direct me when I take Thunderbird One for her test flight. You may as well get in some practise now."

"Yeah, well I don't like it." John got to his feet. "It goes against International Rescue's chain of command."

"It doesn't hurt to delegate responsibilities sometimes," Scott reminded him. "Don't worry about it. I've got plenty I can do on Thunderbird One." He reached for a piece of toast and buttered it vigorously.

John hesitated. Scott might have been saying that he didn't care, but his tone and manner belied his words. It was clear that his brother had been hurt by Virgil's request and John placed his hand on Scott's shoulder. "I'll talk to him." He gave the shoulder a comforting squeeze before he hurried out.

He found Virgil in Thunderbird Two's hangar. "What gives?"

"What gives with what?"

"Don't play dumb; we can't spare the time. Why don't you want Scott taking charge today?"

Virgil shrugged. "I'd be happier with you talking me through it."

"But why? You agreed that he was the best person to take us through to the end of this."

"I know I did. And I still think he is. But today's test flight is going to be stressful enough as it is with me wondering if I've done everything correctly, or if I've forgotten something. I don't need him second guessing everything I do. Gordon got away without it because he knows more about Thunderbird Four than any of us. But Scott will think he knows more about flying Thunderbird Two than I do; and I don't want him in my ear all the time asking why I've taken this or that turn, or why I have or haven't gained or lost altitude."

John sighed. "Okay, I understand. I won't say I'm happy that you're taking this attitude, but if it is going to make today's flight easier for you, then I'll do it."

"Thanks."

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

Several hours later, and for the first time in many years, Virgil found himself seated at the controls of Thunderbird Two about to undertake a flight. Not for the first time he checked over the various gauges and switches.

All seemed well.

"Base calling Thunderbird Two." He heard John's voice from the speakers. "Are you ready?"

Virgil cast his eyes over the readouts again. "Ready."

"Good. Radar clear. Opening hangar door." Seated at his father's desk, John entered the code that started the cliff face sinking into the ground. "Base to Thunderbird Four."

Out in the blue Pacific Ocean, dressed in his wetsuit and with his breathing apparatus at the ready, Gordon thumbed the switch that activated the microphone. "Thunderbird Four. Receiving you."

"Opening hangar door. Thunderbird Two preparing to launch."

"Roger."

John, concerned that recent earth tremors may have warped the housing that the cliff door was sliding into, checked that all was proceeding smoothly. Then he looked up at Scott who was seated on the edge of the desk. "Are you going to stay here and listen?"

"If you don't mind. If you'd rather I didn't, I can go and work on Thunderbird One."

"No, I don't mind." John indicated the microphone. "It might be better if Virgil doesn't know, though."

Scott nodded his agreement; his face inscrutable. He went and leant against the wall; far enough away that his whisper wouldn't be picked up by the microphone, but close enough that he could hear communications between John and the two Thunderbirds.

The internal hangar door was opening outwards and light streamed inside. John rechecked the radar. "You are clear to exit hangar, Thunderbird Two."

"Right." Once again Virgil checked the gauges. "Exiting now." He pushed forward on the control yoke and the great aircraft rumbled forward.

A red light flashed on the control panel and he released the yoke. "Error light."

He heard John's voice again. "What is it?"

Virgil was frowning at the light as if it was a crystal ball and he was willing it to let him in on its secrets. "Auxiliary motor for the front port wheel..." As he watched the light reverted to green. "It's cleared itself."

"So I see." John had been watching a representation of the control panel on a computer display. "Well, if it's only the auxiliary, it may not be an issue. Are you willing to continue the test?"

"Yes. I'll take it slowly and see if the fault reoccurs." Obeying his own instructions, Virgil started Thunderbird Two moving again. He kept on glancing at the light but it remained placidly green. "So far so good."

John watched the screen as video cameras onboard Thunderbird Two fed a live picture of her progress back up to the lounge. He saw the tropical sun warm the cold metal panels of Thunderbird Two for the first time in almost a decade and reach the flight deck. "Gesundheit," he said.

Virgil blinked against the bright light, nearly as unaccustomed to it as his aeroplane, and sneezed.

Scott chuckled.

Moment of levity over, John became serious again. "Any problems?"

"Negative." Virgil responded. "She's running smooth as silk."

John glanced over at Scott who nodded his approval, but held his tongue.

"At launch ramp," the radio announced.

"Understood," John told the microphone. "Base to Landing Control. Thunderbird Two is clear of the hangar. Assume your positions."

"This is Landing Control," Alan's voice told him. "We have evacuated the bunker and are in position."

John checked the radar a third time. "You are good to go, Thunderbird Two."

"Understood."

After another in a long line of checks, Virgil sent the signal that activated the ramp that lifted Thunderbird Two up until her nose was pointed at the skies. "Count me down, John."

This was an unusual request, but John complied. "Five... Four... Three..." He could hear his brother softly count in time. "Two... One..."

The pictures from the video cameras vibrated as Thunderbird Two gained power from her aft jets. Then she was moving; heading skyward and away from Earth's gravity.

John managed to refrain from shouting in jubilation, contenting himself with a shared thumbs-up with Scott. Maintaining his professional demeanour he said: "You're looking good, Thunderbird Two. Attain height of twenty thousand feet and then check all systems."

"Understood... At twenty thousand feet. All systems go."

"Attain fifty thousand feet..."

And so they continued. As it became obvious that their services wouldn't be needed in the short term, Alan, Brains and Tin-Tin left Landing Control and joined John and Scott in the lounge.

The team became more confident in Thunderbird Two's abilities and relaxed as they took her through increasingly taxing tests. The great aeroplane behaved flawlessly, or as Gordon quipped when he'd vacated Thunderbird Four's cabin and was sunning himself on her nose: "She's passing with flying colours... Well, one anyway: green!"

Thunderbird Two wasn't the only thing being uplifted that day. As Virgil became more confident in his aeroplane's abilities, and regained some of the bond that he'd always enjoyed with her, his family could hear his spirits rise. He even relaxed enough to joke with his sunbathing brother about how he was ready to collect Thunderbird Four in the grabs and assist them to the hangar. Gordon declined with 'regret'.

After a couple of hours testing, John decided that it was time to end the flight. "That's a wrap, Fellas. Bring her home, Virgil."

He could almost hear the disappointment in Virgil's "understood".

John keyed the mike again. "How do you score her? Out of ten?"

"I'd give her a ten out of ten," Virgil crowed. "Heck. I'd give her one hundred out of ten! She's fantastic!"

Scott, as happy at Thunderbird Two's success as his brothers, leant forward and spoke into the microphone. "Well done, Virgil. You've taken another load off our…"

There was a loud click as the link between Thunderbird Two and base was severed.

"Virgil?" John grabbed the microphone. "Come in, Thunderbird Two. Answer me, Virgil!" He flopped back into the chair and stared at the microphone in disbelief. "He disconnected us!"

"No… He disconnected me." Without a backwards glance or further comment, Scott left the room.

Annoyed, John tried to reinstate communications. "Thunderbird Two... Come in Thunderbird Two! What does he think he's doing?" Now very angry, he started yelling into the mouthpiece. "Thunderbird Two! Turn on the blasted radio, Virgil!"

He was not pleased with the response. "No need to shout."

"There is if you're going act like an idiot!"

"Idiot!? I'm not the one who acted like an idiot!"

This was too much for John. "Once you've stopped behaving like a sixteen-year-old, Virgil Tracy, return to base!"

Those in the lounge could hear the fury in Virgil's reply. "Message received."

"Umm..." Disconcerted by this turn of events, Alan turned to Tin-Tin and Brains. "I guess we'd better head back down to Landing Control."

"Yes," Tin-Tin agreed, although her air of forced joviality rang hollow. "However, I am sure that Virgil won't need us."

"Y-You are right, er, Tin-Tin," Brains' agreed, aware that his reply sounded just as false. "I-I am very, er, p-pleased in the way that Thunderbird T-Two has performed."

Gordon had made sure that he had stayed well clear of the altercation. Once he thought that the airwaves had calmed somewhat, he got on his radio. "Thunderbird Four to Thunderbird Two. From which direction will you be approaching runway?"

"East."

Even that one clipped word was filled with rage, and Gordon cringed as he tried to retain a professional manner. "Thunderbird Four patrolling west of runway."

"Acknowledged, Thunderbird Four," John responded. "You are clear for landing, Thunderbird Two."

"Understood." Thunderbird Two came in fast, turned on a button, landed with a feather-light touch, and started reversing back into her hangar.

Once he was sure that the mighty craft had touched down, John deserted the desk and made his way down into the bowels of the complex. He waited until the giant transporter's exhaust gases had dissipated, and then strode across the floor, determined to intercept Two's pilot before he was able to make his escape. He wasn't sure what tactic he was going to employ; anger or sympathy; but he was determined that he was going to say something.

He made it to Thunderbird Two before Virgil left his craft. Working his way through the many corridors that filled the aeroplane he mused that he'd lost the advantage of surprise. By now Virgil would be well aware that, not only was there an intruder on board, but exactly who that intruder was.

He was therefore surprised when he stepped onto the flight deck to find his brother still sitting in the pilot's seat, apparently doing nothing more than staring at the dark, blank surface of the cliff face door.

Virgil didn't turn when he heard the footsteps. "I've done it again, haven't I?"

Anger wasn't going to work, John decided. Not that he had any left in him after the hike through the complex. He sat against the edge of the console next to the pilot's seat and looked down at his brother. "At least this time it's not too late to rectify things."

"Are you sure? Maybe that was the blow that finally wedged us apart forever?"

"Maybe," John mused. He'd seen the despairing disappointment in Scott's face as he'd left the lounge. "But I don't think so. Not if you're both prepared to work on it. There's only one way to find out."

"But we've been growing apart for ages." Virgil ran his finger along the control yoke. "I'm not a part of his world anymore."

"Virgil, I hate to say it, but you haven't exactly admitted him into your world either. The day that we returned to this island, and were still trying to decide whether or not International Rescue could do anything to fight Doomsday, Scott pulled me aside. He told me he wasn't sure that he was the one to lead us through this rescue. He said that things had changed: that we'd all changed... I was his boss not his subordinate... Alan marrying Tin-Tin had changed the whole family dynamic… Gordon… Well, we know that they'd only just patched up whatever had gone wrong between them… And you…" Virgil glanced up. "His exact words to me were _Virgil's a stranger_. I tried to tell him that Gustav was just a front, but... Well... You've got to admit that your life these past few years has been totally alien to Scott… It's been alien to all of us!"

Virgil snorted. "Including me."

John thought for a moment. "Look, I know you're still mad at him and I don't blame you. After what he did to you I was mad at him. Heck, I was so furious the other day I nearly punched his lights out…"

This was an unexpected revelation, and Virgil stared at his brother. "John? You!?"

"I know, I know, that's not me." John admitted. "But after you told us what he'd done to you I wanted to punish him… But then I realised that hitting Scott wouldn't solve anything. Well…" he gave rueful smile. "I realised it after Gordon had pulled me off him…"

Virgil shook his head as if he was trying to clear it. "I don't believe what you're saying."

"I swear it's the truth." John laid his hand on his heart. "But my point is, Virgil; as much as we're still mad at Scott, and as much as we have a right to be mad at him; I know that beating Doomsday is much more important than our own personal feelings. And so I'm trying to forget that he behaved like an idiot and treat him in a civilised manner… At least until Alan's safely back on Earth and Gordon's off swimming somewhere."

Virgil managed a chuckle. Then he became serious. "I've got to apologise, haven't I?" He regarded the hangar door again. "I don't have any choice."

"Not if you want any chance of friendship with him again." John tapped Virgil on the arm to make sure he had his attention. "And, just as important, you want International Rescue to have the best chance of success at beating Doomsday."

Virgil sighed and got to his feet. "I guess I'd better go take some of my own medicine. But it's a bitter pill."

"I know it is," John agreed. "But you'll both feel better afterwards."

"I hope so…" Virgil turned back to face his brother. "I owe you an apology for my unprofessional behaviour too. You were doing a good job until I kicked my toys out."

John made a dismissive gesture. "I've had plenty of experience leading people."

"And thank you."

John frowned. "Thank you?"

"Thanks for only talking." Virgil pointed out the cabin window to where a small submarine had entered the hangar. "Reinforcements have only just arrived."

John laughed.

-F-A-B-

When Virgil found him, Scott had his head buried deep into Thunderbird One's electronics. The elder Tracy heard the door to the hangar open, but recognising the footsteps, didn't offer up a greeting to his visitor.

"Can we talk?"

Surprised, Scott withdrew from where he was working beneath Thunderbird One's control panel. "What?"

Virgil attempted to look at him, but his eyes veered off at the last minute, coming to rest on the automatic camera detector. "I've brought you a coffee."

"Erm… Thanks."

"I'll put it over here shall I? Out of harm's way?" Virgil put a mug on a work table. "We're out of chocolate cake…" As he held out a plate of chocolate chip cookies he added lamely, "and Kyrano's apple pie's not as good as Grandma's was. So I brought you this, but if you'd rather I could go and…"

"Virgil," Scott interrupted. "This is fine… Thank you… And, er… unexpected."

"Unexpected because I behaved like an idiot," Virgil clarified.

"No… Unexpected because…" Scott didn't really want to add _you're not talking to me,_ so he didn't. "I… er… It's not time for a break."

The camera detector was treated to a pained look. "Do our lives have to revolve around the clock all the time?"

"No…" Scott got to his feet. "A little flexibility is good."

"Good."

"Yes. Good."

There was silence.

Scott picked up his mug.

Virgil managed a chuckle that sounded forced. "I've just been told off."

"You have?" Scott looked up from where he was swilling the mug's contents gently. "By who?"

"John…" Virgil shrugged. "I suppose it wasn't a real telling off; just some advice."

"About what?"

Virgil's brown eyes left the camera detector and managed to hold his brother's blue ones briefly before ending up somewhere in the vicinity of the altimeter.

"Oh."

"I was mad at you."

"I know."

"I'm still mad at you."

"I know."

"I don't want to be mad with you."

"I know."

"I just am."

"I know." Scott cringed at the repetitious nature of his replies.

"What you said the other day…" Virgil frowned at the altimeter. "What you accused me of… That you could even _think _that _I'd_…!" He stopped and took a deep breath. He was here to offer an apology; not start another argument. With difficulty he got his emotions under control and steeled himself for what he had to say. "I'm sorry that I behaved like a sixteen-year-old earlier."

"Not as sorry as I am for what I said to you the other day, Virgil. I wish I could offer you an intelligent excuse for why I said it, but I can't." Scott raised his hands helplessly. "If I could take back every word I would. I know it's no consolation, but I'd begun to have doubts almost as soon as I'd left you and I was on my way to talk to you again when I was stopped by Gordon and John."

"John told me that he got a little carried away."

Scott fingered his throat. "I deserved it."

The silence that followed lasted for a couple of minutes.

"Do you ever wish you could wipe out and forget the last seven years of your life?"

Surprised, Scott stared at his brother. "No… There have been good times… With Stewie…"

"I wish I could go back and start over again. I didn't have to give up engineering completely. Why didn't I just set myself up in a workshop somewhere and tinker? It's not like I've ever been short of ideas."

"You needed a break, Virgil. We all did." Then Scott sighed. "I do wish we could forget Doomsday though." He sipped his coffee.

Virgil grimaced. "Don't we all?" He looked over towards where Scott had been working. "Is everything okay?"

Scott stroked the console. "Everything's okay." He looked up and found his brother's brown eyes locked onto him.

"Okay with Thunderbird One…" Virgil clarified. "But not between you and me."

Needing something to do to cover the unfamiliar feelings of awkwardness, Scott reached out for the plate and offered a biscuit. "Would you like one?"

"Uh… No thanks. Kyrano's nearly got lunch ready."

Scott glanced at his watch. "I know."

Virgil squared up to his brother. "I know I behaved like an idiot during the test flight. If I'd run into any problems you're the person I would have wanted to talk me through them."

"You're the captain of the New York Hawks; you wouldn't need my help; I was only there to observe how things went and cheer you on…" Scott looked down at the snack in his hand. "I… I trust you." Still looking down, he bit into the biscuit.

"You trust me?" Virgil's eyes were boring into Scott's forehead now. "Who are you trying to convince; you, or me?" He watched as his brother picked some crumbs off his shirt. "It's you, isn't it?"

"I can't help it."

Virgil's hands clenched into fists. "Sometimes I would like to get hold of Farrah and…"

Scott held up a hand. "It's not Farrah's fault… Not… totally."

Virgil stared at him. "It's not? Then wh…?" His eyebrows lifted in surprise. "Just what did Gordon do to you?!"

"Nothing!" Desperate not to pass the blame onto their brother Scott almost yelped the word. "Well…" he moderated his tone, aware that Virgil's eyebrows had lifted a notch higher. "Nothing you need worry about. Gordon and I are okay now. That's all you need to know."

"But you weren't okay before."

"The proper apologies have been made and accepted. No long-term damage has been done."

"Except to leave you unwilling to trust any of us."

"You can't blame Gordon for that, Virgil. That's… That's a combination of factors."

"Can't you talk to me about it?"

"No." Scott looked up. "I-I mean I'd like to talk, but…"

"But?"

This time it was Scott's gaze that wavered. "Do you think you and I have become strangers?"

"Yes," Virgil agreed. "But not out of choice... More by accident. We've each been so wrapped up in our own worlds that…" His eyes drifted away to the chronometer.

"Yes." Scott stared at the plate in his hand.

Virgil watched the chronometer's hands tick around for a moment; then he nodded. "I'd better go and do Thunderbird Two's post flight checks." He made as if he were going to move to the door, then he stopped; turning back. "For the record, Scott, I want things to be as they were between us; but there's no way that's going to happen until you learn to trust us, and I mean _all_ of us, again."

Scott nodded. "I know. I'm trying."

Virgil managed the smallest of smiles. "I know."

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

It was Friday and it was Scott's turn to be in the hot-seat that was a test pilot's chair. He tried to put the trials and tribulations of the past few months ("year" he thought ruefully) behind him and concentrate on the controls close to his hands.

"Thunderbird One," he heard John's voice. "Proceed to launch bay."

Scott nodded towards the video image. "Proceeding." He felt Thunderbird One give a smooth jolt as the rocket plane moved forward and down before coming to a stop. He imagined the swimming pool retracting above, and waited for the expected call.

"Thunderbird One, you are cleared to go… Good luck, Scott."

Scott wondered why John felt the need to wish him luck when he hadn't offered the same blessing on Thunderbird Two's flight. He dismissed the thought, took a deep breath, rubbed his sweaty palms on his trousers, and pushed forward on the controls.

He felt the explosion beneath him as the jets burst into life. He pulled back on the throttle and, forcing him down into his seat as no other plane had done in the past seven years, Thunderbird One roared skywards.

"Changing to horizontal flight."

"Understood, Thunderbird One. Commence phase one."

So far, so good. He hadn't blacked out with the G-forces of lift off and Thunderbird One was still in one piece. He caught a brief glimpse of something dark green out of his starboard window as he pushed forward on the right side-stick and executed a U-turn. Both Thunderbird Two and, bobbing in the sapphire ocean beneath them, Thunderbird Four were standing by to help should he have to abort Thunderbird One's flight.

Almost as if they didn't trust him.

No, Scott reflected. He was the one whose confidence had been so severely knocked that he couldn't even trust himself to trust his family and their motives…

"She's looking good, Scott."

That was Gordon offering the voice of encouragement. Virgil had been notably silent.

Scott spoke into the microphone. "Testing phase one complete. A-OK."

"Understood, Thunderbird One," John responded. "Commence phase two."

So far he'd been flying at relatively low speeds, now was the time to push his craft a little harder. Not so much that Thunderbird Two couldn't keep up, but enough to give Thunderbird One the workout she needed. Scott pushed the side-sticks further forward and heard his plane's roar increase in pitch and volume.

Was that a new motion he was feeling? Had it been there before? Was it meant to be there now? Had he forgotten what was normal and what wasn't?

Unsure of the answers Scott eased off on the power. "Aborting phase two."

"What's wrong?" John asked.

"I'm picking up an unknown vibration."

"Any ideas what's causing it?"

"Negative… It's eased off now."

"Good. Increase speed again and see if it reoccurs."

"Right." Scott pressed forward on the control column again, but stopped short of applying too much power. "Nothing unusual's registering."

"Thank heavens for that," John responded. "But I think we should shelve phase two in the short term and make a start on phase three. Reduce speed and activate wing extension."

"Reducing power and commencing phase three," Scott acknowledged. "Extending wings no…"

Raucous alarm bells filled the cockpit. Just as the earth of Tracy Island had numerous times over the last month, Thunderbird One trembled, quaked, and lurched. It may have been years since he last flew his plane, but it only took a split second for Scott to come to the realisation that he was at the controls of an aircraft tumbling down towards the Pacific Ocean and certain destruction. Instincts kicking into action, he attempted to rectify the situation, barely aware of John's yelled: "Scott!"

The pilot's eyes flew over the gauges, noting the one that burned red. "Port wing extension failed…!"

Helpless, John watched a video camera feed of his brother tumbling into a death spin. "Pull up!"

"…Starboard full extension!"

"Pull up!"

"Retract starboard wing!" Scott heard the command, but its meaning and that it was Virgil who'd spoken didn't register. Fighting the spiralling G-forces, he'd already initiated the procedure before his brain had a chance to process any external influences.

"Ease off power, Scott." That was John speaking, but as before the order was issued after Scott had already drawn back the control column. "Pull her nose up!"

Thunderbird One swooped low over the Pacific Ocean and gained some height before settling into a low cruising speed. Her juddering stopped and, his heartbeat pounding in his ears, Scott let out the breath that he'd been unaware he'd been holding.

The whole drama had taken little more than fifteen seconds.

"Thunderbird One. Report on your condition!"

Crisis over, conscious thought overcoming instinct, Scott understood the meaning of those words, heard the relief behind them, and recognised the voice. "Under control, John. No damage done."

"You're okay?" John clarified.

"I'm fine." Scott wondered if John picked up the slight quaver in his voice.

"How's One?"

"Handling well now the vibrations have ceased. There must be something wrong with the port wing." As he said it, Scott cursed himself. If there was something wrong with that wing, then it was his fault that pre-flight checks hadn't discovered it.

Despite the fact that his thumping heart was only now returning to normal, and that long forgotten memories of other times when his brothers' lives had been jeopardised and he'd been a helpless onlooker had resurfaced, John managed to keep his "return to base, Thunderbird One," calm and professional.

Scott acknowledged the order and, travelling in the protective shadow of Thunderbird Two, made a cautious flight back to One's launch bay. Once there he landed through the swimming pool, and initiated the trip back up to the hangar where he disembarked and took a lift to the floor. Then, to check for damage or any hint of what may had caused his problems, began a circuitous trip around his craft.

He stopped beneath the port wing. High above him, jutting out of the gap where the wing retracted into One's body, he could see a long, thin, cylindrical piece of metal. The only explanation that he could think of was that some of the hydraulics had come loose during the wing's extension and got jammed in the fairing. And the only reason why that would happen was that he, Scott Tracy, had failed to carry through some vital maintenance, as well as subsequent checks.

Furious with himself he grabbed the nearest spanner and threw it across the hangar. The projectile hit the far wall with a clatter magnified by the cavernous room, and disappeared behind a cabinet.

"Are you all right?"

Scott gave a sigh and let his shoulders droop. "Yeah. I'm all right, John."

"Are you sure? That was quite a dive you went into."

"I'M FI…!" Scott took a deep breath. Shouting at John wouldn't make either of them feel any better, and besides, John wasn't the one who deserved a telling off. "I'm fine… But I've screwed up big time here." He pointed at the wing.

John squinted upwards. "What is it? Part of the hydraulics?"

"Must be… What else could it be?"

"But how…?"

"I messed up."

John shook his head. "I can't believe that."

Scott indicated the damaged section again. "You can't believe your own eyes?"

"Give me a telescope and I'll give you an answer. You're talking about something that's one hundred feet off the floor! Let's get solid evidence before you start your self-flagellation…"

"John! I know what I felt!"

John fixed his brother with a stare that made Scott feel uneasy. "I should have asked this months ago. Are…"

The quiet swish of an opening door announced the arrival of their brothers. "What happened?" Gordon asked.

"I messed up," Scott repeated, ignoring John's exasperated sigh.

"Something's jammed in the wing fairing," the latter explained. "We're trying to work out what it is."

"What? Where?" Alan followed the line of Scott's outstretched hand. "What is it?"

"That!" John emphasised, "is what we are trying to ascertain."

"That and what damage has been done," Scott added.

Gordon was examining the anomaly as best he could from the hangar floor. "Has it done any damage?"

"She wasn't flying too smoothly."

"Yeah, but that hunk of metal would have upset her aerodynamics," Virgil reminded his eldest brother. "Cheer up. It's probably nothing."

"Nothing? If I can't fly her on a still tropical day like we've got today, what chance have I got in an Antarctic blizzard?"

"It'll be summer when you get there," Gordon reminded him. "There might not be any wind."

"That's not the point," Scott groaned. "Our timetable's going to be set back because I haven't made Thunderbird One fully operational."

"I'll help with repairs," Virgil offered.

Scott shook his head. "No, thanks." He saw Virgil's expression darken. "It's not because I don't trust you, Virgil. It's just that you've got other things you should be working on, like The Mole. You've all got more important things to do than fix my mistakes."

"Then the sooner we make a start, the sooner we can finish." No one had noticed that Alan had put on a jetpack. Without another word or waiting for a safety check, he zoomed up until he was level with the protruding mysterious metal object. "Well I'll be a monkey's uncle."

"Okay, Cheetah." Gordon craned his neck skywards. "What is it?"

Using the tips of his fingers Alan reached into the gap and pulled. With his face frowning in concentration as he worked, he slowly withdrew something soft, malleable, and brightly coloured. When it was free it fell downwards, landed on one of the jet units, and slithered to the ground.

Scott picked it up. "I don't believe it."

"What is it?" John took the heavy cloth. "A deck chair?"

Alan was tugging at the metal tubing. "Looks like the whole chair got sucked into here."

"Don't pull too hard," Virgil warned. "You might damage something."

Alan's frown deepened into a pout. "I won't."

"I don't get it," Gordon's frown reflected his bemusement. "The furniture's adhesive field should have stopped it from being sucked up into the fairing."

Scott was ferreting through his tablet PC. "I didn't check if it was still working." He slapped himself on the forehead. "Idiot!"

"Don't beat yourself up over this," Virgil advised. "None of us gave it a second thought."

"None of you had to. You don't have to fly Thunderbird Two through a minefield of potential hazards. Imagine if something had got sucked into the jet unit! I should have checked everything!"

"You can't think of everything!" Gordon admonished. "Relax. It's nothing major."

"Nothing major! It could have been catastrophic! And if we couldn't combat Doomsday because Thunderbird One had been destroyed, I would have been to blame because I didn't think to do those checks!"

"Geez, Scott." Alan alighted next to his brothers. "It's no wonder you don't trust us. You don't even trust yourself! What happened to you?"

Virgil glared at Gordon who was looking troubled as he stared at the floor. John saw the glare and uncomfortable fidgeting, and filed them in his memory banks for future reference.

Alan handed Scott a piece of lightweight tubing. "There's more stuck in there that'll take a bit of work to get out, but I don't think there's any major damage. You should be able to do a proper test flight this afternoon."

Virgil picked up a jetpack. "Then let's get started. Time's wasting."

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

"Hello, Miss Janes."

Emma smiled at the Asian man on the videophone screen. "Hello, Mr Kyrano. How are you?"

"I am well, thank you. And you?"

Emma's smile widened. "I'm well too. What can I do for you?"

"I should like to talk to Mr Tracy if I may."

"I'm afraid that's not possible at the moment," Emma replied. "He's out."

Kyrano's normally inscrutable face frowned. "Out" wasn't a word that had been in Mr Tracy's vocabulary since his stroke, no matter how many times Kyrano and Jeff's sons had tried to encourage him to expand his horizons. "Out?"

"Dan's taking him for a flight in Mr Tracy's Karearea."

Bemused, Kyrano stared at the secretary's image. "Mr Tracy is flying in the Karearea?"

"Yes. That's right. I'm not expecting them back for a couple of hours at least. Do you want me to give him a message?"

Kyrano regained his customary composure. "I should be most grateful. Please tell him that the birds have migrated."

Now it was Emma's turn to frown. She'd never known Jeff Tracy to take an interest in ornithology. There weren't even any photos of birds around his home. "I beg your pardon?"

"There are birds that roost in the rocks of Tracy Island," Kyrano explained. "In the past Mr Tracy took much pleasure in seeing them fly out into the world. He will be pleased to know that they have taken to the skies again."

"Oh… okay."

"One did have a slight injury to its wing," Kyrano admitted. "This necessitated a return to the nest, but after some care from its brethren it too has flown free with no sign of distress."

Emma smiled. "I'm sure Mr Tracy will be pleased to hear that. I'll tell him as soon as he gets in."

Kyrano inclined his head. "Thank you, Miss Janes."

_To be continued…_


	20. Chapter 20 - Crash and Burn

**Chapter 20: Crash and Burn**

Alan slid his arms about his wife. "I wish I didn't have to leave you today."

Tin-Tin stroked his cheek. "It is for less than a week."

"It's a week out of the rest of our lives, however long that's going to be. And it's too long."

"It is for the best."

"Best for whom? Scott?"

"He believes that it is necessary for International Rescue and so do the others."

"Everyone's forgotten about International Rescue," Alan sulked. "And the Tracy family. Compared to the end of the world we're nothing. We're not news."

"But while there is a chance that someone may be curious about our family, is it not better to divert their curiosity away from what we are doing here?"

"Even if someone did get nosey they wouldn't associate a bunch of playboys spending their last days on their tropical island with International Rescue. The world thinks that International Rescue is gone; that our equipment's been destroyed; that those of us who are left are impotent." He looked sullen. "I feel like it sometimes."

Tin-Tin giggled. "I know you are not."

He treated her to a goofy grin in reply. "You know what I mean. Scott's declared that I've got to leave you because of some nebulous idea that he's got; and unfortunately he's got Lady Penelope to back him up."

Tin-Tin tried not to let a shudder of apprehension pass through her when she heard the name. "Do you know what Lady Penelope's plans are?"

"Haven't got a clue. You know what she's like; always playing her cards close to her chest. I wouldn't be surprised if she's got some secret about Marina that she hasn't revealed yet, just because it suits her to keep quiet about it." Alan pulled Tin-Tin closer. "But you've got nothing to worry about between her and me. I'll be spending the week at the track and I won't even have time to think about her... And I promise that any spare time I do have will be spent thinking about you."

Tin-Tin laid her head against his chest. "And I you."

"You won't have any spare time," he protested.

"That is another reason why I believe that this is right," she admitted. "It will give us all a rest. We need it."

"Especially you," Alan stroked her hair. "You've been working too hard. You should be taking care of yourself."

They shared a kiss; one too passionate to reveal to anyone beyond the door.

They were interrupted when someone knocked. "Penny's here, Alan," Scott called.

Alan groaned. "Be right out...!" He hugged Tin-Tin tighter. "Email me, won't you? Phone... Text... Let me know how everything's going. Let me know that you are all right. I want to know everything about your day."

"I won't be able to say too much in case someone intercepts our messages."

"A code then," Alan suggested, inching towards the door. "We should make a code."

"We don't have time to do that," Tin-Tin reminded him. "You must leave now."

"Um... Something simple... I know!" Alan snapped his fingers. "You could say that the flowers are blooming if everything's good."

Tin-Tin nodded. "The flowers are blooming if everything is good... Lady Penelope is waiting for you."

But Alan wasn't about to be dissuaded from his train of thought. "Yeah. And if there are any problems you could say that there are weeds in the garden."

"Weeds equals bad. I understand."

"And the Thunderbirds are gulls."

"Thunderbirds are gulls," Tin-Tin echoed.

"Maybe you should be talking in terms of the weather rather than flowers and weeds," Alan mused, not moving as the name of their craft sent him off on a different tangent. "Bad weather if things are going badly; sunny skies if things are good."

"Alan!" Tin-Tin exclaimed. "You must go!"

"Alan!" There was a bang on the door. "You're wasting time we don't have!"

"Coming!" Alan kissed Tin-Tin and ran for the door.

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

They watched as the pink aeroplane disappeared into the distance.

Gordon took a step away from the balcony rail. "I hope we've done the right thing sending him away. I know it's only for a week, but if we hit problems we might need his help to get us back on track."

"I agree that it's a risk," Scott picked up his tablet PC, "but it's a risk we need to take. We've got to convince the general populace that we're not trying to build an escape rocket or do something equally ridiculous."

"Like trying to save the world?" Virgil queried. "If anyone wants me, that's exactly what I'll be trying to do. I've got to clear out the Mole's launch tube. There're several generations of spiders and who knows what else living in there. See you guys at lunchtime."

Gordon placed his hand on the shoulder of the young woman still watching the departing plane. "Are you all right, Honey?"

Tin-Tin smiled at him, but her eyes were misty. "Of course, Gordon."

"Are you sure?"

"I am sure. It is what is best for the family and International Rescue."

Gordon smiled. "I don't know if you're trying to convince us or you." He looked back towards the dot in the sky, but Lady Penelope's plane was no longer visible. "Guess we'd better get back to work."

Tin-Tin nodded her agreement. "We still have much to do."

John waited until the pair of them had gone, then he turned his attention to his remaining brother. "Can I have a word with you in private?"

Surprised, Scott looked up from where he was making notes on his tablet. "Yeah, okay. Why? Do you think I've made a mistake sending him away?"

"I've got an open mind on that. No, it's something else I want to talk about."

"My room or yours?"

"Yours is fine."

Scott led the way to his private quarters and waited until John had shut the door behind them. "What's wrong?"

"We haven't got much time, so I'm not going to beat around the bush. Are you sure you're up to the Antarctic deployment?"

Stunned by the supposition, Scott took a step backwards as if he'd been hit. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, do you think you're capable of flying Thunderbird One to the South Pole and bombing the ice; potentially in whiteout conditions or a blizzard?"

"Of course." Scott folded his arms.

John noticed the defensive gesture. "Are you sure? You sounded a bit nervous yesterday."

"I went into an uncontrolled spin." Scott was holding the tablet close as if it were a protective shield against a perceived threat. "That's bound to put anyone off their stride."

Aware that his brother had erected a literal and metaphorical barrier against him, John persevered. "Except that you sounded nervous beforehand."

"I was being cautious, that's all." John noted Scott's wary expression. "It's been years since I've flown Thunderbird One."

"Scott…" John hesitated, wondering how to approach what promised to be to be a delicate subject. "I've been in an awkward position these last seven or so years. I've been the boss to my older brother and because of that I've done my best to keep my nose out of your business."

"Thanks."

"Tracy Aviation is a completely autonomous company," John continued, "but that doesn't mean that I haven't taken an interest in it, just as I have with all of Dad's companies. I felt that I owed it to him."

"I'm sure he appreciated that. We all did."

"That's why I made sure that I only employed people that I knew I could trust and who would follow the Tracy mantra; so that I knew that Tracy Aviation, and other companies like it, wouldn't need my input. It freed me up to be able to concentrate on the overall picture and meant that I wouldn't interfere with your working life…"

"I realise that."

"But now I'm no longer your boss. I am your subordinate in International Rescue, and your younger brother in life; but I know things about you that I'm sure the rest of the family don't… and that includes Dad."

Scott's tablet shield was pulled closer to his body. "You wouldn't want to burden them unnecessarily."

"No, I don't… That's why I've never told Dad about your crash."

Scott paled and John supposed that even though his brother must have been preparing for this blow, the admission that John knew his secret had been a shock.

But that didn't stop Scott from trying to bluff his way out of the situation. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Come on. We haven't got time for games and I know when you're lying. I know that one of your test flights ended in the plane crashing. I know that you would have been killed if you hadn't ejected at the last minute. I know that the plane destroyed a barn and a farmer's winter stores. I know…" The tablet was being held so tightly that John wondered if he should take it from his brother before it was snapped in two. "…that a boy was badly injured when the plane exploded on impact."

Scott looked sick. "How long have you known?"

"I received the first report almost as soon as your parachute touched the ground. I guess someone thought I had a double interest in knowing that something had happened to you."

"You've never said anything."

"No… Like I said I've been in a difficult position. If I hadn't been your boss I wouldn't have known about the crash. I wanted to help you but who was I supposed to be? Your employer or your brother? You didn't confide in either."

Scott leant against his desk, his eyes shut against the memories. "I didn't want you to worry."

"Worry!" John exclaimed. "You were nearly killed!"

"I pulled a few muscles and got some scratches, that's all."

"You were lucky..."

"Lucky?"

John heard the bitterness in his Scott's reply. "You haven't told anyone in the family about this, have you?"

Scott bowed his head. "No. I didn't want them to worry."

"I thought you hadn't. We were all supposed to be getting together the weekend after it happened. I didn't attend because I said I had work that I had to do. That was true. I was trying to help Howard and his family, while keeping the Tracy name, including yours, out of the spotlight."

Scott stared at the carpet.

"I rang up to apologise for not making it to Dad's and got Alan. He told me that you weren't feeling the best because you'd been in a car accident. My first thought was that you were having a heck of a week; what with crashing a plane _and_ a car. And then as Alan raved on I realised that there hadn't been a second incident and that someone was lying. I assumed that you and the guys had agreed that, since I was your boss and it was a work accident, it would be better if I didn't know. And at that point, if it made you feel better, I was willing to play along. It wasn't until much later that I realised that you hadn't told anyone what had really happened that week."

Scott didn't respond.

"Have you talked to _anyone_ about it?"

Scott shook his head.

"Surely you've discussed it with a friend?"

"No."

"A colleague?"

"No."

"A therapist?"

"A therapist?!" Scott looked annoyed. "I don't need professional help!"

"Are you sure about that? Step away from your pride a moment and look at where we're at. We're about to undertake our most difficult rescue ever, and you're so screwed up that you can't trust yourself, let alone any of us. Alan made that comment yesterday and I realised that he's right. None of the others knows why, but I think Virgil suspects that it's Gordon's fault..."

"I told him that Gordon and I are okay!"

"When? Yesterday evening?"

"No..."

"Then we've got problems. Gordon's blaming himself too."

"He didn'..."

"Don't you realise that we're doomed to failure before we start if we can't trust one another?!"

"What do you want me to do about it!?" Scott snapped. "Bow out now and book myself into a psychiatric hospital?! It's not going to happen, John! If I did that you guys would have no chance of combating Doomsday!"

"I should have said something earlier, I'll admit that," John agreed. "I've been watching you to see if I thought you were up to your part of the mission, and I figured that so long as you only had to watch out for your own skin you'd be okay... But that was until yesterday's test flight..."

"I'm okay!"

"Are you?! What chance have we got to combat Doomsday if you haven't got the self-belief to fly Thunderbird One in Antarctica?!" John took a moment to calm down. "I don't want to get into an argument over this because that won't solve anything. I just want to say that I'm worried about you and that I'm here if you want to talk."

"There's nothing to talk about!"

John continued as if he hadn't heard. "I blame myself for letting you get to this stage. The management of Tracy Aviation gave me their reports expressing concern over your abilities to continue as a test pilot. I've seen your psyche analyses..."

"Typical," Scott snorted. "You can't believe everything you read, John. Some people just want to stick their knives into me simply because of who I am."

"The fact that you're Jeff Tracy's eldest son isn't a secret at Tracy Industries," John agreed. "But I don't think people wanted to stick their knives into you. They were worried about you and, because of your relationship to the owner of the business, didn't know what they should do to help you. So, as I'm your brother, they submitted their reports to me and, because I thought I knew you better than anyone, I chose to ignore them. I'm sorry, Scott, but I let our relationship cloud my judgement. If I'd done my job maybe you'd feel better about yourself now."

Scott grunted.

Seeing that his brother seemed calmer, John continued. "I don't claim to have all the answers, but maybe I can reassure you about some things. I've seen all the preliminary reports into the accident and I've kept in close contact with the O'Neils."

"How is Howard?"

"Progressing. He's out of hospital and back home. But he's in a wheelchair at the moment."

Scott blanched. "Permanently?"

"No. Just in the short term..." John watched as Scott thumped the desk. "You can't blame yourself for what happened to him..."

"Can't I!?" Scott exploded. "He nearly died! I saw him after I'd pressed the eject button! I couldn't do anything to save him when I'd already saved myself!"

"You saw him?" John stared at his brother.

"You don't know how many times I've replayed that scene over and over in my mind," Scott paced the floor. "I saw the fear in his face when he knew I was coming for him and there was nothing he, or I, could do about it."

"Scott? But...?"

"He looked just like Alan..." Scott stopped pacing. "Or you," he added quietly, "at that age."

"Scott..." John placed his hand on his brother's shoulder. "You couldn't have seen him."

"I did!"

"No. I've seen the accident reports and the video from the onboard cameras. Howard was hiding inside the barn when the plane hit. There was no way you could have seen him. There was no way you could have known he was there until he was found by the emergency services."

"I saw him!"

"No, you didn't!" John took a deep breath. "Have you visited the O'Neils?"

"Tracy Aviation's legal advice was that it would be better if I stayed away... You didn't have anything to do with that, did you?"

"Me? Try to stop you from doing something?" John managed a wry chuckle. "I know better than that."

"I almost visited a couple of times," Scott admitted. "I wanted to apologise and find out how Howard was. I even knocked on their door once... But I chickened out..." He cringed. "I suppose they think I'm a coward."

"I don't think so. I told the O'Neils that I wasn't going to start a witch hunt until we had all the facts, so I haven't told them the pilot's name... Or my relationship to him."

"John..." Scott pleaded, and John couldn't remember having ever seen his strong, sure brother looking so scared. "Is it true that I couldn't have seen Howard when I ejected?"

"It's true."

"You aren't saying that to make me feel better?"

John looked his brother in the eye. "It's the truth. I can show you reports and flight video. There's no way you could have known he was there until someone told you."

Scott held the gaze, seeking out any hint of a lie. Then he visibly relaxed. "Thank you."

"I want you to do something," John told him. "But you're not going to like it."

Scott tensed again. "What?"

"I want you to come with me to visit the O'Neils before we go to Alan's race next Saturday."

"What!" Scott stared at him. "We don't have time for that!"

"I don't think we can afford not to... I've kept in regular contact with the family and they've remained very patient and understanding throughout all this. Both Noel and India know that pilot error isn't always the reason why planes crash; especially test craft. They're willing to wait until the final report comes out before the lay blame on anyone or anything. And I think that you need to meet them and see how Howard is if you're going to have any chance of regaining your confidence."

Scott eyed his younger brother. "Is this an order?"

John shrugged. "You don't work for Tracy Aviation anymore and I'm on extended leave, so I'm no longer your boss. It's up to you."

Scott toyed with his tablet PC as if he was hoping that it would supply him with an excuse not to make the visit. Then he nodded. "What reason are we going to give Virgil and Gordon?"

John pursed his lips. "Tell them the truth. It's a loose end at work that we've got to tie up and I'm pulling rank and expecting you to do something about it before it becomes more of an issue than it already is."

"You're not my boss anymore, remember?"

"They'll accept it as an excuse. So are we visiting the O'Neils' on Saturday?"

Still reluctant, Scott nodded.

"Good. You won't regret it."

-F-A-B-

Alan sat in the co-pilot's seat and tried to relax as Lady Penelope flew her aeroplane through the thick cumulous cloud. "You still haven't told me what this plan of yours is."

"Haven't I, dear boy? How remiss of me... We don't want the world to think that you've left Tin-Tin back at the island do we?"

"No. It would look suspicious if I had when the world's going to collapse in on itself in two months time."

"Especially when you clearly love her as much as you do," Lady Penelope commented. She glanced across. "You do, don't you?"

"Of course I do!"

"I am so relieved to hear you say that. I, er, picked up some 'vibes', as you might say, when we said goodbye."

Mindful of the real reason behind those 'vibes' Alan said nothing.

"I shall require you to fly my aeroplane for the journey to America," Lady Penelope informed him. "I am sure a capable pilot such as yourself will have no issues with that?"

"None."

"Good." Lady Penelope acknowledged a report from an air traffic controller and began her descent through the cloud.

"Why are we flying into Malaysia? The States is in that direction." Alan pointed behind them. "Penny! What are you plotting?"

"The world is expecting to see you with your wife," he was told. "Therefore, you will be seen with your wife."

"What!" Alan gaped at her as the worst possible scenario came to mind. "What are you talking about? My wife's back on Tracy Island! I don't want another wife! I don't _need_ another wife, I'm quite happy with the one I've got! I'm _very_ happy with the one I've got!"

"I'm sure you are, Alan. Now relax and do let me concentrate on landing would you, dear boy. There is such a lot to think about."

Peeved by the lack of information that was forthcoming, fearful of what misunderstandings might arise, and well aware that the controls of this advanced aircraft meant that minimal pilot input was needed to perform procedures such as landings, Alan crossed his arms and sweated.

He was still none the wiser and annoyed about that fact when Lady Penelope taxied the aeroplane close to a building and removed her safety harness. "We shan't disembark," she announced as she stood. "We are merely taking on another passenger."

"Who?" Alan scowled. "Parker?"

"Oh, no. He is in the United States preparing the Rolls Royce. I am going to introduce you to… Ah. Hello, my dear."

"Good day, Lady Penelope." A petite Malaysian woman stepped into the aeroplane and stopped to look around.

"Permit me to introduce you to Alan Tracy," Lady Penelope offered. "Jen-Ling, this is Alan."

Jen-Ling smiled a blindingly bright smile. "I'm so excited to finally meet one of International Rescue's top operatives," she exclaimed; her English flawless, but her accent noticeable.

Lady Penelope continued the introductions. "Alan, this is former International Rescue agent 82, Jen-Ling; and for the next week, your wife."

Alan was about to say "pleased to meet you", when Lady Penelope's final words sunk home. "My what!?"

"As you say, people would wonder what was amiss if you chose to spend any length of time away from Tin-Tin when the world's demise is imminent. Jen-Ling is going to help us prevent such counterproductive speculation."

"By pretending to be Tin-Tin?" Alan asked, finally understanding the aristocrat's plan. "But she looks nothing like her!"

"Jen-Ling is the same height as Tin-Tin," Lady Penelope corrected. "And they have similar bone structure. Jen-Ling also has the advantage of having the Malaysian ethnic background and, like Tin-Tin, is fluent in the language as well as English. If you would be good enough to fly my plane for me, Alan, I guarantee that by the time we touch your home soil Jen-Ling will look enough like Tin-Tin to fool all but her closest friends and relatives."

"But what is Jen-Ling going to do when we get to America?" Alan asked. "She can't work for me in the pits! She's not a mechanic or an engineer!" He decided he'd better check his facts. "Are you?"

"I wouldn't know one end of a spanner from the other!" Jen-Ling proclaimed.

Alan prepared to offer up another protest. "Penny…"

"Jen-Ling is not going to visit the race track," Lady Penelope informed him. "She and I are going to do a little shopping at some of the more prominent retail outlets. After all, Tin-Tin has been trapped on Tracy Island for months. I'm sure she needs a little retail therapy."

Jen-Ling giggled. "This is got to be any girl's dream job. Being paid to shop, be 'married' to a member of International Rescue, and help to save the world; all at the same time."

"See, Alan. Everything is going to be fine. Now run along and get us safely to America; there's a good chap."

Like a good chap, Alan did as he was told.

It was an hour later when Lady Penelope appeared in the cabin next to him. "If it is convenient, dear boy, we would appreciate your opinion."

Wondering what he was going to see, Alan engaged the autopilot and vacated the pilot's seat. "Do you really think this is going to work, Pe..." He stopped, gaping at the figure in front of him, amazed at the transformation.

It was Tin-Tin... or at least a reasonable facsimile. It was her face, but not her eyes; it was her body, but somehow it was different; it was her style, and yet something was lacking.

Jen-Ling laughed at his reaction, and it wasn't Tin-Tin's laugh. "I take it that Lady Penelope's done a good job."

"Uh... Yeah." Alan nodded. "I mean I can see you're not Tin-Tin, but..." He shook his head in amazement.

"Ah, so the effect isn't perfect," Lady Penelope mused. "What improvements would you suggest, Alan?"

"Would you mind turning around, Jen-Ling?" Alan requested. "Something's not right, but I can't quite put my finger on it."

Jen-Ling giggled. "I'm sure both Tin-Tin and I are glad about that."

Alan reddened. "Your nose doesn't crinkle the way Tin-Tin's kinda does when she laughs," he blustered, and his red face burned scarlet when both ladies laughed.

"Isn't he sweet, Lady Penelope," Jen-Ling teased. She held her arms out and spun about slowly. "Well, Alan?"

Alan tried to examine her in the same detached manner that he'd examine an associate's prized motor car; with admiration, but in the knowledge that she was out of bounds. "Erm... You're not as, er, ah, shall we say, um, 'developed' as Tin-Tin." He realised that he was gesturing in a suggestive manner and thrust his hands into his armpits to get them under control. "Not that there's, ah, anything, erm, wrong with you..." he apologised. "It's, uh, probably her European background, that, ah... You know... Genetics." His face felt like it was on fire.

Lady Penelope took a step backwards so she could give her creation her critical evaluation. "I do believe that you are right, Alan. We shall try a little padding in a C-cup. Please remove your blouse, Jen-Ling."

Feeling like Thunderbird Three was using his head as a blast duct; Alan escaped back to the pilot's cabin.

He'd regained his composure by the time they touched down in America, only to almost lose it again when Lady Penelope announced that in order to complete the illusion that Jen-Ling was Tin-Tin, they would have to kiss in the manner expected of a man about to spend a week away from his wife. "Can't we just shake hands?" he asked. "Or maybe a hug?"

Once again he was disconcerted by the two ladies' laughter. "Come on, Hubby," Jen-Ling teased, "I'm going shopping. Don't you want to send me on my way with a kiss and a promise not to max out the credit card?"

"But why do I have to kiss you? No offence intended, Jen-Ling..."

"None taken."

"But as much as you look like Tin-Tin you're not her. It wouldn't feel right to kiss some other woman the same way I'd kiss her."

"We understand and respect your feelings, Alan," Lady Penelope acknowledged, "but the media is waiting out there to see Alan Tracy's re-emergence on the motor racing scene."

"The media aren't going to make a lot of fuss over the fact that I'm back. I've only been gone for a couple of months and they'll think that the only reason why I'm racing again is because of Mike's accident. It's not like when International Rescue was last operational and I was out of the sport for years at a time. No one will even notice that I'm on this plane."

Lady Penelope gave him that look that told him that she was not pleased with his attitude towards her carefully thought-out plan. "They will notice because I have, through various channels open to me, alerted them to the fact that you are returning to the intense world of high-speed vehicular racing. You are going to say goodbye to your wife before the pair of you are parted and 'Tin-Tin' flies to another part of America to go shopping with her friend from Great Britain."

Making sure he remained hidden from the outside world, Alan glanced through a window. There, waiting by the terminal, was a gaggle of photographers. "This is ridiculous," he grumbled. "We're doing this to try to divert publicity away from ourselves and here I am about to walk straight into a swarm of blood-sucking leeches." He groaned, reached into his bag and pulled out a hat and a pair of sunglasses. Then he retrieved a jacket from an onboard wardrobe and pulled it on, turning up the collar. "Let's get this charade over and done with."

"Do you want to have a quick practice kiss before we go out?" Jen-Ling asked.

He glanced at her, wanting to see if she was teasing him again, but this time her face, or at least that facade of Tin-Tin's, was deadly serious. He nodded. "I suppose we'd better so we don't bump noses or something."

"Just close your eyes and pretend I'm Tin-Tin," Jen-Ling suggested. "Do whatever feels natural and I'll follow your lead."

Wishing that the whole farce was over and done with, Alan stepped up to her. Then, placing one hand on her waist, he drew Jen-Ling closer as he guided her chin upwards so he was able to look into her eyes. Then he lowered his head so that their lips touched. The kiss was brief, sensual, and loving.

Then he took a step backwards. "How did that look, Penny?"

Lady Penelope smiled at him. "Like a devoted husband saying goodbye to his wife."

"Then let's hope I can repeat the performance. No disrespect intended Jen-Ling, but it felt nowhere near as good as kissing Tin-Tin."

"Which is probably a good thing," Jen-Ling suggested.

Alan swung his bag onto his shoulder. "That's the dress rehearsal over and done with. Let's get the main event out of the way and then I can head to the track to reacquaint myself with the car."

"Good luck, Alan," Lady Penelope said, as he stepped out onto the top of the steps leading down to the tarmac.

"Good luck to all of us." He dropped his bag onto the top platform, repeated the kiss with Jen-Ling and then, stopping a couple of times to wave back at the plane, headed over to where a member of his racing team was waiting for him.

Watching him depart, Jen-Ling touched her lips. "Tin-Tin's a lucky woman," she sighed.

Lady Penelope smiled an understanding smile. "I know."

_To be continued..._


	21. Chapter 21 - Reunions

**Chapter 21: Reunions**

_1 September 2079_

Wearing his team's official jacket and carrying a periodical, Alan got out of his convertible and handed his keys to the valet. "Don't take it too far," he advised. "I'm only here to pick up my wife."

The valet nodded his understanding, and as the car was driven clear Alan spied a familiar walk heading into the hotel. He followed the individual inside only to discover that the lift door had already closed behind them. He wasn't perturbed. Lady Penelope had given him his instructions and he knew that she was expecting him to follow them to the letter.

He marched up to the reception desk. "Hello." He smiled at the receptionist. "I'm Alan Tracy. My wife Tin-Tin Tracy and her friend are staying here. They've been out shopping together. Could you tell me their room number, please?"

"Certainly, Mr Tracy. Just one moment."

Alan waited, feeling exposed without his hat and sunglasses to conceal his features. This was precisely what Lady Penelope had wanted to allay suspicion; people to know that he was meeting his wife after her week's shopping, while keeping their activities out of the direct public gaze. Brave as he was, there was no way that Alan was willing to go against her wishes.

A myriad of CCTV cameras were staring in his direction, recording his every move and glance and he hoped there were no paparazzi hanging about. He didn't have too many problems with the in-house cameras recording him, but didn't want his face plastered over the world's media by some nosey journalist.

The receptionist smiled at him. "Mrs Tracy and Lady Penelope are in room 1424, Mr Tracy. The elevators are over there."

"Thanks." Alan stepped into the lift, pushed the button for level fourteen and endured the inane 'elevator muzak' as well as several stops on intermediary floors. Beside him two females with too much make-up and not enough decorum cackled over a "score" that one of them had made the night before and eyed him up as if they were hoping that the night wasn't over. He was glad when the lift announced his floor and he was able to escape.

Following the discreet arrows that pointed the way he found room 24 and knocked. There was a brief pause before the door opened and a man in mauve uniform stepped aside. "Come h-in, Mister Alan."

"Thanks, Parker."

Alan stepped into the lounge area and was confronted by the sight of three women. He gave them all a general hello before stepping up to the Tin-Tin on the left and pulling her into a warm embrace. "I've missed you, Honey," he admitted and kissed her. "How are you?"

He was delighted to see the woman in his arms wrinkle her nose as she laughed. "The sun is shining and the flowers are blooming," Tin-Tin teased. "So you knew it was me and not Jen-Ling?"

"Never any doubts," he replied. "I'd know you anywhere. Plus I followed you into the hotel and recognised your walk."

"Did you do as I asked, Alan?" Lady Penelope enquired.

"Yep. Reception knows that I'm meeting Tin-Tin and that you and she have been shopping. Plus…" he tossed his magazine onto the bed next to the floppy hat that Tin-Tin had been wearing when she entered the building, "there's a photo of you and 'my wife' out shopping. One of the mechanic's wives brought that copy in for me."

"Good." Lady Penelope approved. "Then, if you wouldn't mind excusing us, dear boy, the two ladies can exchange clothes and then you and Tin-Tin may depart for the race track."

Jen-Ling pulled at the mask that was stuck to her face. "No offence, Tin-Tin, but I'm glad I don't have to be you any longer. This thing was starting to drive me crazy!"

"I am sorry that you were uncomfortable for so long," Tin-Tin sympathised.

"Don't worry about it, I'm glad to help. My only disappointment is that I've bought all these wonderful clothes and none of them fit me!"

"I'm afraid that you will have to keep the padding on for a short time longer, Jen-Ling," Lady Penelope advised. "You must look exactly like the woman who entered the hotel ten minutes ago."

Jen-Ling sighed. "Yes, Lady Penelope."

"Do not worry yourself, my dear girl," Lady Penelope reassured her. "Now that your work is done we can retrace our steps and you can treat yourself to items that suit you. And I am sure that Tin-Tin will enjoy discovering what _she_ has bought herself."

Tin-Tin gave Alan a quick kiss. "I'll be out soon," she promised.

She was as good as her word, but emerged wearing one of her own free-flowing dresses instead of a garment that Jen-Ling had purchased. Jen-Ling had to make do with the less than flattering gown that Tin-Tin had worn as a disguise into the hotel.

Alan kissed his real wife again. "Ready to go?"

Tin-Tin started picking up 'her' shopping. "I am ready."

Jen-Ling put on Tin-Tin's hat. "Good luck with today's race, Alan, and thank you for letting me be a part of your rescue." Then she became sombre. "And wish everyone at International Rescue good luck from me too... For all our sakes..."

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

The saloon with the number plate TBFIVE pulled up outside a house that showed signs of being cared about without being cared for. Both men stared at the home.

Unwilling to escape the sanctuary of the car, Scott glanced over at his brother. "Do you think Gordon and Virgil bought the _we've got important work to do for Tracy Industries_ story?"

"I think so," John replied. "They were too happy at the prospect of visiting Dad for an hour to worry about what we're up to." He reached behind him and withdrew an embossed satchel from the back seat. He held it in his hands. "How are you feeling?"

Scott hesitated. "If I'm honest, the thought of meeting that family scares me more than most of the situations we got ourselves into when we were International Rescue." He looked at the neatly mown lawn, which was in stark contrast to the peeling paintwork and the water dripping from the rusted guttering. "They don't have a lot of money, do they?"

"No. That's another reason why I've wanted to make this as easy for them as possible. I've made sure that they haven't had to worry about paying Howard's medical bills. I'd offer to help them further, but I don't think their pride would let them accept it."

Scott looked at his brother. "Thanks."

"What for?"

"Looking after them. I'm the one who's ruined their lives. I should have been doing that."

John shrugged. "It's my job."

"As you said, Tracy Aviation is completely autonomous. You could have kept out of it."

"Tracy Aviation still has the Tracy name and you know as well as I do the Tracy name means that it's impossible for one of us to stand aside and do nothing when someone needs assistance…" John placed his hand on his brother's shoulder. "Especially when it's one of our own who needs it."

Scott looked away, preferring not to acknowledge the fact that he did need help.

"The crash wasn't your fault, Scott."

"You're just saying that to make me feel better."

John smiled. "Is it working?"

Scott gave a wry chuckle. "Yes."

"Good." John covered a yawn and then nodded towards the house. "Are you ready to go in?"

Scott gritted his teeth and opened the car door. "Let's get this over and done with."

Trying not to give in to the impulse to run, Scott followed John two paces behind, noting that not all the house was old and shabby. Recent additions had been made like the wheelchair ramp that led up to the entrance. Feeling sick, he trailed after John who strode confidently up the ramp and gave the door a smart rap.

It was opened a minute later by a petite woman with a drawn, lined face that made her seem older than her years. That was until she saw who was standing on the step and her face lit up, banishing the majority of her wrinkles with the exception of the laughter lines about her eyes. "John! It's so good to see you again!"

"Hello, India." John responded with a broad smile of his own, which Scott felt unable to imitate. "How are you?"

"We're well now that it's starting to get cooler," she replied. "Howard finds the heat such a strain… Noel!" she called over her shoulder. "John's here!" She stepped back.

"I thought it might be him when I heard knocking," a man joked, coming to stand at India's shoulder. Without any other evidence to hand, Scott assumed that this had to be Noel, Howard's father. "Don't stand out there, come in."

Scott followed John inside and looked around, seeing evidence of widened doorways and other alterations to the building to help ease the life of a wheelchair-bound invalid and his family. Apart from this there was no sign of the injured boy.

"You're looking well, John," India commented. "A little tired, but well. Whatever you've been doing since we last saw you obviously suits you."

John yawned. "Sorry," he apologised. "I've been working late the last few nights." Scott shot him a concerned look, which didn't go unnoticed by the O'Neils.

John was about to introduce his brother, when Noel called out "Howard… John's here."

"Coming…" A door was pushed open and the thirteen-year-old came into the room.

Scott stared at him in shock. It wasn't the fact that the boy was walking with the assistance of a frame that had stunned him; rather that a scarred and freckly face was grinning at the adults from under a thatch of jet-black hair.

John had been watching his brother to see his reaction, but now he turned back to the boy. "Howard!" he exclaimed. "What happened to the wheels?"

"Don't need them any more," Howard boasted, shuffling to a stop beside his mother.

"Well, not until he gets tired," India amended fondly, pushing a stray lock behind her son's ear.

John was grinning. "That's great. Literally another step in the right direction…"

"I know," Noel agreed. "We're so proud of him," and Howard seemed to swell at the compliment.

John decided that it was time to acknowledge his companion. "Let me introduce you to my brother: Scott."

Noel stepped forward, with his hand extended. "Pleased to meet you, Scott."

"Ah… Likewise," Scott mumbled, shaking the other's hand.

"Would you both sit down?" Noel indicated the worn seats that lined the edge of the lounge.

"Thanks, but no," John responded. "We can't stay for long. Our little brother's competing today and we want to catch his race."

"What type of racing?" Noel asked.

"Typhoon class cars," John explained. "They're getting down to the business end of the world series so we want to be there to support him."

India had been staring at Scott. "Have we met before?"

"I… er…" Normally confident and sure of himself, Scott suddenly discovered that he was lost for words. "I was the pilot!" he blurted out. "I'm sorry."

Now everyone was staring at him, including a bemused John. "I wasn't going to release that bit of information just yet," he admitted.

"The pilot?" Noel switched his attention from Scott to John. "As in the pilot of the plane that put Howard in the hospital?"

John nodded. "It's one of the many reasons why I'm involved."

Noel fixed him with a faintly accusing stare. "You said if it was pilot error you'd hand us the head of the pilot on a plate."

John held his gaze. "And if Scott was found guilty of pilot error, then I would," he confirmed. "Despite the fact that I can't believe that he would have done anything careless."

"He would," Scott agreed. "You won't find a more honest man than John. He wouldn't let me hide behind the Tracy name or the Tracy money, and I don't expect to."

"Do you think the accident was your fault?" India asked.

Scott made a helpless gesture. "I honestly don't know. I've replayed the incident over and over again in my mind, trying to work out what happened. So many times that I've become confused over what did occur and what didn't. I don't know if I could have done anything differently, but then I don't know of any other reason why the plane should crash."

"It was a test craft," Noel remarked.

"And she was performing flawlessly up till that point," Scott told him.

He was startled when India suddenly exclaimed: "You've been here before!"

"Uh…Yeah… I mean, yes." Scott looked embarrassed. "Tracy Aviation's legal team said I should keep away from you until after the investigation's been finalised…"

"Really…?" Noel glanced sideways at John.

"That wasn't my call," John responded. "I'm no legal expert."

"But," Scott continued, "I wanted to find out how Howard was… You answered the door, Mrs O'Neil… I think…?"

India nodded. "That's right. I thought you seemed a bit flustered… You said that you were looking for the… the Wright Brothers, wasn't it?"

"Yes." Scott turned pink as John chuckled. "I'd just decided to leave when you answered the door. I said the first thing that came to mind."

John chuckled again. "Trust you, Scott. You've got a one track mind."

"No…" Scott protested. "I've been thinking about other things lately." He turned his attention back to Howard who was staring at him as if he didn't know whether to blame him for all his woes or to offer forgiveness. "I'm sorry you were hurt, Howard. If there'd been any way I could have diverted that plane, I would have."

The young man looked at his parents as if asking for advice and Scott saw a patch on the back of his head where his hair wasn't growing.

"Did you know Howard was in the barn during the crash?" India asked.

Scott glanced at John and saw his brother's blue eyes fixed on him. "No. I didn't see him."

"Then you had no reason to steer the plane away from him." As Scott was about to protest she raised her hand. "John hasn't told us anything about you, but I get the feeling that you've been blaming yourself, even though we don't know the cause of the accident yet."

Scott gave a shameful nod. "That's true."

"If the accident was your fault, Mr Tracy…"

"Please," Scott interrupted. "Mr Tracy's my father. Call me Scott."

He found it disconcerting when both adult O'Neils laughed. "That's what John said when we first met him," Noel explained.

"Very well, Scott… If the accident was your fault," India repeated, "then you should know that both Noel and I want to see you prosecuted to the full extent of the law."

Scott squared his shoulders and looked her in the eye. "I wouldn't expect anything less."

"However if it was a shortcoming in the plane's design which caused it to crash, then I think you should be aware that this accident has in some respects been a blessing in disguise."

Scott stared at the 13-year-old who'd grown tired of standing and had sat down. "It has?!"

"Howard…" India took a step closer to her son and stood next to him with a protective arm about his shoulders, "as much as we both love him, hasn't always been the easiest child to deal with. He was frequently in trouble at school... when he bothered to attend…" Howard looked up at his mother and then back down as if he were ashamed at his actions. "We weren't always aware of his activities, but we did all we could to try and understand why he behaved the way he did and we tried to work out ways to help him."

"That was why he was at the camp for troubled youth when the crash happened," Noel explained.

Scott looked at Howard. He didn't look like a 'troubled youth'; just one who'd been lucky to survive a disaster. "I didn't know that there was a camp nearby. The test flight path was supposed to be over unoccupied farmland."

Howard continued to stare at the floor. "I'd run away from camp."

"Which is why he was in that barn when he should have been in supervised accommodation ten miles away." India's voice was scolding, but she kissed her son on the top of his head.

Scott couldn't as yet see why the whole mess was a blessing in disguise.

"That day was the worst in our lives," India admitted. "You've no idea what it's like to have a policeman appear on your doorstep and tell you that your son has been critically injured. I've never been so scared before or since." Her voice shook, and Howard looked up and took his mother's hand. She smiled down at him and caressed his cheek. "There are times when I can't believe that we've still got him and that he should make a full recovery."

Noel took up the story. "But the recovery has been a long, hard road. I don't need to remind you, Scott, of how many months ago the nightmare started and you can see how far Howard still has to go."

Scott knew full well the date of the nightmare. The events of that day were seared into his brain.

"But, thanks to John, since the accident Howard's had more opportunities than we could have ever hoped to give him," Noel explained.

"I told them to contact me directly if Howard needed anything," John interjected. "If, say, Howard needed a 50 inch TV set in his bedroom so that he could access the Internet, then I didn't want some anonymous accountant saying that he could make do with a 21 inch one."

Howard looked at him hopefully. "Can I have a 50 inch TV?"

"No, you can't," India told her son. "We are not going to take advantage of John's generosity." Howard pouted, but didn't offer up a complaint.

"Because Howard hasn't been able to go to school John has arranged for someone to come here and tutor him," Noel continued. "Howard's come on in leaps and bounds now that he's got a teacher who is able to work one-on-one with him and tailor his schooling to suit his needs. We've also learned that he's got an above average IQ, which is why school wasn't stimulating enough to hold his attention and he kept on running away. Now that we're aware of this, once Howard goes back to school, we'll be able to ensure that he attends a facility that will continue to challenge him."

"So you won't be playing truant again, will you, Howard?" John asked.

"Nope." Howard shook his head. "I never knew learning could be fun until Ms McCully started teaching me. She's showed me all sorts of good stuff."

John grinned. "Good man." He looked at his watch. "We'll have to get moving soon, but the reason why we've come here is because I had to give you this." He opened his satchel and pulled out a thick document. "This is the investigators' final report into the accident." He handed it to the O'Neils.

Scott stared at his brother. John had never mentioned that the independent investigators had finished their work.

"I'd advise you to read it," John was saying. "Also get an expert to go through the report so that you can reassure yourselves that Tracy Aviation," he paused, "or I haven't swept any of the facts under the carpet." He reached back into the satchel and pulled out a single sheet of paper. "There's the confirmation of the deposit I've made into your account. There should be enough there to enable you to get representation to ensure that you get fair compensation for all your pain and suffering."

Noel took the page without comment, as if he was unsurprised to receive the payment.

India was staring at Scott. "And what were the investigators' findings?"

Scott braced himself for the worst.

John's face remained impassive as he withdrew a two page document. "I've spent the last few nights summarising the report," he said, giving his final document to India. "I've paraphrased it in parts and some of it I've cut and pasted. You'll note that I've written _t__he pilot_ instead of Scott's name as I wasn't going to reveal his identity until after you'd had a chance to read the summary… But Scott's made that precaution unnecessary."

"Do you know what's in here, Scott?" India asked.

"No," Scott admitted, amazed at how steady his voice was sounding. He felt like he was shaking like a leaf. "I wasn't even aware that John had received it."

"Read it out loud, India," Noel prompted. "Let us all know what's in it."

India read John's summary, which was brief and concise. It detailed how one of Tracy Aviation's sub-contractors had manufactured a single component designed to flex during certain manoeuvres out of a material that was a millimetre thicker than that specified in the blueprints. This error had not been picked up during Tracy Aviation's assembly of the aeroplane. The more rigid component had exerted a continual strain on the bolts that held that section of the aeroplane together, eventually causing them to shear through. This led to the catastrophic failure that resulted in the total loss of control of the aircraft, the destruction of a barn of winter feed, and critical injuries to 13-year-old Howard O'Neil.

"Having interviewed _the pilot_," India read, "viewed all available footage, and observed the data obtained from the aircraft's various flight recorders, we can find no evidence of pilot error._ The pilot_ executed all manoeuvres as stipulated by the test flight plans for this particular craft, and when he became aware that that he had lost control of the plane continued to do all he could to land it in a controlled manner. _The pilot's_ ejection from the plane's cockpit was performed at a stage when he knew that he no longer had any control over the plane's flight path or descent, and that to remain in the cockpit would have been fatal."

There was silence in the lounge.

"So it was a manufacturing error," Noel eventually said.

"Yes," John confirmed. "Tracy Aviation has severed all ties with the sub-contractor concerned, at least until they can reassure the company that adequate quality control systems have been put in place. For our part, Tracy Aviation has already begun the process of re-reviewing its own quality control systems to ensure that such an error won't slip through again. At this point I can only offer Tracy Industries' apologies that so many innocent people got caught up in the tragic event, and I will remind you to make sure that you have adequate representation when the question of compensation is discussed."

"So it wasn't your fault?" Howard clarified, staring at Scott.

"No…" Scott couldn't quite believe it. "It looks like I've been cleared."

"And you look like you need to sit down," Noel pointed out. "There's a chair behind you."

Scott considered saying he was all right, but decided that his legs were feeling as numb with relief as the rest of him, and that he'd better get his weight off them. He sat down as India took the seat next to Howard and Noel claimed the comfortable chair that was clearly his habitual throne. Only John remained standing and he glanced at his expensive corporate watch as if he were aware that they didn't have much time.

Scott ran his hands through his hair and let out a lungful of air.

"Has it been a tough few months for you, Scott?" India asked. Now she was showing none of the guarded wariness that had been directed towards him and instead looked genuinely concerned. "Not knowing if the findings would be against you?"

Scott nodded looking down at his hands. "I thought I'd hurt someone doing something I loved… I guess I kinda lost faith in myself."

"I never lost faith in you." John placed a hand on his brother's shoulder. "Are you okay?"

"Yes…" Scott breathed. Then he looked up at his younger brother. "You knew and you never told me!"

"Actually," John grinned, "if you remember, I did tell you. Out in the car before we came in."

"But I thought you only said that to make me feel better!"

"Yes, I did. But I also said it because it was the truth." John looked up. "I've known for a couple of days, but I thought it was fairest if all _four_ victims," there was a slight emphasis on the number four, "were told at the same time."

India nodded. "Thank you, John. We appreciate that."

"So what happens now?" Noel asked.

"Now we address the issue of compensation," John explained. "I've left instructions that you are to be fully compensated. If you feel that anyone is trying to backtrack on that I want you to contact my secretary, Emma. She will ensure that you are not penalised in any way."

"Your secretary?" Noel enquired. "Not you?"

"No…" John hesitated. "I'm on extended leave from Tracy Industries. My father… _Our_ father," he indicated Scott, "has resumed control of the company, but he knows nothing about the crash or Scott's involvement, and if possible I'd like to keep it that way. He hasn't been well and we don't want to do anything to upset him."

The O'Neils nodded. "We understand."

"Scott…" Surprised, everyone looked at the boy who'd spoken. "Do you like planes?"

"Do I like planes?" Scott echoed. "Yes. Well…" He glanced at his brother. "I used to." Then his face brightened as if he'd come to the realisation that that he'd awoken from a nightmare. "And I think I'm going to start liking them again."

Howard edged forward in his seat. "Ms McCully showed me how to make models and Dad bought me a big kitset of a Spitfire. Would you like to see them?"

Delighted by the invitation, Scott smiled at the teenager. "I'd love to!"

"C'mon." Eager to show off his new toys, Howard pulled himself upright into his walking frame. Chatting excitedly, he led Scott out of the room.

"So much for not being able to stay for long." John gave a dramatic sigh and sat down. "He'll be in there for hours."

"In that case," India chuckled, "would you like a cup of coffee while you wait?"

John treated her to a grateful smile. "Thanks, but no thanks. I'll give them ten minutes and then I'll go in and drag him out of there. We can't miss Alan's race."

"Howard has always loved planes," India admitted. "And even this experience hasn't knocked that out of him. But we've never been able to afford to take him for a flight; not even for one of those five minute ones at an air show… And you are not going to pay for one," she added quickly when she saw John reach for his wallet. "This is nothing to do with Howard's accident or rehabilitation. We don't want him thinking that he's entitled to everything that he wants just because of one moment of misfortune."

"I understand," John withdrew his hand from his pocket.

Noel indicated the full report. "I take it you're relieved that the investigators' findings were in Scott's favour?"

"I am," John admitted. "But now that I can speak freely I will say that I never believed that he could be at fault. He's the best, most conscientious pilot I know. Unfortunately I've only just realised how badly the suspicion that he was to blame has been eating him up … If you're willing, once he's had a few months to get his confidence back I'm sure he'd love to take Howard for a ride in his plane…" He hesitated. "Once Doomsday's passed."

"If we're still here," Noel growled.

"Noel!" India scolded. "We've got to keep positive!"

"And the World President and everyone else seem positive that we're all going to die."

"You never know what's going to happen," John started to say when the door opened.

Howard shuffled back into the room, but this time he seemed unsure of himself.

Scott was following him closely. "You want to see Howard's room, John. It's full of planes, and books on aviation, and International Rescue…"

John looked intrigued. "International Rescue? But they were in action before your time, weren't they, Howard? I'm surprised you've even heard about them."

"I remember some of their rescues." Howard traced his fingers along the rough wire edge of the basket that adorned his walking frame. "I'd love to see a Thunderbird."

"Wouldn't we all," Scott agreed. "But what you really should see, John, is the telescope he's got set up in there."

John sat up. "Telescope?"

Howard gave a shy nod. "I like looking at the stars. Ms McCully says that there's too much light here in the city to see them properly, but she's going to take me to an observatory now that I can walk."

Scott nudged the boy gently. "Go on, show him."

"Show me what?" John asked.

Howard shuffled forward.

"Pick up your feet like your physiotherapist told you, Howard," India instructed.

Making a conscious effort to lift his feet above the level of the worn carpet, Howard pushed the frame towards John, stopping a few steps short of him. "Scott says that you'd like to see this book." He held out a tatted volume. Dog-eared, and with its cover and several pages missing, it didn't look anything special.

"He does?" Mystified, John took the book and examined it. Even the title page was missing, but that didn't stop him from recognising the book's theme… or realising who the author was.

"That's Howard's favourite book," Noel explained. "He found it in a second-hand bookshop. The store owner didn't know anything about who wrote it, but as it was on astronomy Howard thought he might find it interesting. Little did we know…" He chuckled and shared an indulgent glance with his wife.

"John knows who wrote it," Scott announced.

Howard looked awestruck. "You do?"

"Yeah… Ah, yes…" John was staring at his own words. "A lifetime ago."

Howard saddened. "Is he dead?"

"He was close to it…" Scott stated before John could reply. "But he's on life support and his family are confident that he's going to make a full recovery." He gave John a knowing smile and laid a hand on Howard's shoulder. "Just like you."

John handed the book back. "I think I can get you a better copy of that…" He held up his hand to stop Howard's parents' protests, "and a couple of others by the same author."

Howard's face lit up. "You can!?"

"Yes," John looked over Howard's shoulder. "You'll remind me when we get home?"

Scott nodded. "Not a problem." He looked at his watch. "We'd better be going, John. We've got to pick up Virgil and Gordon before we head over to the track."

"Two of our younger brothers," John explained as he checked his own watch and got to his feet. "You'll have to show me your telescope next time, Howard. I'll make sure I visit when it's dark so you can show me the stars."

"Maybe I can take him for a spin in my plane beforehand?" Scott suggested. "Would you like that, Howard?"

"Yeah!" the 13-year-old enthused. "When?"

Scott locked eyes with John and saw a weary recognition at the number of months that would have to pass before they were both free to do something so trivial, and yet so important. He sighed. "I'm sorry, Howard, but it won't be until after Doomsday."

"It won't?" Howard's disappointment was palpable. "But we might be all dead then."

"I hope not," Scott said.

"But John said that he wasn't working anymore," Howard protested. "Haven't you got time to come back soon, John?"

"I'm sure both Scott and John have more important things to do than worry about us," India told him.

Noel raised an eyebrow in John's direction. "Much more interesting anyway."

Something in the way he'd said that rang alarm bells in John's mind. "Don't believe everything you hear in the media," he warned. "They have a habit of getting the wrong end of the stick."

"Yes," Scott agreed. He held out his hand. "A pleasure to meet you at last, Howard. I just wish it had been because of better circumstances." He shook the teenager's hand.

Once back out in John's car both men took a moment to reflect. "How do you feel now?" John asked.

Scott closed his eyes and allowed his head to relax back on the headrest. "Like I've been drowning and someone's given me oxygen." He looked over at John. "Thanks for the CPR."

"I'm glad I could help, but if you'd only confided in me I could have supported you a lot earlier. Maybe made the last few months easier for you."

"I know, but you've been busy running Tracy Industries. You didn't need me adding to your burden."

"I'm not the only one in the family. You know that any one of us would be more than willing to be there for you, even if it had only been to act as a sounding board or to be at your side during the interviews. You didn't have to go through all that alone. You're not Superman, Scott. And no one expects you to be."

"No one except me…" Scott stared through the windscreen. "In the traditional scheme of things, it was the eldest son who was expected to take over the family business…"

John chuckled. "While the second son went into the clergy."

"Huh?"

"It's a tradition that used to be upheld by the English upper classes. What were you saying?"

"That, according to tradition, I should have been the one to take over Tracy Industries, and I haven't… I guess that in the back of my mind I've had to live with the idea that I failed somehow."

"You haven't failed. You couldn't, because no one expected you to take over Tracy Industries. We knew and Dad knew that you'd go loco within a week if you were stuck behind a desk…" John grinned. "Well, more loco than you are."

"Hey!" Scott took a playful swing at his brother.

John's response was to laugh, before he became serious again. "Are you going to talk to Virgil and Gordon? I think they both need reassurance that whatever happened between you and Gordon wasn't the catalyst for your behaviour the last couple of months. You've seen how they've been snapping at each other over the last week."

Scott paused a moment, debating how much to reveal. "John, I'm not saying that what happened with Gordon wasn't _the _catalyst, but it was a factor: one of many."

"How many? What things? Things like Virgil changing his appearance?"

Scott shrugged. "I hadn't thought about it, but I suppose that hasn't helped. How could I trust him when it was as if I didn't know him anymore?"

"But now you know that it's all a facade, right?"

"Yes... But for a long time he seemed to be a stranger."

"You've said that before."

"I've said a lot of things," Scott admitted, "some of which I regret, so right now I'm going to plead the fifth."

"Okay, I understand. But if you want to talk, you know where I am." John started the car's motor. "Where to now?" he asked as he checked that the street was free of traffic and edged out into the road.

Scott checked his watch's GPS. "Gordon and Virgil are already at your place." He let his arm drop into his lap. "That means we won't get the chance to see Father… I wish we had more time available today. I'd like to go and see Stewie."

"I'd like to see what Howard can see through his telescope. Does it look like a good one?"

"Not really. I think it's second-hand." Then Scott chuckled. "Of all the millions of astronomy books available to him, Howard has to pick one that you wrote."

John glanced across to his brother. "What did you mean when you said the author was on life support?"

"Look at you, John," Scott exclaimed. "Anyone can see that you're fitter, you're healthier, and you're happier. You'd let work take over your life and dictate who you are."

"I know," John admitted.

"Now you're taking back control," Scott continued. "But you've got to remember that you're not Superman either…"

"I could never have fitted into his tights."

Instead of laughing at the joke, Scott remained serious. "Once we've beaten Doomsday and you're back on Terra Firma you're going to have to make decisions about what you want to do with your life, and I hope those decisions don't include being glued to an executive desk."

John didn't want to think that far into the future. "Do you think we can beat Doomsday?"

Scott watched the scenery pass by, "All of a sudden I'm feeling hopeful; as if the wall that was stopping me from seeing our goal has been knocked down." He looked back over at John. "Thanks for wielding the sledgehammer."

"You're welcome."

"How far into his recovery is Howard?"

John pursed his lips. "He's got a long way to go. He still needs more procedures like plastic surgery. But after the last time I saw him I never guessed that when we went through that door today he'd be up and walking."

"And you didn't know that he had that interest in International Rescue?"

"No. I've wanted to help them as much as possible, but I knew I couldn't get too close. I couldn't risk any accusations of a conflict of interest... And if the unthinkable happened I needed to be able to step out of their lives so I could support you."

"Having served up my head on a plate," Scott said. "With all the trimmings I suppose?"

"Yep." John laughed. "Including the apple in your mouth."

Scott checked his watch again. "We've got a little bit of time available to us. Do you want to head to the shop?"

"It's Saturday, Scott," John reminded him. "Not everyone works 24/7 like us, especially when the world's going to end in two months… Besides, I've been away for too long. If I were to go poking my nose in now I'd only disrupt things."

"Don't you want to report on your meeting with the O'Neils?"

"I was there in a private capacity."

"But you gave them the report and what I assume was a reasonable amount of money."

"I asked to be allowed to give them, and you, the results of the inquiry as a personal favour," John explained. "And I wanted any monies given to be separate from any of Tracy Industries' companies so that no one could think that I had a conflict of interest."

"I saw the alterations to the house. You must have spent a small fortune!"

John shrugged and then flipped the indicator. "Like you said I've been earning a reasonable salary and glued to my desk. It's not like I've had anything else to spend my money on."

"Can I pay you some of it back?"

"No."

"No!?" Scott stared. "Why not?"

"Like _I _said, Scott, the accident wasn't your fault. You were as much a victim as the O'Neils. You don't owe anybody anything. If anything the company owes you compensation."

"Give my share to the O'Neils... and the farmer."

John chuckled. "Now how come I knew you were going to say that?" He guided the car onto the freeway and the two brothers travelled the rest of the way in silence.

When they got to John's they opened the door to the sound of piano playing. It stopped when Virgil saw them. "About time you two got back. Business all done?"

"Did you say something?" Gordon entered the room with one towel about his waist and another towelling his hair. "Oh! You're back! How'd it go?"

"Fine," John replied. "Did you see Dad?"

"No." Gordon made a face. "No one answered the door, so we rang his mobile and got his nurse. She said that Dad had gone to see a specialist."

"Specialist?!" Scott stared at him. "What kind of specialist makes an appointment on a Saturday?"

"And why did Dad go to him?" John added. "He's always expected any medical staff to visit him at home."

"We don't know," Virgil replied. "She was cagey. We got the impression that she hasn't forgiven us for deserting Father. All that she said was that he was fine and that it was nothing that we needed to worry about."

"So we came back here, broke into your place, and decided to entertain ourselves until you two showed your faces again." Gordon dropped his hair towel onto one of the easy chairs.

John picked it up and threw it back at him. "The laundry's through there. I see you've both made yourselves at home."

Gordon had caught the towel, but didn't move. "Well, we had nothing else to do, so we thought we'd make use of your stuff. We didn't want it to deteriorate due to lack of use."

"I appreciate you thinking of me like that," John drawled, not bothering to hide his sarcasm.

Gordon grinned. "Any time."

John looked around his apartment. "Actually, I wouldn't care if it did deteriorate. This place is a sterile mausoleum. I could quite happily walk out of here and never come back. The only things I'd want to keep are the presents from you guys. Like this chair Dad gave me." He sank into the comfortable recliner. "Ah, bliss..." He closed his eyes.

Scott let him relax. "So what have you been doing this last hour?" he asked the other two.

"Can't you guess?" Gordon sneered. "Virgil played a set of scales, complained that the piano was out of tune and he was out of practise, and then has been belting away at the keyboard for the last hour."

Virgil snorted. "You're a fine one to talk. _You_ complained that you didn't have your swimming gear and that the water wasn't fresh, and yet you've only just emerged from the pool!"

"I needed the exercise…"

"You look like a prune…"

"Relax, Guys," Scott soothed. "We're having some time out so make the most of it. Be yourselves. Let your hair down if you want." Grinning, he grabbed Virgil's hat, whipped it off his brother's head sending long hair free, and tossed it Frisbee-like across the room to Gordon who caught it.

Both brothers shared mystified glances as Gordon returned the cap to Virgil, who piled his ponytail back onto his head and jammed his cap back on. "You're in a good mood."

"I'm in a good mood because I'm alive, we're going to beat Doomsday, and we've got one day off to enjoy ourselves. Now..." Scott rubbed his hands together. "Let's go get ready. Come on, John..."

John, totally relaxed in his easy chair, didn't stir.

"John?"

Virgil vacated the piano stool. "Is he asleep?"

"Wakey, wakey, John," Gordon teased.

Scott frowned down on his slumbering brother. "He said he'd been awake the last few nights working on that Tracy Aviation thing."

"Why don't we leave him there?" Gordon suggested. "I'm sure he'd rather sleep than watch a smelly old car race."

"I would, except the world knows that he's an astronaut," Scott reminded him. "If he's not there today the rumours we're trying to extinguish could continue." Regretfully he reached out. "John..." He gave his brother a gentle shake. "John... Wake up, Johnny."

"Wha...?" John blinked. "Where..." He looked about the room and stared bleary-eyed at his brothers. "Did I doze off?" He rubbed his eyes.

"Sorry we had to wake you," Scott apologised, "but we've got to get ready."

John got to his feet. "That chair's dangerous. I never sit in if I've got to work."

"Why don't you take it to Thunderbird Five?" Gordon asked. "If you're going to be stuck up there for four months, you've got to be comfortable."

John shook his head, clearly disappointed. "We're not coming back here after the race and I haven't got a vehicle capable of transporting it."

"I don't have to get ready," Virgil pointed out. "I'll hire something suitable that we can use. Something that'll keep your chair safe while we're at the track."

"Now, that's a plan!" Scott enthused. "What do you say, John?"

John brightened. "I say that's a good idea, Virgil."

"Good." Scott clapped his hands. "Now that that's settled, we've got to get ready. Get moving, fellas..."

_To be continued..._


	22. Chapter 22 - Coche Del Olor

**Chapter 22: Coche Del Olor**

_Saturday 2__nd__ September 2079_

The sturdy four-wheel drive pulled into the car park and was directed to an area close to the stands. It turned into a space and stopped.

Virgil turned off the engine. "Not a bad ride for a rental." He looked at his passengers, Scott in the passenger seat next to him, John behind him, and Gordon in the other seat in the back. "Now I know how you guys must have felt when you came to my shows."

Gordon stroked his chin, feeling the false hairs pull at the spirit gum that held them in place. "I think I'm beginning to understand why you grew a beard for real. Do we really have to wear these things?"

The Tracys had resurrected the disguises that they'd used while on leave when International Rescue was last operational, and were wearing false moustaches and beards. All except for Virgil, since he was the only one who didn't have to hide behind such precautions; and after all the months of teasing and the comments he'd had to endure, he was enjoying feeling smug over his brothers' discomfort.

Scott twisted in his seat so that he could see behind him. "We want people to know that the Tracy family aren't building a rocket. But we don't want them to know what we look like in case someone we've rescued in the past recognises us and starts off a different witch hunt."

Gordon gave an exasperated sigh. "I know all that." He scratched at his auburn moustache and beard and then dug his elbow into his seat companion. "Wake up, John."

John snorted and then sat bolt upright. "Whatzup? Who are…? Gordon?"

"Are you all right?" Scott asked, concerned. "That's the second time you've nodded off in the past hour."

John rubbed his face, ruffling his artificial hairpieces, and tried to push the tiredness away. "Yeah, I'm fine. I just haven't had a lot of sleep lately."

Virgil frowned. "Not much sleep?"

"Yeah. I was too keyed up to sleep that night after Thunderbird Four's launch. And then thinking about the various…" he looked between the brothers who occupied the front seats, "ah, discussions we've had has kept me awake for a few nights. Most recently I've been busy working on those Tracy Aviation reports after a day's work. Once upon a time a few late nights wouldn't worry me, but I'm out of practise now." He pushed open his door. "Come on, some fresh air will do me good."

Fresh air was a misnomer after the pure ocean air they'd been breathing for the last two months as they discovered that even the re-circulated air of the island's hangars was cleaner than the exhaust fumes that permeated the car park.

Gordon coughed as a vintage petroleum-fuelled SUV rumbled past. "If anyone asks, that's my reason why I'm choosing to live out my days on a tropical island. Why didn't we do a Tin-Tin and send body doubles?"

"How warm is it?" Virgil asked, not vacating the car.

"There's a bit of a nip in the air." Gordon slipped his arms into the sleeves of his jacket as protection against the first bite of autumn. "Even our tropical winter's warmer than this."

"Good, then I've got an excuse to wear this." Virgil pulled on a lightweight, long-sleeved shirt before he stepped out of the vehicle. "It'll hide my tattoos."

John stared at his brother. "What tattoos?"

"Exactly."

John couldn't be bothered asking for a further explanation.

"Come on, Fellas." Scott pulled four tickets from his wallet. "Let's go and get our seats."

Following a multitude of expectant race goers, including the obligatory loud-mouthed hoons, team-colour-wearing petrol-heads, families with packed lunches and inconvenient strollers, and teens looking for a fun day out, the four brothers pushed their way through the crowds.

"Couldn't you have found us a better stand to watch from?" Gordon grumbled as he climbed up the bleachers. "This one's got stuck!"

Like a lot of more modern complexes, Coche Del Olor had adapted military technology and had created viewing platforms capable of being raised out of bunkers in the ground. This enabled the owners of the complex to change the track's layout at will. But, as Gordon had pointed out, this particular stand's lifting mechanism seemed to have short-circuited at some point.

"It's all we could get at short notice..." Scott checked the seat allocation on their tickets. "Ah!" He zeroed in on four empty plastic seats.

"How is anyone going to know who we are anyway?" Gordon asked as he picked his way past various legs and bags. He collapsed into his seat, which creaked in complaint as if it were about to detach itself from its base.

"Alan's been dropping a few hints in his interviews and is going to give us a wave when he heads out to the car," Scott explained, putting the tickets safely back into his pocket.

John pulled out his wallet. "Anyone want a hotdog?"

Scott waved him into his seat. "You've spent enough today." He reached for his own wallet.

"I'll get them," Virgil offered. "It's easier for me to get out." He was back a short time later with four steaming snacks.

Gordon savoured the smell of the sausage, sauce and bun. "Kyrano would be mortified if he knew we were eating this." He took a huge bite.

"Just as well he stayed home to keep Brains company then, wasn't it?" Scott grinned as he wolfed down his hot dog. "John, you've got sauce in your beard."

"So have you."

The first race roared into life and the crowd roared along with the motor vehicles that tore around the track.

At the conclusion of the first event, Virgil reached into his daypack and pulled out a sketch pad and pencils. "How long until Alan's race?"

Scott consulted the programme. "We've got another five classes of cars before the Typhoons."

Gordon indicated the pad "What are you drawing?"

Virgil flipped the pad so a white page was exposed. "Anything that doesn't involve palm trees."

Gordon looked down the row. "Someone wake up Sleeping Beauty."

Virgil glanced across to where John sat with his head slumped against his chest. "How can he sleep through all this noise?"

"John… John!" Scott placed his hand on his brother's shoulder. "Wake up!" He shook him gently.

"Huh! Whad! Whatzgoingon?" John forced open his eyes and blinked at his surroundings.

"You fell asleep again," Scott told him. "People are going to think you've got narcolepsy or something."

"This is ridiculous…" John rubbed his face in an effort to wake up. "Give me my ticket and I'll go and sleep in the car until Alan's race."

"No, hang on. I've got a better idea." Scott pushed a button on his cell phone. He didn't have to wait long until he received an answer. "Hiya, Honey. How are you?"

Tin-Tin sounded pleased to hear him. "I am well, Scott. You have all made it safely?"

"Yep, we're settled. How's Alan feeling?"

"I believe that he is a little nervous, but he is ready."

"That's good. We're sitting here waiting for his big moment, but John can barely keep his eyes open. Do you think he could sleep in your trailer until Alan's race?"

Tin-Tin readily agreed. "You are in stand seven, are you not?"

"That's right."

"Tell him that if he can stay awake until I get there, I will come and escort him through security to the trailer."

Scott grinned. "Thanks, Tin-Tin. Tell Alan it'll be good to see him again." He put away his phone. "There y'are, John. You've got a real bed until the race."

"Just make sure that someone comes and gets me," John warned. "I don't want to miss anything."

"Keep your phone by your ear," Virgil advised, raising his voice above the sound of a baby crying from somewhere near the top of the stand. "We'll call you when it's time to come back."

The atmospheric volume increased as excited spectators watched the next lot of competitors line up on the grid.

John yawned. "The way I'm feeling, I'll probably say that I'm on my way and fall asleep again. It would be better if someone came and got me." He rubbed his neck, trying to massage the tiredness away. "I'm sorry about this, Guys."

Virgil pointed down the stand. "There's Tin-Tin."

She hurried up the steps towards them; her jacket blaring the colours of Alan's racing team. "It's wonderful to see you again!" she enthused as she wrapped her arms about John in a warm embrace. "And what have you been up to to make you so tired, John Tracy?"

John, fortunately, was awake enough to accept her opening gambit. His eyes twinkled. "Oh, you know: this and that. How was the shopping trip?"

"Marvellous. Lady Penelope is such fun. Wait till you see what I've bought." Tin-Tin looked past her brother-in-law. "Hello, Boys."

"Hiya, Tin-Tin," they chorused.

"Will you be able to wake John in time for Alan's race?" Scott asked. "Or do you want one of us to come and get him?"

"I'm sure I can wake him," Tin-Tin giggled. "One way or another. See you boys later."

"Bye, Tin-Tin," they chorused and, satisfied that the neighbouring spectators had heard enough information to glean who they were, settled back to watch the next race.

And the one after.

And the one after that.

Gordon looked at his watch and groaned. "How much longer?

Scott consulted the programme. "Only the Lightning class and then it's the Typhoons."

"Thank heavens for that."

"The Lightnings could be fun," Virgil suggested. "They're supposed to be lighter, faster, and more manoeuvrable than the other classes."

"It'll still be grown men driving around and around a track going nowhere."

"As opposed to grown men swimming up and down a pool going nowhere?"

"Guys, stop it," Scott demanded before a full-blown argument could erupt.

"It's just that I can think of a million and one more interesting and important things that we could be doing instead of sitting here," Gordon griped.

Virgil nodded. "Gordon's right."

"I am sometimes."

"Rarely."

"Shut up," Scott snapped, just as peeved as his brothers at the time they were wasting. "Look, I know we've all got things we'd rather be doing, but we promised Alan that we'd watch his race. So that's what we're going to do!"

It was during this low-key discussion that the penultimate race of the day had begun, and much of the crowd were already on their feet cheering on their favourites. Without any real enthusiasm the Tracys mimicked everyone else's actions, pretending they were just as keen as their neighbours.

"Those cars are light!" Virgil shouted above the noise. "They barely seem to be touching the ground!"

"Yeah," Scott agreed. "Almost as if it wouldn't take much to send one of them flying."

If he'd cast a magic spell on the vehicles he couldn't have been more prophetic. One of those in the middle of the pack, locked in a dogfight with another, clipped the other's tyre and flipped. It spun nose over tail, vaulted the fence that protected the crowd from the track, and crashed into the walkway between the fence and the Tracys' stand. People fled as flaming fuel sprayed out over the base of the stand, igniting rubbish bins, personal belongings, and years of litter that had accumulated in the crawl space beneath the seats.

There was chaos, pandemonium, and screaming.

"Let's get out of here!" Scott shouted. "The emergency exit's over here!"

Abandoning their gear, the Tracys walked quickly towards safety.

-F-A-B-

John sat up; long-forgotten sounds of explosions, destruction, and panic forcing their way into his subconscious. Confused as to where he was, what he was doing there, what had woken him, and not sure whether or not he _was_ awake, he swung his legs around to the edge of the bed.

"John!" Alan crashed into the trailer. "Thank heavens you're awake!"

John decided that this wasn't a dream. "What's happened?"

"One of the cars crashed. The stand's on fire!"

This aroused John more than a bucket of cold water could have done. "Which stand?"

"Seven!"

"But that's where our seats are!"

"I know!"

Barely stopping to pull on his shoes, John followed Alan out of the trailer. "Where's the evacuation area?"

"On the park by the road."

"Have you heard from anyone?"

"No. Tin-Tin's gone ahead to try and locate them."

-F-A-B-

The large-screen TV in the corner was barely audible as it followed the day's races.

"_Well, that's that."_ Jeff sat back and regarded his secretary. _"Thank you for coming in on a Saturday, Emma."_

She smiled at him. "That's all right. We want to make sure that everything's ready before you go in for your operation on Monday, don't we?"

He sighed. _"Do you think I'm doing the right thing?"_

"It doesn't matter what I think. What matters is that you're giving yourself a chance."

He looked at his weakened hands. _"A chance to do what? The chances of a full recovery are practically nil."_

"But they are there. Imagine your sons' faces when you fly in to your island and walk up to your home." Emma regarded her boss. "What did the specialist say this morning?"

"_That he's quietly hopeful. That I'm a good candidate. That he's looking forward to receiving his fat pay cheque."_

"Now, come on, Jeff!" Emma scolded. "From what I've seen of Dr Cooper, he doesn't strike me as a man who's only after your money. I think he genuinely believes that he can help you." She waggled her finger at him. "But you've got to meet him half way, Mr Tracy. You've got to go into that operating room in a positive frame of mind."

"_You sound just like my mother."_

"I wish I'd met her. I think I'd like her."

Jeff smiled. _"And I think she'd like you too, Emma. She'd like you and John…"_

"Jeff!" Emma had caught sight of the TV screen. "There's a fire!"

He spun his hoverchair. _"Where?"_

-F-A-B-

Around them people were panicking as acrid smoke writhed up from beneath the bleachers. They pushed past one another and knocked fellow evacuees to the ground in their desperation to get to safety. Gordon got punched in the middle of his back and was shoved forward, landing on the seats below their row.

His brothers reached out to him. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." Gordon got to his knees, feeling the glue that held his beard in place coming unstuck. "Let's keep moving. It's getting too hot here." He pulled himself upright and then froze. "Look!" He pointed up to the top of the stand.

There, trying to get a screaming, terrified child, an over-large wicker picnic basket, a kind of backpack, and a pushchair down the steps – and failing, were a frazzled, scared couple.

Abandoning their own flight to safety, the Tracys hurdled the plastic seating to the top of the stand.

The woman grabbed Scott's arm. "Help us!"

"Leave the basket behind," he advised, pulling it from her hands and dropping it to one side.

"But my knitting's in there!"

Scott had never failed to be amazed by people's ability to be fixated on trivialities in the face of imminent disaster. He grabbed the handles of the pushchair. "Virgil! Get the other end."

"Right!"

"You," Scott pointed to the father, "forget the pack and take care of your kid."

"But…"

"Gordon! Look after her." Scott indicated the hysterical mother.

"Gotcha."

But even Scott's quick decision-making skills weren't quick enough, as the lower section of the stand disappeared behind thick, writhing, smoke. Below that, obliterated by the black ephemeral wall, they could hear above shouts and screams an ominous creaking and groaning.

They stopped; Scott putting out an arm to arrest the couple's downward flight. "We shouldn't risk it."

"But that's the only way out," the father shouted as the child in his arms bawled. "We're trapped if we stay here."

"Feel the heat of that fire!" Scott ordered. "Look how thick the smoke is! We might not find the exits. We don't know if the way's clear or even if the stand's still intact. Going down's too dangerous."

"Then what do we do?"

"Go back up."

"Up! Are you mad?! We need to get out of here!"

"We need to get someone's attention!" Scott corrected. "Got the stroller, Virgil?"

"Yep." The two men reversed their direction and, carrying the pushchair between them, climbed back up the incline. The baby started to cry.

"But this is crazy!" the man complained. "We must be 30 feet up! Who's going to see us from up here?!"

Scott pointed down towards the ground. "Them."

"Who?"

-F-A-B-

"They would have made it to safety, wouldn't they?" Alan puffed as he and John ran closer to stand seven. They knew they should be heading to the evacuation area, but the need to check that their brothers had escaped was stronger. "Look at all these people!" He indicated the frightened stampede. "How are we going to find them?"

"There's one way." John was pulling out his cell phone when it rang. "Scott! Where are…" He glanced towards the top of the stand. "Oh, heck."

Alan pulled at his brother's arm. "Where are they?"

John pointed upwards.

"Huh?!" Alan followed the outstretched finger. "Why are they still there? Can't they get down?"

John held up his hand as he listened to the phone. "The smoke's too thick and it sounds like the stand's weakening."

"Why didn't they evacuate when everyone else did?" Alan indicated the fleeing crowds.

"They went to help a family." John explained, echoing Scott's description of the situation. "Parents and two kids. One a baby. One a young child…"

"Alan!" Tin-Tin hurried over. "What are you doing?"

"Keep back, Honey." Alan guided her out of harm's way. "We've found them. They were helping a family escape, but the way's blocked. They can't get out."

"What?" Tin-Tin's hand flew to her mouth. "Where are they?"

"Up there." Alan pointed to where a number of figures were visible through the thickening smoke.

John had jogged to the side of the stand to get the lay of the land. "The rescue authorities are all tied up, Scott, and the fire's spreading to neighbouring buildings. There're too many other people needing help and the fire crews are going to be too busy containing the flames to even realise that you're in trouble." He joined Tin-Tin and Alan and put his phone onto hands-free.

"I was afraid of that," Scott admitted. "You guys are going to have to do something. Can you bring the car closer?"

"No. Virgil's got the keys."

They saw Virgil move closer to the edge. "He's throwing them down," Scott stated, and a small object fell to earth.

"I'll get them." Alan, already dressed for his race, pulled his fire-resistant balaclava over his head. He was back a short time later. "Where's the car?"

"It'll be quicker if I get it." John gave Tin-Tin the phone and took the keys. "Scott'll tell you his plan while I'm gone."

"Right." Alan looked upwards. "What's the plan, Scott?"

"Throw up the rope that's strapped John's chair to the car. Once we've secured it here and you've tied the other end to the car's bull-bars, we'll have to descend that way."

Alan eyed the roughly three storey drop. "That's if the rope's long enough and we can throw it that distance."

"We've got faith in you, Alan."

-F-A-B-

"Oh, my…" Emma breathed as she watched the television screen. "How are they going to get all those people out?"

"_That's why they have evacuation plans,"_ Jeff reminded her. _"How did the fire start?"_

"I wasn't watching. I'm sure we'll find out later; they always replay dramatic moments over and over again ad nauseum."

"_True… Turn the volume up,"_ Jeff instructed. _"We might learn something."_

"I hope Alan's nowhere near it," Emma commented. "There must be a lot of explosive fuels around at a race track."

"_They're kept well clear of the public areas. I'm more worried about the rest of my boys. They were going to see the race."_

"Were they?" Emma glanced at her boss. "John too?"

Jeff was pleased to see a slight flush colour her cheeks_ "All four of them. They wanted to support Alan in his final race."_

"What a day of drama at Coche Del Olor," the TV burbled. "After car number 63, Wayne Bison, crashed over the barrier, a massive fire has broken out. These pictures are coming to you live as rescue authorities battle to save Bison from his car and evacuate people trapped on the stand… Check out these dramatic pictures…" The screen changed to show two people close to the action. A four-wheel drive backed up and the driver got out and ran around to the back. "What are those people doing…?"

-F-A-B-

"Weight... Weight..." Alan rummaged through the back of the vehicle. "What can we use to give the end of the rope some weight?! I can't find anything suitable!"

Tin-Tin pulled out the car's tool kit. "There's nothing in here. Everything's too light, or too unwieldy... What about this?" She held up the car lug wrench. "It might act like a grappling hook?"

John had untied the rope from around his chair. "Only one way to find out."

Alan adjusted his balaclava again. "Wish me luck." He moved closer. "Hold on to the end," he suggested. "We don't want to risk losing it."

John got back on the cell phone. "Alan's going to try to throw up the rope, Scott. It's got a wrench attached, so try not to get hit."

Unaware that they were being filmed, Alan started spinning the rope, trying to build up the necessary velocity so it could beat gravity long enough to reach his brothers. He let go and it flew skyward before falling uselessly back to ground.

He jogged back to John and Tin-Tin "It's no good. Where's the phone?" He took it off Tin-Tin. "I can't throw it that far, Scott," he explained. "Any ideas?" He could imagine the wheels turning in his brother's analytical brain.

"Yeah! Give us a second, Alan." Scott pushed the phone into Gordon's hands and ran from the railing.

"Do you realise what you've done?!" the father yelled into his ear as he raced past. "We're all going to die because we didn't escape when we could!"

"Not if I can help it," Scott muttered. He leapt over the seats until he reached the picnic basket. Picking it up he jogged back up the incline, checking its contents as he went.

On one side were earmuffs and various activities designed to keep a small boy occupied. On the other were some incomplete knitted items and several skeins of wool. Skirting Virgil, who'd started dismantling the pushchair and was using the seats as a vice as he worked on one of the flat, aluminium support stays, he dropped the basket onto a seat and withdrew a new skein.

"What are you doing?!" the father bellowed.

Scott ignored him. "Empty out the basket, Gordon. We're going to need it."

"That basket is my wife's!" the man screamed. "It's a family heirloom!"

Scott gave him a cool look. "Could you try to keep your family calm and together until we're ready to evacuate you all?"

"Evacuate us?"

Pulling off the paper band that held the skein together Scott found the end. Wrapping that around his hand several times and then unravelling several more metres to give the ball some slack, he leant over the rail that stopped spectators from falling backwards off the stand. "Catch this, Alan!"

He saw his brother move closer and wave when he was in position, then he threw the wool out and away from him, aware that the shape of the skein and the unravelling action would disrupt its aerodynamics.

-F-A-B-

Jeff leant closer to the television screen. _"That's Alan!"_

"What?" Emma stared at the screen. "Where?"

"_In the coveralls. The woman is Tin-Tin."_

"Isn't that Alan Tracy?" one of the announcers asked as another figure moved into shot.

"It looks like his uniform," the second confirmed. "And the young woman looks like his wife. Who is the other man? One of his pit crew."

"_That's John,"_

"John?" Emma stared at the lean, energetic, bearded figure on screen. "You're kidding. Right?"

Jeff had more important things to worry about. _"If those three are there... Where are the others? Who are they trying to save?"_

Almost as if the director were trying to oblige him with the answers, the camera zoomed in to the top of the stand. Made hazy by the swirling smoke, five people could be seen there.

Emma pointed. "Who are they?"

Jeff frowned at the figures on screen._ "I think it's Scott in the centre, Gordon on his right, and... Virgil's just stood up... I don't know who the other two are. Knowing my boys they stopped to help them."_

"That looks like a woman holding a baby." Emma indicated a figure on the left. She watched as the unknown male picked something up. "Is that a child?"

Jeff reached out for his videophone. He pushed a speed-dial and on screen they saw Tin-Tin reach for her pocket. She hesitated and then pulled out her phone.

"Hello?" the videophone on the desk announced.

"_Tin-Tin! What's happened?"_

"Oh, Mr Tracy. I am sorry, but it's dreadfully noisy here. May I call you back?"

"_No! Tin-Tin! We can see you on the TV. What's going on?"_

Tin-Tin was too far away and on the TV the smoke was making her expression hazy, but Jeff could imagine her frown. "I'm sorry, Mr Tracy, but I didn't hear what you said."

"_You're being filmed! We can see you on TV! What are Alan and John doing!?"_

"Mr Tracy?"

"_She can't understand me!" _Jeff growled in frustration.

"Let me talk to her," Emma requested. "Hello, Tin-Tin. It's Emma. Jeff and John's secretary."

Tin-Tin was relieved to be talking to someone intelligible. "Hello, Emma."

"We had the TV on so we could watch Alan's race, but we didn't see how the fire started…"

"Oh!" Tin-Tin understood. "One of the Lightning cars crashed. It somersaulted over the fence and into the stand."

"Oh, dear. Is anyone hurt?"

"I do not know."

"And your…?"

"My family is all right."

It was obvious that Tin-Tin didn't want to worry her father-in-law with the drama that was happening around her, but Emma wasn't about to give up. "We can see you, Alan, and John on the television…"

"What!?"

"What's happened, Tin-Tin? Are your brothers-in-law trapped?"

"Did you say that we are on the television?"

"Yes. Jeff recognised you all. Now please, Tin-Tin, give us the full story…"

-F-A-B-

Alan caught the tail of the wool, picked up the end of the rope, and tied the two together. Then he made a winding action to signal that the lines were ready to be raised. He stayed nearby, holding the ropes clear of any snags.

"Here's the basket, Scott." Gordon watched as the rope was hauled up. "Now what?"

Scott gave him a grim smile. "Now it becomes a baby cable-car."

"It becomes what!?" This time the man got right into his face. "You're going to send my baby sliding down a rope in that?! No way! I forbid it."

"You can work out what to do, Gordon." Scott handed him the end of the rope. "Will you come with me, Sir?" He led the irate man back to his frightened wife and started talking to them quietly.

"Okay, Virgil," Gordon started. "We know what he expects us to do. How do we do it?"

Virgil held one of the long aluminium tubes that had formerly ended in a pushchair's hand grip. "Thread the rope through this. Put the tube through the basket's handle and the baby can slide down the rope."

"How can we keep the tube and the basket together?"

"I've got to go and get what we need..." Virgil handed Gordon a hook that he'd bent out of one of the aluminium support struts. "You thread the rope through the tube and tie the end to that. We should be able to use it to attach the rope to that top rail."

"Right." Gordon watched as Virgil pulled off his shirt and tied it about his face. "Planning on robbing a bank?"

"Planning on breathing. Back soon." Virgil hurried along the back of the stand until he was in line with his ticket number. Counting as he went he leapfrogged the seats down the stand until he found their original row. Trying not to breathe the oppressive thick smoke that was choking him, stinging his nose, and making his eyes water; he crouched down and felt under their seats. His fingers closed around sturdy material and he pulled it out, relieved to see that it was his daypack. Holding the bag close, his lungs burning as they begged for fresh air, he ran back up to where Gordon was waiting for him.

"Are you all right?" Gordon asked and Virgil managed a nod as he wiped his streaming eyes on his shirt. "What have you got?"

Virgil reached inside the pack and pulled out a silver-grey roll. "Duct tape." He coughed.

Gordon's face lit up. "Just what we need. But we can't join the two pieces together until the baby's in the basket." He started hunting out the end of the tape on the roll. "Why have you got duct tape in your bag, MacGyver?"

"To repair pictures or keep a frame on the square."

"I might have guessed." Gordon lifted one of the two flaps that were the basket's lid. "We don't want them flopping open halfway down." He cocked an eyebrow at Virgil. "Duct tape?"

Virgil nodded. "Once the baby's in the basket. What's the lining like?" he opened a lid and peered inside. "We want the kid to be able to breathe."

Gordon coughed. "If that's possible in this smoke. It's getting thicker." He pulled at the lining and tore it free from one end of the basket. "Hopefully that'll be enough for the trip down."

Virgil had got one of the baby's blankets and used it to line the bottom of the basket. "I think we're ready... Scott! Bring the baby over!"

"Okay." Scott turned back to the distraught mother. "Ma'am, we're going to get your baby to safety," he saw her pull her child closer to protect it. "But you're going to have to trust us."

"Trust you!?" the father yelled. "Why should we trust you?! If we hadn't listened to you we'd be out of here by now!"

In all his years with International Rescue, Scott had witnessed every conceivable response to great calamities. This time the mother seemed to have retreated into a numb stupor, while her husband was in full aggressive-protective mode. There were different ways of treating each emotional response, but the unfortunate fact was that what would work for one of these individuals would have a negative impact on the other.

Scott chose to ignore the father. "We're running out of time, Ma'am," he said in his calm, everything's-going-to-be-okay voice. "Will you let me save your baby?"

"No! Don't trust him, Alice!" her husband begged. "He's going to send Mikala down a rope in a basket! It's madness!"

Scott was surprised when Alice turned on her husband. "Be quiet, Brian," she hissed. "At least this man's doing something! You're not!" She held out the crying bundle in her arms. "Take care of Mikala."

"I will. Then we'll look after your little boy," Scott promised. With as much care and respect as he could muster, while well aware that they were running out of time, he carried the baby back to where Virgil was waiting.

"Having problems?" Virgil whispered, as he helped Scott slide the crying babe into the basket.

"He's scared for his family."

"I know. It doesn't make our job any easier."

Scott placed a blanket over the child and closed the lid. "Not having the right equipment's not making our job any easier."

Virgil grinned. "Oh, for a few jetpacks, huh?"

Scott chuckled. "Any thoughts on how we can get the boy down safely?"

"Actually, yes. Gordon's emptying out the backpack. We figure that it should be big and strong enough to hold him."

"Good plan."

Working together to keep the baby as comfortable as possible, they wrapped duct tape about the girth of the basket several times until both lids were secure. Then they slid the rope-filled tube beneath the basket's handle until they were both centred and taped together with duct tape.

Next Scott got three new skeins of wool and tied them together to the handle of the basket. "Okay, now's the moment of truth. Keep hold of the wool, Virgil. We'll use it to guide the basket down." He flipped his cell phone open. "Tie off your end of the rope."

It was John who responded. "We're ready. Who's coming down first?"

"The baby: Mikala. Get her free from the rope and as far from danger as you can as soon as she touches down."

-F-A-B-

"We are still trying to work out what is going on," the TV said. "The people on the stand and those helping on the ground appear to have set up some kind of zip-line, but no one's used it yet..."

Jeff sat forward. _"Come on, boys,"_ he muttered. _"You've got to get out of there. So many people are depending on you."_

"Wait!" the TV announced. "Something is happening at the top of the zip-line. Something is descending..." He sounded confused. "What is it...? It looks like some kind of box..."

-F-A-B-

John watched as the basket, held back from a runaway journey down the rope by the strands of wool, edged closer to the ground. "Just a little bit more..." he told his phone. "There!" He ran forward to untie the rope from the car's bull-bars while Alan supported the basket.

Carrying his precious cargo, Alan hurried over to Tin-Tin. "Take care of her, Honey."

"I will, Alan." Tin-Tin caught his arm before he could hurry back to the scene of the drama. "You're being filmed by a TV crew."

"What?!"

Tin-Tin knelt down and started to cut away the duct tape that surrounded the basket. "Your father rang and Emma told me. The camera's over there by the concession stand." She indicated over her shoulder.

"Great… Thanks for the intel. I'll let the guys know." Alan hurried back to his brothers.

The last of the duct tape fell free and Tin-Tin pulled open the basket's lid. "Hello, Mikala," she cooed when a tiny face stared up at her.

Mikala took one look at the stranger and burst into tears.

"Oh, don't cry." Tin-Tin lifted the baby out. "You are all right now. And it won't be long until your big brother's down here too."

-F-A-B-

"What's happening?" Nurse Sara entered the study with Martha the cook in tow. "You said there was some excitement on the TV, Emma?"

"Yes. There's a fire at the track and Jeff's sons are trapped along with another family. But they've managed to rescue a baby."

"A baby!"

"Alan, John, and Tin-Tin are safe. Jeff's other sons lowered the baby down to them on a rope."

"_It looked like they sent it down a zip-line in some kind of picnic basket,"_ Jeff explained._ "Now I guess they'll try to send down the young child."_

"Are you sure they're your sons?" Sara asked.

"_I know my boys," _he growled._ "And that's them."_

"Do you think Tin-Tin told them they were being filmed?" Emma wondered. "They're not usually that keen on publicity... At least I know that John never liked having his photo taken for publicity purposes."

"_They probably aren't worrying about it at the moment,"_ Jeff conceded. _"But even if they were concerned, they wouldn't stand back and not help when someone was in trouble."_

Sara and Martha exchanged glances.

-F-A-B-

"What's your name?" Gordon crouched next to the young boy, who was clinging to his father's legs.

The child looked at him with big, tear-filled, frightened eyes. "Shaun."

"Shaun," Gordon enthused. "That's a good name, isn't it?"

Shaun nodded slowly. "You've got funny hair!"

"I know." Gordon pushed his moustache, which was departing from his face, back into place. "How old are you, Shaun?"

Shaun shrunk back behind his dad's legs. Brian, intent on watching Mikala's descent, didn't notice. "Four."

"Four..."

Their conversation was interrupted by a delighted shout.

"Mikala's safe, Brian!" Alice screamed. "She's safe." Shaun, startled by his parent's shouts and his father pulling away from him, took a step back from Gordon.

Fearful that the boy would run away into the thick smoke, Gordon sat cross-legged, getting as close to the boy's height as he could, while trying to ignore the heat filtering up through the flooring. "Listen to me, Shaun," he said, his voice feeling harsh and scratchy. "Do you know what a spaceman is?"

Shaun frowned in confusion. It was noisy; it was hot; there were funny smells all around him, which stung his eyes and made his nose run; and this man wanted to know what a spaceman was? "Id's a man who flies to the stars," he sniffed.

"Right! Do you want to see two spacemen?"

Two spacemen? Would they be green? Would they have weird antennas growing out their heads? Would they have three arms? Shaun could count to three. Would they look like that TV programme he loved where the characters had big heads and hands?

Shaun decided that he wanted to see these spacemen.

"I'll have to pick you up to show you," the funny man with the peeling-off moustache said. "Would you mind?"

Mind? Was this the right thing to do? Shaun looked to his parents for guidance.

So did Gordon. "We're going to make Shaun into a spaceman to get him out of here," he explained. "Will you trust us to get him back to Earth safely?"

Brian swallowed. He looked like he didn't want to trust them, but as his baby was safe... "Yeah, okay," he said gruffly.

"Good." Gordon got to his feet. "Upsa-daisy." He picked the child up. "Doesn't that feel cooler than standing on that hot floor?"

Shaun nodded. The ground had become inexplicably warm.

Gordon took him to the barrier rail, next to where Virgil and Scott were working on the backpack. "See those two men down there? The one with almost white hair, and the one in his space suit? They've been into space. They're spacemen." He heard an incredulous snort from Brian. "How would you like to be the first ever four-year-old spaceman, Shaun?"

Gordon didn't think it would have been possible, but Shaun's eyes widened. "I can?"

"Yep. But first you've got to show your parents that you can handle flying in space. Can you do that?"

Shaun nodded. "Yep."

"Good man. Now this," Gordon indicated the backpack, which had an aluminium tube from the pushchair threaded through its shoulder-straps and the handgrip at the top to keep it upright, "is going to be your space capsule. Are you ready to fly in it?"

Shaun nodded again.

"Great. Now in you get..." Gordon helped the four-year-old put his feet into the pack. "Now you're going to have to curl up inside the space capsule... Duck your head." Working quickly he pulled the drawstring on the pack and flipped the top over and, as Scott did the fastenings up at their loosest setting he pulled out his cell phone. "Calling spacemen Alan and John. Space cadet Shaun is on his way."

"Understood," John responded. "We are awaiting touchdown of space cadet Shaun."

The "space capsule" was lifted over the barrier rail and, held back by its wool braking system, started its descent.

It slid out of reach and then jammed.

"NO!" Alice screamed. "My baby..." She reached out over the barrier towards her son.

Scott got in her way. "Move back, please," he instructed. "The leading strap's slipped off and is caught in the tube. We'll have to pull him back and fix it."

"We can't," Gordon whispered to Virgil, as they both tugged gently at the feed-line. "The wool's not strong enough,"

"Here. Hold mine." Virgil got his roll of duct tape and tore off a length. Getting close to the rope, he swung one leg over the barrier, and tucked the other about a support post. Then, when he was sure he wasn't going to fall, he leant out and pulled on the bag's closest strap. It inched back up the flying fox.

Part of the stand collapsed sending a shockwave shuddering through the structure. Virgil, his hands tied up in duct tape, was shaken free; falling as his legs lost their tenuous grip.

Alice screamed.

Brian shouted.

Alan yelled.

John clenched his fists helplessly.

Tin-Tin turned away so she couldn't watch the tragedy.

Scott turned in time to see his brother fall.

Emma gasped.

Sara and Martha closed their eyes.

Jeff felt helpless… and sick. Seeing one of his sons nearly fall to his death had resurrected memories of other times when their lives had hung in the balance.

Gordon grabbed at his brother, managing to snare Virgil's belt. He pulled him back to the top, allowing Virgil to climb to safety.

The brothers' eyes met breifly. "Thanks."

"You're welcome."

Having reaffirmed his grip of the rail, and with Gordon keeping hold of his legs, Virgil reached out for the pack again, managing to snare the bag and pull it closer. Then he taped both shoulder-straps together before clambering back over the rail. "Send him down: maximum velocity."

-F-A-B-

"Whew! That was a major piece of drama in a dramatic day," the TV enthused. "Who are these people?"

"They're heroes, that's who they are," an associate explained. "They've already saved the life of a baby, and..." He watched an object swoop down the flying fox. "What is that?"

-F-A-B-

Between them Alan and John caught the pack and detached it from the rope.

A tousled head popped out of the bag. "Did I do it? Am I a spaceman?"

Alan grinned at the young face. "You did it. You're an A-One spaceman," he lifted the child out of the pack. "Come over here and meet Aunty Tin-Tin. She's going to look after you and Mikala for a little while until your Ma and Dad can come and get you."

Shaun caught up in the excitement of his achievement was only interested in Alan. "Am I a spaceman like you?"

"You're a spaceman like me..." Alan chuckled. "Tin-Tin, this is Shaun."

"Hello, Shaun," Tin-Tin smiled at him. "How are you?"

"I'm a spaceman," Shaun said proudly. "He said so." He pointed at Alan, but the man had disappeared. "Where'd he go?"

"He's gone to get your parents," Tin-Tin explained. "Why don't you and I and Mikala sit here in the car until they get here?"

-F-A-B-

"Okay," Scott instructed. "We don't have time to screw around anymore. You're going down next." He pointed at Alice.

She backed away from the barrier. "How? I can't. I don't like heights."

"Take your belts off, guys." Scott removed his own. "Excuse me, Ma'am." Without waiting for her permission he buckled his leather belt about her torso, tightening it as much as he could.

"Here's mine," Virgil held the strap of leather out.

"Thanks." Scott threaded it through. "Right, let this sit higher," he pulled his belt up until it was under her arms. "Now this one goes around the rope inside-out so the smooth side can slide easily. You might have to swing your legs to get moving, but don't worry; you can trust those guys down there to stop you."

"Brian," Alice whimpered.

"It's okay, Sweetheart," he crooned. "I'll be right behind you. You go down and check our kids are okay."

Reluctantly Alice stepped over the barrier.

"Sit down and let the belts take your weight," Scott instructed. "Good. Now push off."

Her knuckles white as she clung to Virgil's belt, Alice pushed away from the stand and started sliding down the flying fox. Below Alan and John regulated her speed by raising and lowering the rope as they called out encouragement. She touched solid ground, and, crying in relief, slipped out from her harness so she could gather her children into her arms. Released of its tension, the rope sprung up, hitting John on the chin.

Tin-Tin came to his aid, no longer needed in her role as babysitter. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah." John felt his beard loosen as he rubbed his chin. "Lucky I was wearing the mask."

-F-A-B-

"I'm not wearing a belt," Brian indicated his own waist. "What am I going to do?" He coughed. "This smoke's getting thicker!"

"What sort of upper body strength do you have?" Scott asked, fighting back his own cough. He was sure that he could feel the heat of the flames behind them and knew there was no time for fancy tricks now.

Brian hacked away the smoke. "Not bad."

"Good." Scott threaded Gordon's belt around the rope. "Hang onto that and slide as fast as you dare."

"Right." Brian stepped over the barrier and grabbed the belt. "I just want to say th…"

"Later!" Scott urged, looking downwards. Below them flames were shooting out of the stand. "Get out of here!"

Brian pushed off and swooped down towards the safety of earth.

"Okay, Gordon, you're next."

"Here," Virgil handed him their last piece of flattened aluminium. He'd already bent it into a tight V-shape with the ends flattened outwards and wrapped in the last of the duct tape.

"Why me?" Gordon looked between his brothers. "What about you guys?"

"You're the only one who can do the Mariana deployment," Scott rasped. "You've got to get out of here safely."

"Okay." Gordon grabbed the rope, and hooked the upside-down V onto it, gripping tightly to the duct tape handles. Then he treated his brothers to an impish smile. "It's been a blast. See you down there!"

And he was gone; disappearing into the smoke.

Virgil glanced at Scott. "Using that logic you should be next. You're the best pilot we've got. You can fly both One and Two."

Scott shook his head. "The captain of the New York Hawks will be more than capable of handling Thunderbird One…" He picked up Virgil's daypack, unclipped the shoulder-straps and redid them around the flying fox. "…Plus we need a qualified engineer."

"So long as you promise that you're right behind me. We need our leader."

Scott grinned. "Deal." There was a shout from down below. "Off you go, Virgil."

With the bag in front of him, Virgil threaded his arms through his daypack's shoulder straps and launched himself down the rope. He'd nearly reached safety when he found himself skidding across the debris strewn tarmac; stopping by the four-wheel drive. No one came to his assistance when he got to his feet, flinging his daypack into the back of the vehicle. Grazes bleeding, he turned to see what caused his less than graceful landing.

His brothers were all staring upwards.

Virgil was horrified to realise that, weakened by the ferocious heat of the out-of-control fire, the stand had partially collapsed. Only one bit remained upright.

The smoke cleared briefly and he could see, ten metres above him and clinging to the outside of the barrier rail, his eldest brother.

The rope that had saved all their lives fell back against the stand and caught fire. It flared upwards like a blazing wick before disintegrating into ash.

-F-A-B-

The soles of Scott's shoes were melting into what remained of the framework as he clung to the metal barrier, feeling the heat of the rail penetrate the sleeves of his jacket and the back of his legs. The inexhaustible smoke blinded him, got into his lungs, and nearly sent him earthwards when his body was wracked with fits of coughing.

Then the smoke parted; taunting him with the briefest of glimpses of safety.

In that tiniest of moments he could see a snapshot of his life. He could see the desperate, but helpless faces of his family. He could see Brian and Alice's horrified expressions, Shaun being held protectively against his father's legs, and Mikala in Alice's arms. He could see the TV crew filming the drama. He could see someone talking into a walkie talkie. He could see an ambulance drawing near. He could see that everyone was looking up at him…

He could see that not one of them could offer him salvation.

The rope, his literal lifeline, had been destroyed. Gone to dust…

This stand wasn't the tallest in the world, but even so it was too high to consider jumping. To do so would guarantee a serious injury at best. And at worst…

Behind him was a tangled, inhospitable, flaming ruin. Who knew how many bodies it contained…?

And soon it would claim another.

The smoke closed around him like a shroud; blocking his view of the world…

Scott Tracy was trapped…

All hope had gone.

_To be continued…_


	23. Chapter 23 - Taking the Plunge

**Chapter 23: Taking the Plunge **

"_No!"_ As he watched the man that he knew to be his son Virgil tumble to the ground; the rope that had formed the flying fox to safety flare up into nothing; and the camera zoom in to the lone figure that was Scott clinging desperately to the rail on the top of the flaming structure; Jeff Tracy felt helpless. He'd felt helpless before. Heck, he'd spent the last seven years of his life feeling more than a little helpless, but this was different. This was like watching a piece of himself being torn away and destroyed, and there was nothing he could do about it.

"_No!"_ he repeated. _"Someone must be able to do something."_

Emma hesitated. She wanted to comfort him, but was it her place to? He was her employer. He was the father of her boss. She had only known him for two months…

She put her arm about his shoulders. "They'll think of something," she soothed. "Your sons have already rescued six people. There is no way that they would desert Scott now."

Surprised, and unexpectedly grateful for the physical contact, Jeff grasped her hand.

Emma was more than happy to let his withered hand cling to hers. "They'll think of something," she repeated.

"_But they're not doing anything,"_ he stated. _"They haven't got the tools this time."_

This was true. The camera had zoomed back to longshot and no one had moved.

"Why don't the rescue authorities do something?" Sara wondered. "They must know that he's in trouble."

"_Scott and possibly hundreds of others," _Jeff reminded her. _"They can't be all places at once… Not even International Rescue can save Scott now."_

"Don't you dare give up!" Emma scolded. "I'm sure your sons aren't. Look…!"

-F-A-B-

Tin-Tin ran to the back of the four-wheel drive. "Why don't you hold out the blanket for him to jump into?"

"That's no good," John snapped. "It wouldn't hold him."

"Wait!" Virgil joined his sister-in-law in the back of the vehicle and started pulling at the blanket that covered John's easy chair. "Tin-Tin might have the right idea. It's a furniture moving blanket and it's bigger and stronger than normal bedding." He hauled the blanket free and jumped out of the car.

Each of the brothers took a corner of the blanket, held it square, and looked at it.

Gordon glanced up to where his big brother was hidden by the deadly smoke. "It might work… If the blanket holds and we can work together."

"It's the only chance he's got," Alan agreed.

John got onto his cell phone. "We've come up with a plan, Scott."

His brother's voice sounded raspy. "What?"

"You're going to have to jump…"

"Jump?" Scott sounded more bemused than concerned.

"We've got the blanket. We think it'll hold you."

Scott didn't reply and John could imagine his thoughts. _You _**think**_ it'll hold me._

Alan pulled his balaclava up over his head so that most of his face was concealed. "I'll stand closest to the fire."

"I'll take the corner next to you," John offered. "I'm wearing natural fibres."

"Here…" Alice ran up to him. "This is Mikala's blanket. I made it out of real wool. It won't offer much protection, but it's something."

Grateful for the offer, John accepted the blanket with thanks. "Here, Tin-Tin," he held out the phone. "I'll need both hands. You talk to Scott." He wrapped the baby's blanket around his head. "I'm as ready as I'll ever be."

"Can I help?" Brian begged. "It seems the least I can do."

"Thanks, but it'd be better if you stand back," Gordon replied. "At least we're used to working together."

"And if things go wrong…" Virgil let his words drift away in the breeze that had sprung up.

Tin-Tin pointed upwards. "The smoke's lifting!"

They could see that Scott was maintaining his tenuous grasp of the barrier rail, but it was obvious to them all that things were getting too hot for comfort. His four brothers ran into position, standing as close to the structure as they dared...

Alan gave Tin-Tin the nod.

"They're ready, Scott," she told her brother-in-law. "Don't worry. They won't drop you."

-F-A-B-

Scott Tracy had heard some crazy ideas in his time. Sometimes he'd even been the one suggesting them, and more often than not for some strange reason they'd worked. But this…?

But then, he thought as he looked down to what appeared to be something the size and strength of a paper tissue, what other chance, or choice, did he have?

None.

He'd seen those pictures from over a century ago, of fireman hanging onto what looked like some kind of trampoline, imploring the victim trapped up a burning building to jump. Had that worked…?

Or was he thinking of cartoons that he'd watched as a child; where the victim would rip through the trampoline leaving a torn outline of themselves and then get up and walk away?

The smoke closed around him again…

-F-A-B-

Alan craned his neck backwards, waiting for his brother to fall from the sky. "What's he waiting for?" He coughed, feeling the heat of the flames down his back. "It's getting too hot here. We're not going to be able to hang around forever!"

"He's going to throw down his phone to check that we've got the right placement and he's got the correct trajectory," Virgil explained.

Alan looked at him. "What?"

A cell phone landed plumb in the centre of the blanket and they quickly flicked it clear.

Tin-Tin's watch was a smaller version of everyone else's telecommunication device. Hoping that the car and smoke hid her from prying eyes, she opened the link. "You're on target, Scott."

There was no response.

"Get ready, Guys," Virgil instructed. "Five… Four… Three… Two…"

_One!_

It was a leap of faith.

Tucking his head in so he could rotate in mid air, and then spread-eagling his falling body and holding out his jacket to try to slow his acceleration, Scott trusted that his brothers would hold him fast and break his fall before the ground broke him.

He'd often wondered what it was like to be able to fly like a bird; to be able to soar on wind currents and ignore gravity's pull. He often thought how glorious must it feel to be able to look down from the heights and see those ground-addicted creatures lumber across the Earth's surface.

He was still wondering.

He could feel gravity inexorably dragging him down toward the hard, unyielding ground. He knew the velocity that he must be reaching. The further he fell the harder the landing would be and he seemed to be in the air forever. He could have listed how many times he'd skydived over the years; both as part of his Air Force training and also for recreation; but one thing that he was sure of was that not once had a free fall taken as long as…

He hit the blanket.

Working in perfect unison, as soon as Scott's limp body touched down, the Tracy brothers allowed the blanket to collapse enough to soften the blow. Then, without anyone having the chance to catch breath, they ran away from the danger that was burning behind them and placed their brother onto a gurney. Wheeling him into the waiting ambulance, the four of them piled in and shut the door behind them... Much to the surprise and annoyance of the ambulance staff.

"I'm all right," Scott tried to say, but his lungs refused to cooperate; deciding that expelling their smoky contents was a higher priority.

An oxygen mask was put over his face and he tried to push it away.

"Just lie still, Scott," John advised. "Let these guys check you over."

"No," Scott rasped. "I'm all right."

"You might be," Gordon told him. "But the press are out there and they're gonna want interviews. We're stuck in here until we can work out how to get rid of them. You may as well lie back and suck it up in the meantime."

"What's your name?" the ambulance officer asked, slipping a cervical collar around Scott's neck.

"Scott Tracy," Scott attempted to say; followed by, "I don't need that," but the words were replaced by another coughing fit that wracked his body.

The ambulance officer looked to the interlopers for assistance.

"He said Scott Tracy," John clarified. "He's our brother."

The officer nodded his thanks and a monitor was slipped onto Scott's finger as he waited until his coughs had subsided. "Are you experiencing any pain, Scott?"

"No."

"Are you sure? Any pain in your neck…? Back…? Head…? How about your arms…?" The officer felt down Scott's limbs. "Legs…? Any tingling anywhere?"

Scott took a deep breath of clear wonderful oxygen. "No."

"Any abdominal pain?"

"No."

A torch was trained on each eye. "Are you hearing any unusual sounds?"

"Just the gnashing of the teeth of frustrated pressmen."

Scott's brothers chuckled and the ambulance officer suppressed a grin.

Scott's ears were checked for bleeding and then the ambulance officer came back into Scott's field of view. "Do you see this pen?"

"It's blue."

"Can you follow its movement?"

Desperate to show that there was nothing wrong with him; Scott kept his eyes glued to the pen as it tracked from one side to the other. "If you're trying to hypnotise me, it's not working."

This time the ambulance officer allowed himself a smile and studied the monitor's readout. "I think you're all right."

"I told you I was." Scott tried to sit up and was restrained.

"That doesn't mean that you can just run out of here," the officer stated. "You've inhaled a lot of smoke and I'd like to take you to the hospital for a more thorough examination."

"Nope," Scott undid the collar and slid it out from under his neck. "I'm going home."

John frowned. "Are you sure that's wise, Scott? That was quite a leap you took back there."

"Listen to your brother," the ambulance officer advised.

Scott sat up and decided that he no longer needed the oxygen mask. "I'm okay. If it'll make you guys happy Brains can give me the once over when we get home."

"That's not going to be for hours yet," Alan reminded him.

"I'm fine! I do _not_ need to go to the hospital." Scott rubbed at his face and his false moustache fell off. Giving his disguise up as a bad job, he peeled off his beard as well.

Gordon snickered. "Maybe you should go in for a hair transplant?"

"Oh, yeah? Maybe I'm not the only one." Scott leant forward and ripped Gordon's loose beard free.

The ambulance officer sat back and folded his arms. "Well, if you're going to be stubborn, I'd appreciate my ambulance back. There are people out there who need our help."

Suddenly serious again, Scott turned to him. "Are there more people out there in trouble?"

"Not here," the officer admitted. "They've rescued everyone they can."

"Many casualties?"

"Some. Some critical; some not so…"

"And the driver of the car that crashed?" Alan enquired. "Wayne Bison; how's he?"

"From what I've heard he's injured, but his crash pod saved his life."

"Were there any fatalities?"

"No… At least there's no word of any yet…"

"Fingers crossed it stays that way."

John was peering out the ambulance's rear window. "We'd love to leave," he said as he peeled off his moustache and beard. "But we were attending the meet incognito and want to keep it that way. Those press hacks aren't going to just let us walk out of here unmolested."

"I know what we can do…" Alan crawled into the front of the ambulance and onto the seat next to the driver.

-F-A-B-

"_How is he?"_ Jeff asked the un-informative television.

Emma held his hand tightly. Hearts in mouths, they'd watched Scott's leap and seen him rushed into the ambulance. "He'll be all right," she repeated for what seemed to be the hundredth time, all the while praying that she was speaking the truth.

"_He's got to be all right! Too many people are depending on him!"_

"Let's see if we can find out, shall we?" Emma pushed the redial button on his videophone.

After Scott's leap and transfer to the ambulance, Tin-Tin had swooped on his cell phone to ensure that no nosey newshound could hack into it and discover his identity. Then she picked up Mikala's blanket from where it had fallen from John's shoulders and handed it back to Alice. Finally, seeing the cameramen rush towards her, she'd slammed the rear door of the four-wheel drive shut and climbed behind the driver's seat.

It was after she'd started the engine that her cell phone rang. "Hello," she answered, putting the vehicle into neutral.

She heard Emma's voice. "How's Scott, Tin-Tin? We saw him jump on the television."

"I do not know," Tin-Tin admitted. "I think he was conscious when the boys took him into the ambulance."

Jeff closed his eyes and breathed a sigh of relief.

"Are you able to find out?" Emma asked. "Jeff needs to know."

Tin-Tin heard a beep in her ear. "Someone is calling me. I will find out and call you back, Emma."

"Thanks, Tin-Tin."

Tin-Tin cancelled one call and accepted another. "Hello."

"Tin-Tin, it's me."

"Alan! How's Scott?"

"He's fine. He's complaining because he's trapped in this ambulance and they want to take him to the hospital. We all want to get out, but we can't because of the press."

"I know…" There was a flash from outside the window, and Tin-Tin blinked. "They're surrounding me too."

"We're going to drive into the competitors' compound and get out there. Can you follow us?"

"I will, but can you ring your father? He's worried about Scott."

"Will do. See you soon, Honey."

Tin-Tin revved the car's engine, tooted its horn to give the cameraman who'd clambered onto the bonnet a warning to get out of the way, and drove forward.

"Drive ahead and then to the left," Alan instructed the driver; then he turned so he could see into the body of the ambulance. "You'd better ring Dad, Scott. He saw your swan dive on TV."

"Okay… Thanks." Scott accepted Gordon's cell phone and dialled a familiar number.

"_Gordon! How is…"_

"Sorry to disappoint you, Father," Scott interrupted. "But it's not Gordon."

"_Scott!"_ Scott could hear the relief in his father's voice and other sounds of jubilation in the background. _"How are you? Are you all right?"_

"I'm fine. How could I not be when I had these guys catching me?"

"_We've been watching the whole drama on TV. You've no idea how worried I've been."_

"Not half as worried as I was," Scott joked. "Look, I'll give you a call soon, okay? We've got some guys here who want their ambulance back."

"_I'll look forward to it, Son. Don't wait too long."_

'Call ended' appeared on the screen of the videophone and Jeff gave an audible sigh of relief.

Thrilled to hear the good news, and equally pleased to see him relax, Emma threw her arms about him and planted a big kiss on his cheek. Then, shocked with her own unprofessional behaviour she backed away with an apology.

He responded with his lopsided grin. _"You'll make someone jealous."_

Emma giggled. Then her phone rang. She pulled it out of her bag and flipped it open seeing the caller ID. "Oh…! Excuse me, Jeff." She moved away to the far side of the room and accepted the call. "I'm so sorry, Denis, I forgot…" she sounded chastened. "I was working this morning and I thought we'd be finished in time for me to get home and get changed…" She laughed. "You're a sweet talker. I'm sure you'd rather not go out with me in my smelly old work clothes… Well, if you insist, I'm at my boss' place." She gave the address. "I'll meet you outside the gate… I'm looking forward to it, Darling. You know I love your surprises… See you soon… All my love… Bye." She closed the phone.

Jeff was watching her, and she was surprised to see that his eyes had lost their sparkle. _"You have a date?"_

"I'd forgotten about poor Denis. I'd promised I'd meet him at my place and I got caught up in all the excitement at the racetrack. Do you mind if I leave now?"

"_No, I don't mind."_ But something in Jeff's manner made Emma think that he did.

She didn't know how to respond. "Ah… Are you sure that there isn't anything else you need me to do? Denis won't be here for at least half an hour."

"_No."_

Emma thought of a slight hiccough in her newly laid plan. "Would you mind if I were to leave my car parked outside?"

"_Put it in the garage."_

"Thank you, Jeff. I'll, ah, go and do that now... Shall I?" Still somewhat confused Emma hurried out of the room.

Jeff sagged in his 'chair as the tensions and joys of the day, and his disappointment for John, conspired to drain him of all his energies.

Sara saw him droop. "Are you tired, Jeff? Do you want to have a rest?"

"_What I want…"_ Jeff growled, and then he stopped. What he wanted for Emma and John didn't matter if Emma was in love with another man. He nodded.

Sara helped him to his room.

Emma returned a short time later. "Where is he, Martha?"

"Gone to bed," the cook replied. "I think the excitement was too much for him."

"Oh." Emma was disappointed. "I wanted to wish him good luck for Monday. Will you tell him that?"

"Of course," Martha replied. "I'd be glad to."

-F-A-B-

Scott returned Gordon's cell phone. "He's happy."

The ambulance officer had been tiding up his gear. "I'm not surprised. I'd be a nervous wreck if I'd seen my son take a risk like that."

"Nothing to it," Scott grinned. "These guys did all the hard work."

"Yes, but to have to place all your faith in four men and a blanket…" The officer shook his head in amazement.

Scott grinned at his siblings. "They're my brothers. There's no one I'd trust more." He shared a low-five with Gordon.

"You're lucky," the officer grunted. "My brother would probably have whipped the blanket out from underneath me at the last moment as a joke."

Gordon chuckled. "Don't say that some of us didn't consider it…"

Scott nudged Virgil with his foot. "You're quiet. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Accepting a wipe from the ambulance officer, Virgil cleaned the dried blood from the grazes on his arm. "I've just been thinking about what happened and how close it was… And how lucky you were that Tin-Tin thought of using the blanket." He started folding it. "We're going to have to pay the hire company extra to clean it."

John screwed up his nose. "I bet my chair stinks of smoke. I'll never get rid of the smell."

The ambulance pulled to a stop, and Alan climbed into the back. "We can get out now. We're in the competitors' compound and the press isn't allowed back here."

They all exited the ambulance and stretched. A pall of smoke hung over the scene.

John handed the ambulance officer his card. "You'll send us the bill?"

The ambulance man grinned, seeing the Tracy Industries logo. "You can count on it." He climbed back into the vehicle.

"Scott!"

Scott found himself tackled by a flying embrace as the ambulance drove away. "Hiya, Tin-Tin. I hear that it's because of you that I'm standing here."

She blushed prettily. "I did nothing. Your brothers did all the work."

"Funny. You're the second person to say that."

"It must be true then," Alan chuckled. "What are you guys going to do now? I've got to sign out from the team before I can go anywhere."

"What's happening with the race?" Virgil asked. "Will they rerun it?"

"I don't know and to tell the truth I don't care… Will I meet you guys at the plane?"

Scott looked at his watch. "We weren't due to leave for another couple of hours. What say we meet you at Father's?"

Alan grinned. "That sounds like a plan."

"The keys are in the car, Virgil," Tin-Tin explained. "I'll travel with Alan."

He smiled at her. "That sounds like a plan too."

The four brothers secured John's chair as best they could and then climbed into the front of the four-wheel drive. They all were black with soot and filthy, except for the areas where their fake moustaches and beards had protected their faces.

"How do we get out of here?" Virgil asked, peering through the windscreen.

Gordon pointed out the window to his right. "That looks like it might be an exit."

"Let's hope it's not staked out by the press." Virgil turned the wheel, drove up to a guard house and stopped behind the movable barrier.

The security guard looked at them from his seat in his booth, but didn't budge.

"I assume that we're supposed to sign out," Virgil surmised. "I would have thought he'd make the effort to come over and see who we are."

"You'd better go to talk to him." Scott handed his brother their tickets. "You'll need these so he can cross us off the evacuees list."

"Thanks," Virgil accepted the tickets and put his hand on the door to open it.

"Hold it, Virg!" John held him back. "Cameraman at three o'clock."

Virgil looked past Scott and saw the flash of muted sunlight on refractive optics from one of the raised camera positions that had been set up for the racing. "Just as well this car's got tinted windows."

"Except that you're going to have to get out to see that idiot in the security box," Gordon grumbled. "That zoom lens is going to get a clear shot of you."

Virgil grinned. "It'll get a clear shot of someone, but it won't be Virgil Tracy. Hand me my bag, John. It's in the back."

"Huh?" John pulled out the backpack and passed it over.

"Thanks." Virgil removed his cap and pulled at the hair tie, allowing his long, faded-blue hair to fall free past his shoulders. He put his cap back on, hiding his natural roots. Then he searched in his bag until he found a small tin.

Scott stared at it. "What did you bring that for?"

"I wasn't sure how much of a disguise I was going to need, so I brought all my paraphernalia." Virgil angled the car's rear-view mirror so he could see his reflection, and put on his sunglasses. "I think my hair's hiding my ears…" He turned to face Scott. "Can you see my eyebrows?"

"No, so long as you don't raise 'em."

"Good," Virgil approved. "In that case I think I'll only need the nose and lip studs." Fascinated, his brothers watched as a couple of bits of metal were applied to his face. "Lend me your jacket, Gordon."

"My jacket?" Gordon started slipping his arms out of the sleeves. "Why? It'll be too big for you."

Virgil was rolling up his jeans so they were halfway up his calves. "It'll look like it's something Gustav got from a second-hand shop."

"Second-hand!" Gordon was mortified. "I paid good money for this!"

"So? Gustav's got good taste." Virgil pulled on the jacket. "How do I look?"

"Who are you?" John quipped.

"Yeah." Scott agreed. "Who's this stranger driving our car?"

Virgil chuckled. "Back soon." Taking care not to leave the car door open for longer than necessary in case a rogue cameraman could get a shot inside, he hurried over to the guard box.

"What else has he got in there?" Gordon reached into the spare-change well between the front two seats and pulled out Virgil's tin. "How does this stuff work?"

"The earrings are held in place by magnets," Scott explained. "I don't know about the other studs. They just seem to press into place."

Gordon plucked a long metallic thread from out of the tin and pulled it apart. "Like this?" He placed each half on both sides of Scott's ear and drew his hands away, bursting out laughing when they stayed in situ. "I love it! What else has he got in here?"

"What's that!?" John pointed at what looked like a piece of flesh.

Gordon removed it from the tin. "Dunno."

"Here, let me see," Scott turned in his seat. "Ah, I know. Lean closer, John." As John obliged, Scott affixed the prosthetic to his earlobe. "See. Instant hosepipe through the ear."

Gordon laughed. "Come on, John, I think you need a bit more sprucing up." Soon John had a row of studs lining his ear as well as the other earlobe 'stretched', Scott had chains threaded through both ears, Gordon's face looked like he'd broken out in some metallic form of measles, and the tin was empty.

Scott looked at his watch. "What's taking him so long?"

John was watching Virgil's body language. "He doesn't look happy."

"He looks like a hippy with that outfit and the long hair," Gordon amended, as Virgil shoved the tickets through the guard's window and stormed back to the car.

Virgil slammed the door behind him. "Crazy man…"

"See!" Gordon crowed. "He's even got the lingo down pat." He made the two-fingered peace symbol. "Like, crazy, man. I really dig this wild scene."

Virgil scowled at the security guard, who was talking on his walkie-talkie. "What I was going to say was that _the _crazy man didn't want to know our seat numbers. He said that as he's in charge of the competitors' area then the public viewing area's nothing to do with him. I practically had to force him to take our tickets…" He turned, saw Scott's earrings, and stared. "What have you been doing with my…" Twisting in his seat he caught sight of Gordon's face and burst out laughing.

"We're trying to convince John to wear this to his next executive business meeting," Gordon explained.

Twisting further in his seat Virgil laughed again. "Let me know when that is, John, and I'll lend you my tattoos."

"Tattoos?" Gordon leant forward. "You've got tattoos?"

"That's why I wanted your jacket," Virgil glanced back at the guard who was still in earnest conversation with someone on the other end of his radio. "So no one could see that I didn't have any tattoos on my arms." He reached into his bag and pulled out a long flat case, which he handed back. "Play to your heart's content, Gordon." He scraped his studs off his face and put them into his empty tin.

"What's the hold up?" Scott asked as the barrier arm remained resolutely down.

"He's getting us an escort away from the press." Virgil slipped his ponytail under his cap. "When I explained that we were Alan Tracy's brothers and he'd spoken to Alan on the radio, he was quite happy to cooperate… In all ways except helping his own team keep track of who's trapped and who's escaped."

"Virgil!" Gordon tapped him on the arm. "How does this stuff work?"

"Peel the white side off," Virgil explained as he rolled his jeans back down. "Which one have you got?"

"The one with the eagle." Having completed stage one, Gordon was admiring the reverse side picture of the bird of prey against its stormy clouds. "The artwork's great."

"I designed that one," Virgil winked at Scott, "but Opal's an artist in her own right. It might be easier if you help him, John. Bend your arm, Gordon, so that your bicep's flexed..." A car drove up in front on the other side of the barrier arm and turned so it was facing away from them. "Make sure the skin's tight and press the transfer against your upper arm."

The barrier arm started to rise.

"Right, done it," John announced.

"All air bubbles out?"

"Yep."

"Then peel the top layer off." Virgil eased the car forward, following the car ahead.

"Ow!" Gordon complained as John attempted to comply. "I'll do that. You need to cut your nails." He carefully peeled the strip of paper away and admired the handiwork. "How does that look?" he asked, showing John.

His brother burst out laughing. "You know what you've got on your arm, don't you?"

"It's an eagle…" Gordon attempted to twist his skin around so he could see the transfer more clearly. "Isn't it?"

John was still laughing. "It's a representation of Thunderbird Two!"

"It's not!" Gordon tried to position his arm so he could see it in the mirror. "You didn't tell me, Virgil!"

"You didn't ask me, Gordon."

"Well, I want my jacket back. There's no way I want to be seen with Thunderbird Two on my arm."

"You can have it back when we get to Father's," Virgil offered as they bumped gently out of Coche Del Olor and onto the road.

"Thank you!"

"You're welcome."

"You could always change the two to a four," John suggested.

Gordon brightened. "That's an idea. Got a marker in your bag, Virgil?"

"Nope. Sorry."

Gordon pouted, shrugged, and started sorting through the remainder of the tattoos. "What does this one say?" he asked, holding up the only other style of transfer in the box. "I love Virgil Tracy?"

Scott sniggered. "Close."

"Why don't you wear it, Gordon, then we can all read it?" John suggested.

"Why don't you?" Gordon challenged.

"It wouldn't go with the executive look." John pretended to preen and one of the prosthetics popped off. "Whoops!"

"What happened?" Virgil asked, acknowledging the lead car as it pulled off to one side to let them pass.

"I've lost your ear."

"Better find it," Virgil recommended. "It'll give the valet a fright if he finds it when he's cleaning the car."

"There it is." John pulled his seatbelt away from his body and bent over to pick up the piece of silicone. "Got it. Where's the tin, Gordon?"

Gordon was still trying to read the other transfer. "A… A, E… No... D… D, I…" Frustrated he let his hand drop his hand into his lap. "What does it say, Virgil?"

Virgil glanced across at Scott. "Should I tell him?"

"Nah. Let him sweat a bit."

"Okay."

The car hummed along in silence for a moment.

"Okay, I've sweated. What does it say?"

"Let me look," John offered. He held the transfer up so he could see it in the rear view mirror and tried to read it through its opaque covering. "A…? E…?" A slow grin crossed his face. "Oh, very clever."

"I thought so," Virgil agreed. "That one was Opal's idea."

"She's an intelligent lady… And well read."

"What does it say?" Gordon asked.

"I'd tell you, Gordon, but I wouldn't expect an ignoramus like you to know what I'm talking about."

"You could try?"

"Not until you stick it on your arm."

"I'm not going to wear anything until I know what I'm wearing…" Gordon had a thought. "How do you take these transfers off anyway?"

"You don't," Virgil lied. "You've got to wait until they wear off."

Gordon stared at him. "You're kidding! How long does that take?"

"Oh, a week… Ten days…"

"Ten days! No way! I am not wearing Thunderbird Two on my arm for ten days. I wouldn't be able to face Thunderbird Four!" Gordon licked his fingers, rubbed at the transfer and was disappointed in the result. "It's not coming off!"

"You'll just have to hide it from Four…" Scott checked his watch. "See if you can be quiet for five minutes, Gordon, I want to hear if there's any news about the fire." He turned the car's radio on, pleased to discover that it was already set for a station that offered up a news report on the hour.

"_High drama at Coche Del Olor today,_" it was announced. "_A Lightning racer driven by Wayne Bison flipped over the safety barrier and into one of the stands. Several people were severely injured in the resultant fire, including Bison who is listed as being in a critical condition. However the Leith family owe their lives to a small group who helped them down from the top of the blazing stand, culminating with one of the rescuers having to jump from the burning structure into a blanket held by the others. Miraculously he seems to have survived, but as yet we have no further information on his condition. Alice Leith, who was saved by these men, speaks…_"

They heard Alice's voice, now free of the fear that she had when they were helping her. "_They were wonderful; simply wonderful. And I never had the chance to thank them…_"

"We're International Rescue," Gordon told her disembodied voice. "We don't hang around for thanks. We just fly in…"

"Save the world," John added.

"And fly out again," Scott and Virgil chorused.

In high spirits after their brush with death they started singing a song that had been a popular, if not a critical, hit back in the days when the world was intrigued by International Rescue. Fortunately for the composers and the rest of the world, there was no one about to hear them sing:

"_Fly in,_

_Fly out,_

_Save the world's,_

_What they're about._

_You're in trouble,_

_Don't despair,_

_Cos International Rescue,_

_Will be there!_"

By the time they'd reached their father's, the song had been tweaked to the first person, with "We're International Rescue! We are here!" shouted at full volume.

"_Good day,_" a recorded voice responded. "_Please state your name, the names of those in your party, and your business here._"

"Virgil, Scott, John and Gordon Tracy," Virgil told the machine. "We're here to see our father."

"_Voice recognition confirmed._" The imposing gates swung open. "_Welcome, Virgil. Enjoy your visit._"

"We're sure we will," Gordon replied.

After another chorus of the song and a drive down the long driveway bordered by autumnal trees, they pulled up outside their father's front door.

Scott pulled the earrings off and looked at his grimy hands as he replaced them in the tin. "We should have had a wash before we came here."

Gordon plucked at the metal studs that adorned his face. "Have I missed any, John?"

"Just one." John pulled it free and deposited it in Virgil's tin along with his own ear adornments.

The four of them climbed out of the car, just as a convertible pulled up behind. "I thought you guys left before us," Alan said.

"Your friendly security guard wouldn't let us out," Virgil told him, returning his jacket to Gordon.

"He did get you a guide, didn't he?"

"I'll give him that much," Virgil conceded. "We didn't see hide nor hair of the press."

"Good. Neither did we…" Alan regarded his brothers critically. "You guys are a mess!"

"We know," John admitted. "We were just saying that."

"Dad's not gonna be impressed. At least I had a shower before I left the track."

"I'm sure there's plenty of water inside." Scott led the way to the front door and rang its bell.

The door was opened a short time later by Sara, surprised to find five men and one woman standing on the doorstep, She examined the men like she would an ulcerated leg: from a distance and with some repulsion. Four of them were covered in black soot from head to toe, while three of the four had paler patches about their mouths. Those same three looked to be badly in need of a haircut, while the fourth hadn't shaved in months and was wearing a cap which hid the state of his hair. It wasn't until she'd dragged her eyes away from these four disaster areas and examined the clean couple that she realised who was standing on the door step. "Oh! It's you!"

"Hi, Sara," Scott greeted her. "We were in town and couldn't leave without taking the chance to see the old man."

Sara bristled. It had been months since her charge had seen any of his sons and there was no way that she was going to let any of them think that they could just breeze back into his life for a few minutes, lift Jeff Tracy's spirits, and then crush him when they breezed out again. "No."

Scott stared at her. "No?"

"No. He has worn himself out watching your antics on TV…"

"Antics?"

"…and he has gone to bed to sleep…."

"We saved a family's life!"

"…And you are _not_ going to disturb him!" Sara folded her arms and glared at the Tracys.

Flabbergasted, Scott stared at her. "I beg your pardon?"

Sara shot him with a look that was intended to crush him. "You lost all rights of access…"

But Scott Tracy didn't crush that easily. "Rights of access?"

"…when you abandoned him."

"Abandoned him!? He is not a piece of dirt!"

"Whereas _you_ are filthy! You are not entering this house."

Irritated by her attitude, Scott scowled. "You can't stop us. He's our father."

"Your relationship to him is immaterial. My first and only concern is for Jeff Tracy's health…"

"He'll feel better after seeing us!"

"…and wellbeing; and I am _not_ having you upset him."

"Upset him?!" Scott was finally starting to lose patience with the nurse. "We are coming inside."

"_I_ am _not_ letting you in..."

"_You_ are not going to stop us." Aware that time was being wasted and fed up with Sara's obstinate behaviour, Scott pushed past her, closely followed by his brothers and Tin-Tin.

"You can't go down there!" But Sara's proclamation fell on deaf ears as the Tracy brothers spread out across the hall so that she couldn't push past and block their way again.

They reached the door to Jeff's bedroom, and trying to make as little noise as possible, tiptoed inside. Sara, unable to rail against them because of her own desire not to disturb her patient, followed so she could at least ensure that they didn't cause more trouble.

Jeff was sound asleep.

"How do we wake him?" Virgil whispered.

"Gently," John advised.

Gordon grinned. "I know." He approached the foot of his father's bed and reached out for the blankets. Then he stopped and looked at his grimy hands. "Alan… Help me out here."

Grinning too, Alan stepped up to the bed and folded the bedclothes back, exposing Jeff's feet.

"What's he going to do?" Tin-Tin asked.

"The dreaded foot alarm clock," Alan explained.

"What?"

"It's how he used to wake Dad when he had to go to swimming practise and Dad had overslept."

John shuddered. "I remember."

Gordon had got a tissue from a box on a nearby table and twisted it into a long taper with a feathery end. He ran the 'feather' up the sole of Jeff's right foot.

Jeff's right foot twitched.

Gordon repeated the action on his father's left foot.

His father's toes moved.

The tissue returned its attention to the right foot.

Jeff shifted under the sheet. _"Leave me alone, Gordon,"_ he muttered. Then his eyes flew open. _"Gordon?"_

Gordon grinned down the bed to his father. "Mornin', Sleepyhead."

"I'm sorry, Mr Tracy," Sara apologised. "I told th…"

Jeff wasn't listening to the nurse. _"Gordon? What are you…?" _He tried to sit up.

"Lie still, Mr Tracy. I told them not to disturb you."

"_Them?" _Jeff looked around the room. _"My boys!"_

"You should be resting."

"_Why? I'm all right! Help me up, Sara."_

Sara sighed and assisted her patient so he was propped up by his pillows.

"_Alan!"_ Jeff held his arms open for a hug.

Alan gently, but making it obvious that it was a deliberate act, moved Sara out of the way. "Hiya." He accepted his father's embrace.

"_Did you get to have your race?"_

"Nah. They cancelled the meet."

"_Oh."_

"Don't worry about it, Dad. I've got more important things to worry about."

Sara wasn't about to give up without a fight. "You should be resting, Mr Tracy," she insisted.

"_Ridiculous… Tin-Tin! You're looking radiant." _Tin-Tin blushed as she hugged her father-in-law. _"You're well?"_

Tin-Tin smiled at him. "All is well."

"_Good… "_

"Mr Tracy…"

"_Gordon!"_

"I'm a bit dirty, Dad. Let me go and have a good wash up first."

"_Never mind that…"_

"You said you were tired, Mr Tracy…"

"_Sara will put some towels in the bathroom so you can all have a wash up later."_

"But, Mr Tracy…."

"_Arrange that, Sara, would you?"_

"Yes, Mr Tracy."

"_Come here, Gordon, and give your old man a hug."_

Sara, defeated, left the room.

Gordon grinned. "I'd be glad to. Your hugs are better than Marina's ever were."

Jeff laughed. _"Virgil…"_ Jeff got a hug._ "Are you getting enough sleep, Son?"_

"No." Virgil stroked his beard. "But then none of us are... Don't worry," he added at his father's concerned expression. "We're all looking out for each other."

"_I hope so… John…"_

"I see the business is ticking along nicely without me," John said as he embraced his father. "I should have quit years ago."

"_Don't be stupid; you're the one who's grown it these past seven years…" _Jeff reached out._ "Scott…"_

Scott smiled at him, took the proffered hand, and was pulled closer. "I'm still in one piece."

"_You don't know how glad I am…"_

Jeff embraced his eldest son for longer than his other boys, and Scott was willing to let him cling on for as long as he needed. "It's been too long, Father. We've all missed you."

Sara re-entered the room, her lips thin and disapproving. "The towels are in the bathroom, Mr Tracy."

"_Good. Thank you. Ask Martha to make us all coffees, would you? And then we'd like some privacy."_

Sara, with a prim: "Yes, Mr Tracy," withdrew.

"_Tell me all about it,"_ Jeff instructed. _"How did the fire start?"_

"Tell you what," Scott suggested. "Alan, why don't you give him a run down of your week while we all get washed. When we come back we can tell him all the gory details."

"Good idea. Then I can make a start at getting rid of this!" Gordon displayed his 'tattoo'. "Look at it, Dad! Virgil tricked me into wearing it."

"You didn't have to try it out," Virgil reminded him. "It was designed for Gustav, not you."

"What is it?" Alan moved in for a closer look. He laughed. "Nice one, Virg."

"_Let me see,"_ Jeff requested, and chuckled when Gordon held the picture so he could get a good look.

Gordon tried again to unsuccessfully rub away the transfer.

"You'd better let him in on your secret, Virgil," Scott advised. "He's going to rub himself red-raw if you don't."

"Okay," Virgil reached into his daypack and withdrew a small pot, which he threw at his brother. "There you go, Gordon."

Gordon caught the jar. "What is it?"

"The cream to remove the ink. Tell you what…" Virgil reached into his bag again and produced a small case. He opened it to reveal a limited number of paints and some brushes. "Wipe off the two and I'll replace it with something more appropriate."

Gordon brightened. "Yeah?! You're on."

There was a tap on the door and Tin-Tin opened it.

Martha was standing there with a tea-trolley in front of her. "Why! Hello, Tin-Tin!"

"Hello, Martha. How are you?" Tin-Tin stood aside to allow the trolley to pass.

It got caught on the carpet.

"Here, let us help." John and Scott leapt forward and picked up the trolley between them, carrying it into the room.

Tin-Tin indicated her family. "Have you met Mr Tracy's sons?"

Martha beamed at the strangers in her boss' bedroom. "No, I haven't."

"Most of them are so filthy I doubt you'll recognise them again," Tin-Tin admitted. "But this is Scott, John, Virgil, Gordon, and the clean one's Alan: my husband."

John spread his hands in a gesture of appeasement. "Sorry if we're making a mess."

"Don't worry about it, Mister, er…"

"John."

"Mister John," Martha soothed. "I saw you all rescue that family on the TV. You were marvellous."

John shrugged. "We were in the right place at the right time and did what we had to do."

"Which of you jumped?"

"Me." Scott had more important things to think about as he eyed up the food on the trolley. "And judging by the smell of your baking, I think it was worth taking the risk." Martha melted as he favoured her with one of his dazzling smiles.

"Schmoozer," Gordon teased. "He's trying to score an extra cake or two, Martha." He gave an exaggerated sniff. "Although I can smell why."

Alan had already treated himself to a delicacy. "Mmmn. How are you managing to stay so slim with her around, Dad?"

"Alan!" Tin-Tin scolded. "You could at least wait until your brothers have had a wash."

"They've had plenty of time to do that. I haven't had anything to eat since breakfast and I'm starving. You'd better hurry up, Fellas, or I'm going to eat it all."

Tin-Tin rolled her eyes and put a couple of cakes on a plate for Jeff. "I apologise, Martha. They do normally have better manners."

"That's all right. After what they went through they deserve a bit of pampering… Are you staying for long? Only there's not a lot of room in the garage for your car. Emma's parked hers in there while she's gone on her date…"

Jeff and Gordon glanced at John and saw his face fall.

"…But I'd be glad to move mine out of the way."

"No, that's fine, thanks, Martha," Scott said. "We can't stay long."

"Oh! That reminds me, Mr Tracy," Martha continued. "Emma asked me to wish you good luck for your procedure on Monday."

Jeff, aware that six sets of eyes had turned on him, dismissed the cook. _"Thank you, Martha. I'd like to spend some time alone with my family."_

"Of course. If you need me, you know where to find me." Oblivious of her twin faux pas, Martha bustled out.

"Procedure?" Scott queried. "What procedure?"

"_It's nothing major," _Jeff bluffed. _"Just some minor work on my hand. After it's done, with any luck I'll be able to hold my pen long enough to be able to sign my name."_ He waited to see if anyone would challenge his statement.

His sons, knowing that their father would never lie to them, accepted his word.

"That's great," Scott enthused, as his brothers nodded their agreement. "It's about time you did something to make life easier for yourself."

"_I'll be in the clinic for a week," _Jeff continued. _"So you won't be able to reach me here. And I've given Martha and Sara the week off. It's the least I can do when they think the world's about to end."_

Virgil frowned. "So you'll be alone at the clinic?"

"_That's all right. There are plenty of staff members there."_

"But that's not the same as having family or friends come to visit, is it?"

"_I'll be all right."_

"Would you like us to ask Kyrano if he'd like to come and stay with you?" Scott suggested.

"_You need him more than I do."_

"I'm sure we can survive for one week without him," Alan replied.

Gordon chuckled. "Alan wants an excuse to get away from his father-in-law." His brother ignored him.

"_No. I'll cope."_

"Kyrano hasn't been away from the island for two months," Scott reminded their father. "It would do him good to have a break."

"What do you think, Tin-Tin?" Alan asked. "Should we ask your father if he would like to stay with Dad?"

"My father would be hurt if you did not ask him, Mr Tracy," Tin-Tin stated. "He may say no, but I believe that he would want to be here to support you."

"_I don't need support,"_ Jeff protested._ "It's nothing major."_

But Scott was already on the videophone. "Hi, Kyrano."

Kyrano stared at the sooty apparition on the video screen. "Mister Scott?"

"I know. I'm a mess. It's a long story and we'll explain later. At the moment we're at Father's..." Kyrano's face brightened. "He's fine, but he's having some work done on his hand on Monday and Sara and Martha are having the week off while he's there..."

"Excuse me, Mister Scott," Kyrano interrupted. "But Mr Tracy should not be left alone. Will you permit me to stay with him next week?"

Scott smiled. "That was just what we were hoping you'd say. We don't like the idea of him being alone either."

Kyrano inclined his head. "I shall prepare enough meals for you all for next week. I shall fly out tomorrow."

"Thanks, Kyrano. That'll be a weight off all our minds. See you tonight."

"Good bye, Mister Scott."

Scott hung up the phone and turned back to his family. "There you are. Done!"

"Good. Come on, Superman..." Gordon grabbed his arm and dragged him to the door. "I want to get washed so I can have something to eat, and you'll complain if I start before you're able to."

Scott pulled free. "What did you call me?"

"Superman. Able to leap tall buildings in a single bound. Back soon, Dad."

Scott raised an eyebrow to John, who managed a chuckle.

The four of them were back a short time later.

"...huge bang!" Alan was explaining. "At first I thought Doomsday had come early. Then someone said that Wayne had crashed into one of the stands. Somehow I knew that these guys would have managed to get themselves caught up in it."

Scott helped himself to one of Martha's cakes. "I suppose it was reckless of us to get involved. After all, if things had gone wrong we could have jeopardised the future of the planet. But we couldn't let that family fry."

"_Tell me everything that happened,"_ Jeff requested.

They told their tale, becoming more and more animated as time passed and they got caught up in their story. They were enjoying their break from the tedium of work, and being together as a family again.

Jeff sat back and enjoyed the spectacle and looked forward to the day, hopefully in the not too distant future, when he'd be able to join in without slowing things down with that brief pause as his audience worked to interpret what he'd said. He watched as Gordon surreptitiously drew John out of the slight depression that he'd fallen into when he'd learnt of Emma's boyfriend and guessed that the red-head knew of his brother's affection for his secretary.

This was the way that he wanted to remember his sons: full of life and enjoying each others' company. Not like it had been in the years leading up to Doomsday when he'd watched them slowly withdraw away from each other. Scott and Virgil's ever increasing rift had been the hardest to watch, but Scott and Gordon's estrangement had been the most shocking. He eyed his eldest, wondering just what had happened to the son who'd seemed to have devoted so much of his life to watching over his younger brothers.

But at that moment Scott was feeling almost drunk on a cocktail of endorphins carried over from the revelations from earlier in the day, and the remaining adrenaline left over after his leap. He had both arms about Virgil's and Gordon's shoulders. "These guys were fantastic, Father. I didn't have to worry about them at all. They just got on with the job. It was like the old days..." He grinned. "I think we're ready to tell the world that International Rescue is back in business."

"_Good," _Jeff approved.

"I'll say we're ready," Gordon crowed. "You should have seen Virgil. He nearly fell off trying to free Shaun's bag..."

"_I did see it,"_ Jeff growled.

"He was running everywhere, jumping things, falling off the zip line and everything... But not once did he lose his cap." Gordon pushed Virgil's headgear down over his face. "Now that's what I call a cool customer."

Virgil slid his hat back into place. "I just did what needed to be done."

"_Why don't you take your hat off, Son?"_ Jeff asked.

Virgil looked sheepish. "I've kinda got used to wearing it."

"_You haven't cut your hair yet?"_

"No."

"_I wouldn't let that worry you. Your brothers could all do with a haircut too."_

This was true. The other Tracy boys, with the exception of Alan who'd taken advantage of his week on the mainland to get a trim, all had hair that was touching their collars. Scott ran his hand across his damp head. "It's not exactly a priority."

"Come on, Virgil," Gordon rolled up his sleeve to expose the transfer. "You've got to make Thunderbird Two into Thunderbird Four."

"Okay. Sit there." Virgil pulled up a chair next to his brother and cleaned off the lightning bolt.

"Do you want to hear something amazing, Dad?" Alan asked. "Scott and Virgil have got their mojo back."

Virgil, unscrewing the cap of one of his paints, stopped and stared at him. "We've got our what?"

"Picture the scene," Alan began. "We're all standing there, hanging onto this blanket and waiting for Scott to fall out of the sky. We can't see a thing above our heads because of the smoke, and I'm wondering what's taking Scott so long..."

"You didn't think that the idea of stepping of the top of a multi-storey structure and landing on a postage stamp-sized blanket wasn't putting me off?" Scott queried.

"Nah, not you. Anyway, I said something like _ what's holding him up_, and Virgil goes _he's going to throw his phone down so he know he's on target. _Next thing we know: bang! Scott's phone hits the blanket."

Virgil looked up from Gordon's arm. "Well, wouldn't you want to make sure that the people you were trusting to save your life were in the right spot?"

"Yeah. But why did you say his phone? Why not something else?"

"Like what?"

"Ummm..." Alan thought. "His shoes!"

"It was hot up there, Alan," Scott reminded him. "There was no way I was going to take my shoes off without good reason."

"But how was Virgil to know that?"

"I'd just been up there. I knew how hot it was."

"But it wasn't only that, Virgil! You counted him down to the moment he landed! How could you have known that? We couldn't see him!"

Virgil cocked an eyebrow in Scott's direction. "I knew he wouldn't want to wait once he knew we were in position."

Alan folded his arms and pouted. "I still say the pair of you've got the old magic back."

Scott ruffled his youngest brother's immaculate hair. "I'd say we've _all_ got the old magic back!"

"_Yes."_ Jeff reached out for John's hand. _"I'm_ _proud of all of you."_ He looked around them all, making sure that he made eye contact. _"I'm proud of what you've done in the past. I'm proud of what you did today. And I'm proud of what you're trying to achieve. Each and every one of you. Remember that."_

"We know, Dad," John said, a little uncomfortable at his father's uncharacteristic speech. He patted Jeff's hand. "We've never doubted it." Desperate to get back into more familiar territory he looked over to the artist and his canvas. "Hey, that's looking good, Virgil. Could you make me a Thunderbird Five?"

"If you want." Virgil finished his painting. "How's that, Gordon? I was a bit limited with the number of colours I had available to me."

Gordon admired his arm in the mirror. Gone was the lightning bolt. Now the eagle was trailing its talons in the water and four ripples spread out along the liquid's surface. "Much better," he approved. "What do you think, Dad?" he sat on the edge of his father's bed so that he could show off the artwork.

"_It looks good, Son,"_ Jeff approved, and squeezed Gordon's arm.

After that everyone wanted their own individual 'tattoo', and Virgil obliged. John's eagle was surrounded by five stars, while Scott's was holding a single arrow with a red head and blue fletchings.

Alan was going through the dwindling pile of transfers. "Why don't you wear one, Tin-Tin?"

"I have never liked tattoos, Alan."

"Yeah, but these aren't real. It's just a bit of fun."

Virgil took a paintbrush out of his mouth. "Hold still, Alan," he complained.

"Sorry."

"I hope you don't ever get a real tattoo, because you're going to end up with lines going in all directions." Virgil replaced the paintbrush between his teeth and resumed painting.

"Well, the bristles tickle!" Alan held up one of the other styles of transfer. "You could wear this one, Honey!"

"Ah, no. Not a good idea," John advised as Scott chuckled.

"Why?" Alan held the transfer to the light.

"Alan!" Exasperated, Virgil removed the brush again. "Will you hold still!"

"What does it say? Is it something rude?"

"No, it's not. It just wouldn't be appropriate for Tin-Tin to wear, that's all." Virgil returned to his work.

"There must be something wrong with it."

"That's what I think," Gordon agreed. "They refused to tell me what it is."

"It's a perfectly respectable word," John advised him. "One that you could use without shame in polite company."

"Grandma wouldn't have worried if you said it in front of her," Scott added.

"Come to think of it, I think I may have," John conceded. "But as Virgil said it, wouldn't be appropriate for Tin-Tin to wear. You wouldn't be happy if she did."

"_I_ wouldn't be happy?"

"Well, I hope you're happy with that tat because I'm not going to do any more if you're not going to sit still," Virgil told him, putting away his paints.

Alan admired the eagle holding three thunderbolts.

"_What does that other one say, Virgil?"_ Jeff asked.

"I'll tell you."

Virgil wrote the word on a bit of paper and showed his father, who frowned for a moment and then smiled. _"Right."_

"May I see, Virgil?" Tin-Tin asked.

"Sure." Virgil showed his sister-in-law the piece of paper.

She stared at it. "I don't understand." Virgil put quotation marks about the word and then wrote another word in front of it. "Oh! Of course!" She smiled up at him. "No. It would not be appropriate."

"I didn't think so."

"What! What does it say?" Gordon made a grab for the paper.

"Nope." Virgil screwed it up and threw it over Gordon's head to Scott who jammed it into his pocket.

"How many transfers have you got left, Virgil?" he asked.

Virgil looked through the depleted contents of his box. "Two Thunderbirds."

"Can you put one on? I'd like to see how you do it without help."

"Sure." Virgil applied a Thunderbird Two transfer.

"Why didn't you get a real tattoo?" John asked.

"No, thanks." Virgil shuddered. "I've had enough needles to last me the rest of my life." He held up his sole remaining Thunderbird. "Who wants this one?"

"How about you, Dad?" John asked.

"_Me? No..."_

"I'll leave you the cream so you can get rid of it later," Virgil offered. "The paint will wash off in water, but I don't want Sara madder at me than she already is."

"Yeah!" Gordon enthused. "Why not the badge of International Rescue for the head of International Rescue?"

Jeff looked between his sons. They still regarded him as a part of the organisation? _"Oh, go on then,"_ he growled. He sat as still as he could as Virgil applied the transfer and then removed the thunderbolt from the eagle's talons.

"What are you going to replace it with?" John asked.

Virgil bit the end of his paint brush and regarded his canvas. "I know," he sat forward. "It's something I learnt to do when Gustav went through a reverse period a few years ago." Soon the eagle was holding a banner with lettering on it.

John tried to read the words. "What does it say? It looks backwards."

"Here." Virgil picked up a mirror and held it so Jeff could see the image. "Read it, Father."

Jeff looked at the reflection. Written in clear legible letters were the words: _"Never give up at any cost." _He patted Virgil on the hand. _"Thank you, Son."_

Scott looked at his watch. "I hate to say this, but we've got to get moving." There were groans from his brothers. "I know! I feel the same."

Jeff pushed the bedclothes off his legs and swung them around. After a moment's hesitation he pushed himself upright.

"Hey!" Scott exclaimed. "What are you doing?"

"_I don't want my family's last memories of me to be the sight of me lying in bed,"_ Jeff admitted. _"Come here, Scott."_

Scott hugged him. "We'll try and come back before we head off on the mission. But it'll depend on how much time we've got."

"_I know." _Jeff embraced each of his sons and Tin-Tin in turn. _"Keep safe, all of you."_

"You too," John added. "Tracy Industries needs its number one kingpin. I'm not going to be available to come back to work for a long time."

"Let us know how you get on with your hand," Virgil requested.

Jeff nodded. _"I'll ask Kyrano to report in."_

The younger members of the family loitered by the door. "Take care, Dad," Gordon requested.

"We'll call you soon," Alan promised.

Jeff nodded. _"Goodbye, Boys."_

"Bye."

And they were gone.

Filled with one part relief that he could rest his trembling legs, and six parts sorrow that they'd left, Jeff collapsed onto the bed. He put his hand over the International Rescue logo on his arm, closed his eyes, and tried to imprint every moment of the last two hours into his brain. Then, curling up into a ball and pulling his pillow in close, he did something that he hadn't done for many years.

Jeff Tracy cried.

-F-A-B-

There was silence in the car for a full ten minutes after they'd set out.

Virgil was the first to speak. "I'm glad we visited him."

"Yeah, me too," Gordon agreed. "But did he seem clingy to you?"

Scott bit his thumbnail. "We've never all been away from him for such a long time before. I guess he's missed us."

"And there's always the thought that something might happen to one of us," John added. "That's got to be preying on his mind. When we were International Rescue he always had some control over what preparations we made. This time he's powerless."

Nothing more was said until they reached the airfield where they offloaded John's chair and Virgil returned the four-wheel drive and the blanket to the hire company. When he returned Alan and Tin-Tin had arrived.

Everyone was starting to feel that the day's excitements were catching up with them.

"I'm going to be honest here," Scott admitted. "I'm not feeling up to piloting a plane halfway around the world..." He waved away his family's concerns. "I'm fine, just a bit tired after all of today's excitement. Who wants to fly?"

"I'll do it," Tin-Tin offered.

"Thanks." Scott tossed her the keys.

"Are you sure, Honey?" Alan checked. "We can take it in turns."

"No, I am fine," she reassured him. "If I need your help I will call you."

"Okay. I'll be in the seat behind the flight deck."

Inside the passenger cabin Virgil settled into his seat with a groan before doing up his safety harness. "I had this dream that I'd be able to start tomorrow without my daily fix..." He felt his muscles protest as his seat reclined back into a bed. "I don't think I'm going to be that lucky."

Scott stretched his back before sitting down. "I think you'd better send Brains in to give me some after he's got you moving," he admitted. "I also think that I will let him give me a check up when we get home, just so that he'll know that there's nothing physically wrong with me tomorrow morning."

John had claimed a place at the back of the plane away from the others and Gordon slipped into the seat next to him. "Are you okay?"

Acting surprised John looked at his brother. "Yeah? Why wouldn't I be?"

"Well... You know... Emma."

"I'm okay, Gordon. If she's found someone to be happy with, then I'm happy for her."

"But..."

"It's better this way. I'm going to be stuck up in Thunderbird Five for at least four months. That's going to be four months I'm not going to be worrying about her and wondering if she's thinking about me. Being alone all that time, worrying about you guys, is going to be stressful enough, and this means I've got one less thing to worry about."

That rambling speech told Gordon that his brother was upset. "I'm sorry, John. I honestly hoped that you two could get together."

"Don't worry about it." John reclined his seat. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I didn't get all the sleep that I'd hoped I'd get before the fire started. I may as well try to catch up now." He closed his eyes.

Gordon hesitated, wondering if there was more that he could, or should, do. Then he retired to another seat in the plane and settled in for the flight home.

-F-A-B-

The media knew a good story when they saw one, and the story of the heroes of Coche Del Olor, as the unknown rescuers had been dubbed, was one worth pursuing. They'd initially been thwarted by the race track officials telling them that the heroes were still hiding out in the competitors' area.

Then one reporter with some investigative skills had hit on the idea of tracing the hired vehicle that the group had been using. A visit to the vehicle's owners had uncovered the fact that it had been hired by one Virgil Tracy. Since everyone was pretty sure that some of the other rescuers had been Alan Tracy and his wife Tin-Tin, it stood to reason that this Virgil Tracy and Alan Tracy might be related. It was too big a coincidence to be ignored and a quick search through the news archives revealed the short lived artistic career of a Virgil Tracy; one of Jeff Tracy's sons just like Alan Tracy.

This confirmation had sent the media mob screaming in high excitement to Jeff Tracy's house; only to arrive ten minutes after their targets had left.

It was a very surprised Emma Janes who returned to retrieve her car late that evening, only to find that she had to pass through a growing mob of reporters camping out at the gate.

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

It had been a peaceful journey home and Tin-Tin had enjoyed the opportunity to do something useful far removed from close up work. She called Brains on the radio to warn him that their flight was nearly at their destination.

"Tin-Tin?" Brains queried. "Where's S-Scott?"

"He's asleep in the passenger cabin with the others."

"Asleep? Scott!?" It was almost unheard of for Scott Tracy to cede control of any aircraft to any other person, and Brains was understandably shocked. "Kyrano said that h-he looked like he'd been through a, er, fire. Is he all right?"

"He is well; as are we all," Tin-Tin reassured him. "We will explain what happened when we are home. May I have permission to land?"

"P-Permission granted."

Conscious of her sleeping passengers in the cabin behind her, Tin-Tin made the approach as smooth as possible. This was going to be a textbook landing; one that the Tracys wouldn't even be aware was happening. Quietly pleased with herself, she lowered the aeroplane's landing gear, and the craft skimmed along the tarmac barely ten metres above the runway.

**"Abort! Abort! Abort your landing!"**

The aeroplane bucked, and adrenaline kicked into action boosting her reaction times as Tin-Tin applied more power and pulled back on the control yoke. The aircraft's nose tilted upwards and she avoided the looming, collapsing cliffs, before settling into a holding pattern above Tracy Island. "Brains! What is wrong...? Brains!"

She had to repeat his name again before he responded. "E-Earthquake, Tin-Tin. This was the w-worst we've had so far."

"Any damage?"

"L-Let me check." She imagined the processes he was going through on the computer as he examined the state of the landing strip. "We have a p-problem with the runway, Tin-Tin."

"A problem?! What problem?"

"Part of the surface has been distorted. A large piece has been pushed out of the g-ground."

"Is the runway useable at all? Shall I divert to a neighbouring island?"

"The neighbouring runways have not been maintained," Brains reminded her. "Let me check Tracy Island's runway again first."

Tin-Tin heard blips and beeps as the computer repeated its examination of the concrete strip that was not only supposed to allow them to touch down, but was also Thunderbird Two's launch pad. "Well, Brains?" she asked.

"The unaffected distance between the breach and the hangar doors is only five metres longer than the recommended landing distance of the craft you are flying."

"So, theoretically, I have enough runway to land safely," Tin-Tin clarified.

"Yes. Providing you do not have to abort a s-second approach." Brains considered their predicament. "You would be safer to fly on to, er, New Zealand or Australia."

"And we would be wasting precious time," Tin-Tin reminded him. "I will attempt to land."

"N-Not that I want to cast as-spersions on your p-piloting abilities, T-Tin-Tin," Brains stuttered, "but don't you think you sh-should ask one of the, er, boys to do it?"

"No. I can do this," Tin-Tin affirmed. "Coming in for final approach. Warn me if another quake hits."

Brains didn't comment on her decision, choosing instead to keep a close eye on the seismograph so he could give her plenty of warning should the Earth move again.

Tin-Tin came in low; reducing the aeroplane's speed until it only just had enough forward momentum to enable her to maintain control and for it to stay airborne. Skimming just above the jagged concrete that had been pushed skyward, she allowed air resistance to lower her speed even more. As soon as the landing gear was past the protuberance, she let the aeroplane sink to the ground and applied the brakes. The cliff appeared to rear up in front of her, rubble blocking her way and she turned off the tarmac. The aeroplane's wheels sank into the soft sand and they came to a stop.

Someone in the rear of the plane stirred.

Tin-Tin let out the breath she'd been holding.

"Are we there yet?" Rubbing his face as if he'd just woken up, Alan walked into the cockpit. He blinked at the scene in front of him as his brain tried to work out what was wrong with the vista. "What happened?"

"Tracy Island had an earthquake shortly before we landed," Tin-Tin explained. "Some damage has been sustained, so I had to land on a shortened runway."

"Oh. Well, well done, Honey. I didn't even realise that anything was wrong." Alan yawned, unconcerned by her announcement. "Let's go see what this damage is."

The couple passed through the passenger cabin as Alan's brothers roused themselves from their slumbers.

"Tin-Tin says there's some damage to the runway from an earthquake," Alan announced cheerfully. "We're going to check it out. Who's coming with us?"

Gordon groaned and rolled out of his seat and onto the floor. "I will..." He started crawling towards the door. "You guys go on without me. I'll follow up."

"Come on, Gordon, on your feet." John assisted him to stand. "Some fresh air will do you good."

"A year's vacation would be better."

"I'd go along with that..."

Scott had managed to undo his safety harness and swing his legs around so he was sitting on the edge of his seat. "Hey, Virgil..."

"Don't tell me it's time to get up," Virgil groaned.

"'Fraid so." Scott counted to ten and then pushed himself to his feet. "C'm'on."

"Give me more time..." Virgil requested. "Say... a week?"

Leaning on the back of one of the neighbouring seats, Scott looked down on him in concern. "It really is bad, isn't it?"

Virgil managed a stiff nod. "Yeah. It's bad."

"Do you want Brains?"

Virgil shook his head and then let out a noisy breath.

"Can I help?" Scott held out both hands.

Virgil managed to grab them and was pulled to his feet. "Thanks."

Their eyes met as they stood there chest-to-chest, hands still clasped together. Something indefinable and unique to the pair of them passed between the brothers.

Scott smiled. "We've got the ol' magic back again, haven't we?"

Virgil chuckled. "Yep. We've got it back."

"Hey, Guys..." Alan stuck his head back in the cabin. "You're gonna want to see this."

Trying not to move like a pair of robots, Scott and Virgil followed him out into the cool evening air, meeting up with Brains. They traced the aeroplane's path back to where the family were standing close to large jagged cracks that had ruptured the tarmac.

Virgil stared at where the force of the last quake had buckled the launch ramp and pushed Thunderbird Two's blast pad out of the ground. What had previously been a flat surface hiding its secrets from the world, had partially collapsed into the cavity beneath while the rest pointed skywards. Then he looked back down towards the aeroplane, which had come to rest in the shadow of the menacing cliffs. "Who did the landing?!"

"Tin-Tin," Brains told him.

Virgil gave a low whistle. "Nice work, Honey."

"Yes," Scott agreed. "Just as well I'd left the piloting to someone we could trust." He sighed. "But we're going to have to get this repaired right away in case we have any rogue aircraft flying overhead."

"And the mail plane's due tomorrow, too," John reminded him.

No one said anything, but they were all thinking the same thing.

Their break was over. It was time to get back to work.

_To be continued..._


	24. Chapter 24 - Too Many Lies

**Chapter 24 – Too Many Lies**

_**Monday September 4**__**th**__** 2079**_

"_I'm glad you're here, my friend."_ Jeff Tracy reached up and grasped Kyrano's hand.

Kyrano, recognising his friend's unspoken need to be comforted, held Jeff's hand tightly. "All will be well, Kawan Saya. Remember that."

Lying on a hospital bed on the early hours of the morning, waiting to be transported into the operating theatre, Jeff was finally giving voice to his fears to the only person he felt he could confide in. _"What if I'm about to make the biggest mistake of my life?"_

"If you do not wish to continue, there is no one you must answer to except yourself," Kyrano reminded him. "You alone must consider what would be the bigger mistake; to leave this hospital now and accept the way that you are; or to receive this opportunity that has been offered to you in the knowledge that no one can know what the outcome will be. But remember, Kawan Saya, there are no guarantees in life. You may decide to leave this hospital now and be involved in a fatal accident as you return to your home, or you may allow these surgeons to do what they believe is best and regain the life that you had eight years ago."

"_I think…"_ Jeff hesitated. _"I think I'm more worried about my sons. They have no idea what I'm about to do. When they visited me I didn't tell them the truth. I told them this was going to be a minor procedure on my hand… What would they think of me if the worst happened and they realised that their father had lied to them?"_

"They would understand."

"_Would they? I drummed into them that honesty is always the best policy. How would they react if I die on that operating table? Would they be able to continue on with their work? There is too much at stake."_

"I would not let them give up, and neither would Lady Penelope," Kyrano reassured him. "I also do not believe that they would give up," he added. "They are their father's sons and they would carry on with their work to honour you; no matter how much pain they felt at your passing. Do not let this worry you."

There was a quiet knock on the door and Jeff released his tight hold of Kyrano's hand. Kyrano, allowing his friend the dignity of not displaying his fears to the world, gently placed Jeff's hand back on the blankets.

"_Come in."_

Lady Penelope poked her head into the room. "I hope I am not intruding."

"_Of course not, Penny."_ Jeff tried to look relaxed and unconcerned. _"What are you doing here?"_

"I am here to wish you well," Lady Penelope explained. "Parker has asked me to pass on his regards to you also. He said that he felt that the hospital staff would not appreciate your receiving too many visitors so close to your operation, so he has remained in FAB1. However I believe that his real reason is that he has a morbid fear of doctors."

Jeff chuckled. _"I'm not that keen on 'em myself. Tell him I appreciate the thought."_

Lady Penelope smiled. "I will. And how are you feeling, Jeff? This is a big step."

"_Don't I know it… I'm all right, Penny. You don't have to worry about me."_ Jeff reflected that lying was becoming far too easy for him. He hated this place he was in at the moment; both metaphorically and literally. _"Just remember that whatever happens, you are not to let the boys give up on what they're doing."_

"Jeff Tracy! Remember International Rescue's motto!" Lady Penelope's scolding voice didn't hide the affection that she held for the man. "You must remain positive. And don't you worry about them, I will not let them give up. You should know that!"

"_I know."_ He chuckled._ "You frighten us all so much that if you told them to keep going they wouldn't dare do otherwise."_

"Me? Frightening?" Lady Penelope appeared amused by the comment. "I can't imagine why anyone should be frightened of me."

There was another knock at the door.

Jeff looked at the clock and frowned. _"Who's this? They're not due to start prepping me for another five minutes."_

"I doubt that it would be Parker," Lady Penelope replied. "He would prefer to use other means of contact."

"Permit me to see who it is." Kyrano offered. Sliding the door open, he made a slight bow. "Good day to you, Miss Emma."

Emma, looking a little nervous, clutched her bag close to her. "Hello, Mr Kyrano. I'm not too late to wish him luck, am I?"

Kyrano glanced across at the figure on the bed who nodded. "Please enter."

"Thank you." Emma's face brightened when she saw Jeff. "Oh, good! I'm not too late."

"_Hello, Emma._ _Why are you here?"_

Emma put her finger to her lips as if she were about to impart a great secret. "Don't tell the boss, but I'm playing truant from work."

Jeff chuckled again. _"Have you met Lady Penelope?"_

"Er, no…" Emma looked a bit taken aback at being in the presence of a member of the British aristocracy. "Um… Hello?" she said, hoping it was the correct form of greeting.

"Hello, Ms Janes." Lady Penelope's smile had the intended effect of putting the secretary at ease. "I understand you are Jeff's right hand?"

"Not for much longer," Emma quipped. "He'll be able to use his own." She turned to the patient. "I'm so glad I caught you before you went in, Jeff. I had asked Martha to pass on my good wishes, but I really wanted to do it in person."

"_She did that, Emma…"_ A memory surfaced: one of Jeff's sons' surprise and concern._ "It's a shame you had to leave so soon on Saturday. My boys arrived a short time later and you could have seen them…"_

"Your boys?" Emma appeared startled. "Your sons? Including John?"

"_Yes. He was disappointed that he missed you."_

"I'm sorry I missed him… I-I mean, them… too…" Emma offered a weak smile. "If I'd known I would have waited."

"_But you had a date to go on. How did it go?" _Jeff asked.

Emma giggled. "We had a ball as usual. It wasn't until later that I thought that I should have brought Denis and Eliza in to meet you. Denis is a bit of a space nut."

"_Eliza? Who is Eliza?"_

"She's Denis' wife. Denis and I have been friends for longer than either of us care to remember. They live in Minnesota and we try to get together at least once a year. I usually spend my vacation with them and they always plan for the three of us to do something absolutely amazing. They're touring around America to make sure that they visit all their friends before Doomsday and…" Emma gasped. "Doomsday! How could I have forgotten!" She pulled a newspaper out of her bag. "This is hot off the press! Look, Jeff!" She held the paper so that he could read the bold text that filled the entire front page.** International Rescue to battle Doomsday**."Isn't this marvellous news!? If anyone can save the planet, International Rescue can!"

Kyrano clapped his hands together as if he were about to begin a prayer of thanks. "This is indeed marvellous news!"

"Indeed." Lady Penelope did her own impersonation of someone surprised and pleased by the announcement. "We are so lucky that people as brave and clever as them live in our times. Aren't we, Jeff?"

For some reason he didn't seem that excited, or indeed interested in the headline. _"So_ _this Denis is only a friend of yours?"_

"Why, yes. I…" Emma's eyes widened. "You didn't think that Denis and I… But that's ridiculous! One or the other of us would wind up on a murder charge if we lived together!" She looked frantically at Jeff as if she was desperate to prove her point. "I've loved him for years; but like a brother, nothing more. In fact I was one of Eliza's bridesmaids at their wedding!"

"_I'm sorry, Emma. I'd assumed that an attractive woman like you would have had a boyfriend, and I thought this Denis was him… Do you?"_

Emma looked confused. "Do I what?"

"_Have a boyfriend."_

"No." Emma gave what she hoped was a light-hearted laugh. "I guess I'm waiting for Mr Right…" She tried to shift the conversation onto less embarrassing topics. "Isn't it exciting news about International Rescue, Jeff?"

"_Sometimes the right person can be right under our noses, but we don't realise that until it's too late."_

"Er, yes." Emma took an instinctive step away from the bed. "So I've been told…"

"_And sometimes that person reciprocates your affections, but is unable to show it because of who he is and his position in life."_

"Ah…"

Lady Penelope saw the secretary's confusion. "I suppose that you still have to go to work today, Ms Janes?"

Thankful for being given the opportunity to escape, Emma smiled at her. "Yes. The grind goes on, even when the boss is out of action. Robert and I will be busy this week covering for him."

"_I appreciate everything that you do, Emma," _Jeff told her. _"Go and tell Robert about International Rescue."_

"Yes… Yes, I will!" Emma gabbled. "Goodbye, Jeff…" She hesitated and then pecked him on the cheek. "That's for good luck."

"_Thank you."_

Lady Penelope guided a flustered secretary out of the room. "Tell me what the article says," she requested.

"I haven't read the article, just the headline," Emma admitted, "but the paper seems to be full of nothing else. I saw the headline as I came in and I thought Jeff would be pleased to hear the news. I thought it would give him an extra incentive to get well."

"I'm sure does," Lady Penelope agreed, "but it seems that the medication that they have given him has made him a bit Doolally… as my Uncle Forster would say."

"Doolally?"

"Not quite right in the mind."

"Oh!" Emma looked relieved. "Yes, that explains it." She held out the paper. "Do you want to keep this one to give to Jeff when he's out of surgery? I bought myself a copy to keep so this is a spare. Unless you would like it for yourself, of course."

Lady Penelope smiled at her. "Thank you. I can see why Jeff appreciates your dedication to Tracy Industries. I will give him this issue and will purchase my own copy later." Lady Penelope held out her hand. "Goodbye, Ms Janes. I hope that we will be able to meet again when the threat of Doomsday is no longer hanging over our heads."

Lady Penelope watched the secretary hurry away. Then she returned to the hospital room. "You go on about me, Jeff, but _you_ have just frightened that young lady."

"_Me? Frightened Emma?"_

"Yes… With all your questions."

Jeff tried to act nonchalant. _"I was interested. I suddenly realised that I don't know much about her. I… I was curious."_

"About her love life?" Lady Penelope leant closer to him. "You do realise, Mr Tracy," she whispered, "that she is old enough to be your daughter."

"_What!?"_ Horrified Jeff stared at her. _"You thought…? With Emma!?"_

"Emma thought," Lady Penelope corrected.

"_You stupid woman…"_

If Lady Penelope wasn't so well trained in keeping her emotions hidden away from enemies of the State and International Rescue, she may well have stepped back in shock at Jeff's outburst.

"…_I wasn't asking for me. It was for John! He's attracted to her, but has never let Emma know how he feels because of their professional relationship. I wanted to know if, once the boys have beaten Doomsday, he would at least have a chance with her."_

"I'm sure John will appreciate your efforts," Lady Penelope told him, "but right now Emma thinks that you have been given some pre-operative medication that has left you a trifle confused."

"_But I haven't been given anything. Why would she think that?"_

"Because that is what I have told her."

"_What you told…"_ Jeff glared at his friend with something approaching anger.

Seeking to ease things between them, Lady Penelope glanced at his bare arm. "Well, well, Jeff. All the years I've known you and I never knew that you had a tattoo."

"_What?" _he growled. _"What ta… Oh…"_ He attempted to reach over his body to the thunderbird that still resided on his upper arm._ "It's not. It's some silly thing the boys did on Saturday. I can't wash it off."_ He let his arm flop back. _"I can't reach it. You can have a closer look if you want."_

With great delicacy and maintaining her strict standards of decorum, Lady Penelope pulled the short sleeve of his hospital gown back so that she could see the transfer. "It's a thunderbird."

"_They were playing around with that ridiculous stuff that Virgil uses to pretend that he's that artist. There was one left over by the time they'd finished and they insisted that I wear it. I couldn't stop them. Since it's my head and not my arm they're operating on I figured that it didn't really matter…"_ Suddenly unsure of himself, Jeff looked back at Kyrano._ "Did I really sound like I was hitting on Emma?"_

"You are passionate about the welfare of your sons," Kyrano began in his usual tactful manner. "A person who did not realise that you were talking about Mister John may have misrepresented your passion."

"_In other words, yes."_

Lady Penelope treated her friend to a gentle smile. "Your questions would have sounded less personal if you had shown some excitement over International Rescue's announcement."

He sighed. _"I suppose so… It's just that that wasn't much of a surprise, and… And everything's so uncertain at the moment. If I die on that operating table I want you both to promise me…"_

Lady Penelope noticed his hesitation. "Jeff?"

"_I was just thinking that I should have made Emma make promise this too while she was here... Promise me that if I die you won't tell the boys."_

Kyrano frowned. "But, Mr Tracy, they must be told. They are your sons."

"_Don't tell them. Not until after Doomsday. Let them do their work without disruption."_

"Your sons are strong," Kyrano reminded Jeff. "They would not give in to their grief. Not when the work they do is so important to the world."

"_They've given the world hope. Don't let them let the world down because of me…"_

There was a knock on the door.

Two orderlies entered the room. "Are you ready, Mr Tracy?"

"Good luck, Jeff." Lady Penelope kissed Jeff on the opposite cheek to the one Emma had done. "There. You are even now."

He gave her a tight smile. _"Thanks."_

Kyrano picked up his friend's hand and bowed his head over it as if in blessing. "Do not worry. I have faith that all will be well." He laid Jeff's hand back onto the bed. "May the gods smile on you, Kawan Saya."

"_They __have_ _for most of my life, Kyrano. And one of the greatest blessings they've given me is friends like you… Both of you."_

"Not to mention sons who respect their father and will continue his work no matter what happens." Lady Penelope placed her hand over the thunderbird transfer and squeezed Jeff's arm. "Soon you'll be able to rejoin them."

The orderlies undid the brakes on the bed's wheels.

"_Don't forget your promise!"_ Jeff commanded.

Kyrano bowed his head. "We shall not forget."

"You can trust us," Lady Penelope confirmed.

"_Thank you."_

"But…" Lady Penelope walked beside the bed as it was manoeuvred towards the door, "you are to promise not to make us keep our promise to you."

"_I'll do my best."_

Jeff's friends stood back and watched as his bed was wheeled out of the room.

At a loss as to what else to do, Kyrano started tidying the bedside table. "He did not speak the truth," he stated.

Surprised by the announcement Lady Penelope stared at him. "Kyrano?"

"Mr Tracy told us a falsehood, Lady Penelope. Mister Virgil left him the cream that would remove the tattoo." Kyrano's face remained impassive, but Lady Penelope was sure she saw a mischievous light in his eyes. "Nurse Sara insisted that he remove it, but he refused to do so. There was a long, ah, discussion."

Lady Penelope gave a refined laugh. "I can imagine." She looked at the door through which Jeff Tracy had just departed. "I'm glad that he's finally found the drive to help himself."

Kyrano agreed. "For too many years he has let his fears rule his life. I too am pleased that he has taken control again."

"But those fears are still there," Lady Penelope commented.

Kyrano bowed his head. "They are still present," he confirmed. "He is fearful for himself. But he is more fearful for his sons."

"If the worst did happen, would you do as Jeff asked, Kyrano? Neither of us actually '_promised_'."

Kyrano hesitated. "I do not agree with his request, but as it was Mr Tra…" He put his hand on the bedside table as if to steady himself. "…Tracy's wishes I would… I w…" He swayed. "I…"

"Kyrano? Are you all right?" Lady Penelope watched the blood drain from his face.

"Lad…" Kyrano fell to the floor.

"Kyrano!"

"La-dy Pen-el-o-pe…" Lying supine, beads of sweat coating his face, Kyrano's back arched as if some great force was pulling him off the ground. "Stop… him…" he gasped, reaching out towards some unseen vision. "Do not… let… him… do… this!" He collapsed back and moaned as if in pain. "No…"

Lady Penelope knew a thing or two about first aid. However since they were in a medical facility she decided that she may as well make use of their expert services. She rang the bell. "It's all right, Kyrano. Help is coming."

Kyrano moaned again. "No… Will… not…" He went limp.

"Kyrano!" Lady Penelope checked his pulse, his breathing, and then rolled him into the recovery position. She pushed the buzzer again.

A nurse hurried in and then rushed over. "What's going on?!"

"He collapsed," Lady Penelope explained as Kyrano was given a quick examination. "It was almost like some kind of seizure."

The nurse paged for assistance, and as other medical professionals hurried into the room, Lady Penelope stepped out of the way to explain to a nurse with a clipboard what had happened.

"Can you give me this gentleman's name?" The nurse's pen was hovering over the clipboard.

"Kyrano. Spelt K-Y-R-A-N-O."

"Is that his given or family name?"

Lady Penelope thought. Tin-Tin's maiden name had been Kyrano. "Family name."

"And what is his given name?"

"Oh!" Lady Penelope frowned. "I do not know. As long as I have known him, everyone has called him Kyrano."

The nurse left a blank. "Has he had a turn like this before?"

Lady Penelope cast her mind back. "I believe so; although as far as I am aware, not for many years. I have never witnessed one myself."

"Were they a frequent occurrence?"

"I do not know. I do know that he has seen medical specialists, but no one was able to ascertain what caused these turns."

"Do you know the name of his next of kin?"

"Yes. Tin-Tin Kyra…, ah, Tracy. She is Kyrano's daughter and she is married to Jeff Tracy's son." Lady Penelope watched as a gurney was brought in and positioned next to the stricken man.

"How can we contact her?"

Lady Penelope had visions of International Rescue's work being disrupted because of Tin-Tin's, and the rest of the Tracys', concerns for Kyrano's welfare. She was sure that Kyrano would be just as emphatic as Jeff had been that that work should continued uninterrupted despite what had happened. "You cannot."

The nurse stared at her. "I can't?"

"No… She is on the other side of the world."

"She may need to be informed."

Lady Penelope stared the nurse in the eye. "If that is the case, then I will inform her."

"Relatives in that situation often have many questions. It would be better if someone with medical knowledge spoke with Mr Kyrano's daughter."

"No." Lady Penelope stood resolute. "Tin-Tin's half a world away. She is working and is not always able to be contacted. She is also very close to her father and I should not like to see her receive a shock from a stranger. I will call her."

She could imagine the nurse's thoughts: _Stuck-up, interfering, snobbish..._, but to the woman's credit, she gave no hint of her disapproval. "Very well, if you insist. When we have more information we will inform you and then, if necessary, we will trust you to contact Mrs Tracy."

"Thank you." Lady Penelope looked back over to where Kyrano was being transferred from the floor to the gurney.

A doctor came over to her. "Are you a friend of," she accepted the nurse's clipboard, "Mr Kyrano?"

"I am," Lady Penelope confirmed.

"He seems to be regaining consciousness, but..." the doctor read more notes. "You said it appeared to be some kind of seizure?"

"Yes..." Lady Penelope gave a delicate frown. "It was almost as though he was telling me not to let Jeff go through with the operation."

"Jeff?" The doctor enquired. "Jeff Tracy?"

"Yes. I'm sure it has been worrying Kyrano. It has been worrying us all. It is, after all, an untried procedure."

"Dr Cooper is an excellent surgeon," she was reminded.

"Oh, I am quite sure of that," Lady Penelope replied with a disarming smile. "But Jeff has been a good, generous friend to Kyrano. I am sure that Jeff thinks that Kyrano has paid him back many times over; but still Kyrano feels indebted to him. He is trying to watch over his friend."

"Mr Kyrano has no need to worry," the doctor reassured her. "We will do all we can to help Mr Tracy get a better life..." She flipped through the nurse's notes. "As we are a neurology facility and this seizure of Mr Kyrano's is not an isolated incident, and as we were on the spot when it happened, I would like to perform more tests."

"Oh..." Lady Penelope had a feeling that Kyrano would not be happy with this development. "I do not..."

"La-dy Pen-elope..."

Lady Penelope hurried over to the figure on the gurney. "Yes, Kyrano?"

He appeared dazed. "What has happened, Lady Penelope?"

"I believe that you had another of your turns."

"My turns...?" Kyrano looked alarmed. "Mr Tracy..."

Lady Penelope patted him on the arm. "You do not need to worry about Mr Tracy. You must look after yourself so that when Jeff returns from surgery you are here for him. Now let these wonderful doctors take a good look at you..." Kyrano looked even more alarmed at the suggestion, "and let them find out why you fainted."

"But... Lady Penelope... Please..."

"Jeff has entrusted them with his life, Kyrano," Lady Penelope reminded him. "You can trust them to take care of you."

She stood back and watched as Kyrano was wheeled out of the room...

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

_**Monday September 4**__**th**__** 2079**_

"Gordon?"

Gordon's head, his auburn hair dulled by dust and coated in cobwebs, appeared in the hatch in the ceiling. "Hiya, Tin-Tin."

"What are you doing up there?"

"Trying to find something."

Tin-Tin folded her arms and glared up at him. "I gathered that. What are you trying to find?"

He grinned at her. "Something that's missing."

"Gordon!" she exclaimed in exasperation.

"Think back to the last time we were all living on this island."

Tin-Tin frowned as she dredged up those memories. "What am I thinking about in particular?"

"What was International Rescue's heart?"

"I don't have time for twenty questions," Tin-Tin complained. "Can't you just tell me what you've lost? Then maybe we can find it and go back to work."

But Gordon seemed intent on continuing his game. "Remember that day when we first considered giving up International Rescue?"

This statement had come out of left field. "Yes..."

"Do you remember that at that meeting we started out discussing how we were going to keep International Rescue going?"

"And ended with you all trying to decide whether it was time to quit? Yes."

"What did your father say?"

"My father?" Tin-Tin stared at the dusty figure in the attic. "I don't know. I don't remember."

"He said that Dad's money formed the backbone of International Rescue, right?"

"Right," Tin-Tin agreed.

"And that International Rescue's operatives were the body?"

Finally Tin-Tin understood. "And that your father was the heart!"

"Exactly!" Gordon crowed. "So I'm looking for him." He disappeared back into the gloom.

"You're..." Tin-Tin began to think that maybe her brother-in-law was suffering from sleep deprivation. "But, Gordon..."

She heard his muffled voice say "I don't think anyone's been up here since Grandma was alive..."

Tin-Tin started climbing the ladder.

"...I'm sure we put it here somewhere..."

Tin-Tin reached the top. "You remember what being put in here?" She sneezed.

"Gesundheit." Gordon was crouched in the corner going through some pictures. "Remember that portrait of Dad that Virgil painted?"

Tin-Tin thought. "Didn't it used to hang in the music room?"

"That's the one. After Dad had his stroke we took it down so that he wouldn't see it and be reminded how fit he used to be."

Tin-Tin sensed a depression settling in. "I remember," she said softly.

Gordon drew in the dust on the floor. "And we hid it away up here so that we wouldn't be reminded either..."

Tin-Tin didn't comment. She'd thought that at the time, but hadn't said anything.

"I don't think he's ever been back to the island, has he?"

Tin-Tin shook her head. "No."

"He loved it here... So did Grandma..." Gordon turned his back on her and coughed. "Darn dust gets everywhere." He rubbed his nose on his sleeve.

"Perhaps I could help you search," Tin-Tin offered, and took another step up the ladder.

But Gordon, his back still to her as he looked around the room, suddenly pounced. "Got it!" He dragged a large painting with a simple wooden frame out from behind some boxes and held it up so he could admire it. "Virg really caught his likeness, didn't he?"

"Yes, he did," Tin-Tin agreed.

Gordon weighed the portrait in his hands. "If I pass it down to you, do you think you'll be able to take it?"

"I am sure that will not be a problem." Tin-Tin began descending. "I am ready," she called up when she had both feet flat on the floor.

"Here it comes..."

Tin-Tin reached up and grasped the wooden frame.

"Hey!" She heard running feet. "What do you think you're doing, Tin-Tin?!" Alan took the painting from her.

"I am helping Gordon," she explained.

"You shouldn't be doing that! Why didn't you get me to do it?"

"It wasn't necessary, Alan. Besides, you were busy."

"Not that busy. What is it anyway?" Alan placed the painting on the floor and spun it about so he could see it. "Dad?"

"Yep." Gordon jumped down to the floor and raised the ladder back into its cavity. "I'm putting the heart back into International Rescue."

"You're what?"

"I've been thinking about how even though he's not physically with us," Gordon hefted the painting and started walking, "he's still an important part of the team. Seeing him last Saturday really brought that home to me; and I thought that we could at least see him every day, even if we can't talk to him." He walked into the lounge and over to Jeff's desk, placing the portrait against the console behind the chair. "There." He slapped his hands together in satisfaction. "What do you think?"

Alan put his arm about his wife and looked at his father's image. "He's where he belongs. He's back at the heart of International Rescue." He grinned. "Nice one, Gordon."

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

_**Tuesday September 5**__**th**__** 2079**_

"C-C-Can I have a, er, word, Scott?"

Scott looked up from his tablet PC. "Sure, Brains. What's up?"

"I'm concerned that we are approaching the time when we should be considering going into qu-quarantine. Alan and John do not want to risk being infected by some disease which doesn't, er, reveal itself until after they've l-left Earth."

Scott indicated the tablet. "I was just wondering about that. I was hoping that everyone would get the chance to go to the States alone to see Father for some one-on-one time before the 25th, but we've gotten so caught up in making sure that everything's finalised on time that we may have left it too late. Do you think so?"

"I don't want to take the chance exposing Alan and John, or even you and your brothers, to unnecessary risk," Brains admitted. "But I feel that so long as everyone is isolated for seven days before Thunderbird Three's launch, there should be minimal risk of contamination."

Scott looked at the calendar on the tablet. "I think Father's only just had his procedure..."

Brains gave him an inquisitive look. "Has Mr Tracy explained what this procedure is?"

"No. All he said was that it was a minor procedure on his hand to enable him to write better. He said he'd be at the clinic for a week, which means we'll probably only have a couple of days when we can visit him."

"I think Alan should be the first to visit," Brains offered. "Then John. If the worst happened we might at least have a chance to send John medical help."

"Okay." Scott made a note.

"Then you..."

Scott looked up sharply. "Me?"

"If you are f-flying through a blizzard in Antarctica you will want your wits about you."

"Gordon's not exactly heading off for a picnic."

"I am, er, aware of that. But your deployment of the acoustic concussion generator will require precision flying. Gordon is allowed a small margin of error."

"I hope he sees it that way... So based on all that, because the Mole's controls are largely automatic, Virgil would be last? If he became mildly ill he'd still be able to control it. And, if he came down with something totally incapacitating, there would be only a small delay in the Dead Sea deployment while one of the rest of us finishes our mission before heading out again."

Brains held up a finger of caution. "Remember that the D-Dead Sea's ACG will have further to travel through the Earth. We cannot afford too much of a delay."

"We'll cross that bridge if we come to it. Maybe Tin-Tin should have some practise on the simulator." Scott made another note. "I think everyone's going to have to make do with half day visits. We can head to the States in pairs." He stopped and thought. "If we're going to go into quarantine we won't be able to have the mail plane visit the island." He started writing again. "I'll get the mail diverted to Father's and ask Kyrano to bring back as many provisions as he thinks he'll need to last us until after October 8th."

"When is K-Kyrano returning?"

"When Dad doesn't need him I guess. I hope it's soon." Scott treated Brains to a wry grin. "I miss his cooking."

Brains chuckled. "Don't we all."

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

_**Wednesday September 6**__**th**__** 2079**_

"Scott?" Virgil stopped at the open bedroom door. "What's wrong?"

Scott had been sitting against the edge of his desk staring at the piece of paper in his hand. At the sound of the voice he hurriedly screwed the page up. "Nothin'."

Suspicious at the reaction coupled with his brother's almost defeated posture, Virgil stepped into the room. "It doesn't look like nothing. What are you reading?"

Scott threw the page in the direction of the rubbish bin. "Nothing important."

Virgil shut the door behind him. "Come on, Scott. What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"It's nothing you need to worry about."

Virgil folded his arms and stared his brother down. "I don't believe you."

Scott tried to match Virgil's gaze, but failed. "Don't worry about it."

"It's too late to say that. I'm already worried. Something's obviously bothering you."

"Just leave it, Virgil," Scott begged. "It's my problem; no one else's."

"If you have a problem then share it with me! Don't push me away again!"

Not too long ago Scott would have claimed that he would never get used to the sight of Virgil with a beard and long hair; but now he found his brother's presence comforting. He indicated the bin. "It's an email I received." He retrieved the paper, and Virgil waited as it was smoothed out and read again. "It's from Farrah."

"Farrah!" Virgil took the paper. "What the heck does she want!?"

"She wants us to get together again."

"Together again?! With her!? You're not considering that are you?"

Scott was silent.

"She's an adulteress!"

"I know..."

"You were humiliated by her!"

"Yeah," Scott sighed. "I was."

"You don't want to be in a relationship where you've always got to be looking over your shoulder..." Shocked, Virgil stared at his brother. "Do you?"

"No, of course not...!" Scott snapped. Then he sagged. "She says her husband's dead…"

"Dead?" Virgil noted his brother's haunted face, and then started reading.

"She says," Scott paraphrased, "that shortly after he heard about Doomsday he committed suicide. Now that International Rescue is going to save the world," he managed an ironic chuckle, "she wants me back."

"You don't believe her, do you?"

"I don't know what to believe," Scott admitted.

"She's lied to you once and she probably wouldn't think twice about doing it again. This...!" Virgil indicated the paper in his hand, "is more than likely just another lie to get you, and your money, back into her life again."

"I know... I know!" Scott started pacing. "It's just that... We had some good times together. I thought she might be The One."

"She can't be The One if you can't trust her."

"No... I guess not..."

"Why are you even considering this? She took you for a ride. She lied to you. She betrayed you." Virgil took a deep breath. "Scott, consider this… She came between us once. I don't want to lose our 'mojo' again, and I know you don't either."

"No." This time Scott was able to look Virgil in the eye. "I don't want that." He slumped back against his desk. "If Kasey said she was going to renounce drugs and asked you back, would you go?"

"No."

"No?" Surprised by the speed and assuredness of the answer, Scott could only stare. "Why not?"

"Because I don't love her, and I never have."

"But I thought…"

"You thought what the world was supposed to think. She was a prop, Scott. A piece of set dressing as much as the phoney tattoos and the false piercings. I'm not proud of it, but I used her as part of the mask that was Gustav."

Scott gaped at his younger brother. "You did what!? Why?"

"Because she was a buffer between me and the fatuous, money-hungry females who would've been all over a son of billionaire Jeff Tracy; and Gustav once he became moderately successful. I've always regarded her as a friend, but nothing more. We had some good times together, but nothing serious. If I believed that she was The One, I wouldn't have hesitated to tell her my real identity, but as it was I wouldn't let us get too close because I didn't want her to see the real me. And, because you're wondering, I mean that in the physical as well as emotional sense."

Somewhat embarrassed, Scott joked, "I guess you wouldn't want to risk her nibbling your ears in case one fell off…" He cleared his throat. "Didn't Kasey think it was a bit odd?"

"I think she assumed that we carried on the pretence because Gustav was gay and didn't want to admit it to anybody. I'm not saying that it was all one way; we genuinely enjoyed each other's company, just not to the extent that everyone believed. Plus I know that she used Gustav in return."

"She used you… uh, Gustav?" Scott scratched his head. "And you let her? Why?"

"Kasey wanted to be an artist and had been on the fringes long enough to know who the movers and shakers were, but she also knew that she wasn't good enough to be accepted into that world. Gustav gave her the access she craved. I accepted that, and she accepted his…" Virgil paused, "_my_ reluctance to form a deeper relationship. It was an unspoken agreement between us and we were both happy with it. I suppose we enjoyed a symbiotic relationship."

"I'm…" Scott shook his head. "I'm shocked."

"My one concern about Kasey is that maybe she was introduced to drugs when I helped her into the art world. Perhaps it's my fault that she's been hooked." Virgil stroked his beard. "Just because I've never loved her doesn't mean that I want to see her throw her life away… Just like I don't want to see you throw your life away on Farrah. Let me help you, Scott."

For a few moments the revelations had almost been enough to make Scott forget his own problems. "By doing what? Are you going to do an Alan and get Lady Penelope to do some spying on my behalf?"

"No. I was thinking of something quicker and simpler. Can I use your computer?"

Scott, guessing Virgil's plan, stared at him. Then he nodded and moved away from the desk.

Virgil fired up some search engines. "What's the husband's name?"

"Uh... Roger." Scott picked up the email.

"Roger..." Virgil enunciated as he typed. "Last name Northcutt?"

He heard bitterness in his brother's reply and perversely felt his mood lighten. "No. That was another of her lies." The corner of the paper was scrunched up tightly. "Buck."

Virgil began typing. "Are you sure?"

"Oh, yeah, I'm sure. He stuck his face right into mine and spelt it out."

Virgil pressed enter and milliseconds later the results appeared on screen. He studied them without comment, clicking hyperlinks a few times to gain more information.

Scott watched him. "Well?"

Virgil indicated the screen. "His name's not listed in the obituaries."

"That might not mean anything, right?" Scott suggested, almost begging for confirmation. "Some families might not want to broadcast the fact that their loved one committed suicide? Roger might be a nickname rather than his real name?"

"True..." Virgil nodded slowly. "But..."

"But?"

"I'm sorry, Scott." Virgil stood and moved away from the computer. "But I think you should look at this."

Scott hesitated. He knew that he wasn't going to like whatever it was that Virgil had found. Then he steeled himself and stepped up to the computer. There on screen was a photograph of a relaxed and happy looking Farrah. Standing next to her, his arm around her waist in an affectionate, if slightly possessive fashion, was a man. The caption began: _The happy couple, Roger and Farrah Buck..._

Scott didn't say anything. He stared at the screen. Then he gave a slow nod. "What's the date of the article?"

"September 2nd."

"September 2nd? Doomsday was announced on July 6th."

"Yes."

"And our press release went out about September 4th."

"Yes."

"So he's still alive."

"In all probability, yes."

"Right." Scott took a deep breath and looked back at the photograph. Then he picked up the paper which had been lying on his desk and read it again. Suddenly, with a snarl of anger, he ripped the page in two, before wadding it up into a tight ball and throwing it into the bin. The photo was quickly consigned to cyberspace and the original digital email was excised with a vicious jab to the delete button.

He turned and faced Virgil. "We've got work to do. Let's go."

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

_**Thursday September 7**__**th**__** 2079**_

The doorbell rang. India O'Neil pulled at the catch, feeling the door stick in its frame as she opened it.

A courier was standing there. "I've a package for a Master H. O'Neil," he announced.

"Howard?" India glanced at the thick package in the courier's hands. "Howard!" she called. "There's a package here for you."

"For me?" His freckly face beaming, Howard pushed his walker forward. "Is it a present?"

"I don't know," his mother told him. "You'll have to open it to find out."

"You've got to sign for it first," the courier grinned and held out a stylus and electronic clipboard.

Thrilled at this new, adult experience, Howard signed his name and then took the parcel, placing it in his walker's basket. "What is it?"

India said goodbye to the courier and shut the door. "There's only one way to find out."

Howard flipped the package over. "It's from John. Maybe it's my book!"

"He's spoiling you," India reproached. "I shall have to have words with him next time I see him."

"Aw, Mama," Howard complained. "He promised me that he'd send me a copy of the book, that's all."

"It's too big for one book," India pointed out.

Howard was pulling feverishly at the bag. "I can't open it!"

"You're rushing, that's why. Let me have a look." India examined the courier bag. "There you are. Pull that zipper."

Howard pulled the plastic strip and the bag fell open. He reached inside. "It is! It's my book!" He pulled out a pristine hardback.

"What else has he got in there?" India asked, taking it from him.

"Two more books!" Howard crowed. "Both on astronomy!" He withdrew one and a piece of paper fell out. He grabbed it. "It is from John! _Dear Howard. I hope that one day you'll be able to show me something you've discovered. Regards John._" Opening the book he turned to the title page.

India took the paper. "I wonder how much these cost him. They must have been out of print for years." She tutted.

"Mama?"

India looked up from where she was reading John's note. "Yes?"

"Look." Appearing confused, Howard pointed to the name of the author above an autograph. "It's not him...? Is it?"

"Not who?" India took the book and read the name. "John Tra..." She stared at the name. "John Tracy?"

"Did John write my books?"

"I don't know," India admitted; just as confused as her son. "It's his signature. But I didn't know he had an interest in astronomy."

"It can't be him," Howard declared. "He's a businessman."

"That's what I thought," his mother agreed. "Let's find out shall we?"

"Find out?" Howard stared at her. "How?"

"What does Ms McCully always tell you to do when you don't know the answer?"

"Research it."

"Right," India agreed. "So we'll do a search for 'John Tracy' and see how many names come up."

The Internet's search engines first hit was a news item about the head of Tracy Industries, and how he'd taken a leave of absence and left his father in charge. The next few hits were in a similar vein.

"What if I add astronomy to the search string?" Howard suggested.

India ruffled his hair. "That's a good idea."

This time the first hit was an online encyclopaedia with a potted biography about one John Tracy; son of former astronaut Jeff Tracy, astronaut in his own right, discoverer of several celestial bodies, author, and after a long period of time out of the public eye, CEO of one of the largest conglomerates in the world.

The front door opened. "Hello..." Noel O'Neil called. "I'm home."

"Dad!" Howard exclaimed. "Look at what John sent me!"

"Did he manage to find a copy of that book?" Noel asked, and kissed India on the top of her head.

"I think he probably has several copies stored away," India remarked.

"Huh?"

"Look!" Howard thrust one of the books at his father. "John wrote it!"

"What?!" Noel took the book. "That can't be our John, can it?"

"I think it might be," India confirmed. "Howard's just looked him up on the Internet."

Amazed, Noel flicked through the book, stopping on the title page. "John Tracy...?" He turned to the flaps on the dust jacket. "It doesn't have his photo on this one. Do the others?"

India checked one, while Howard examined the third. "Nope."

India stood. "I've got to get dinner on." She tapped Howard on the nose. "Since you're sitting at the computer you can send John an email to say thank you."

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

_**Thursday September 7th 2079**_

When an exhausted John Tracy finally sat down at his computer that evening he found an email of thanks from a very excited fan. Grinning he dashed off an email of his own, and then tumbled into bed.

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

_**Friday September 8th 2079**_

Alan wasn't asleep in his bed. Instead he was sitting in the chair next to it, watching his slumbering wife. He wanted to stay here forever next to her; to keep her safe…

But that was impossible. In just over two weeks he was going to have to leave Tin-Tin for at least four months. He was going to desert her at a time when their home was threatening to self-destruct, potentially taking her with it. He was going to have to fly to Jupiter and back.

And in two weeks time he was going to be doing it alone.

Alan reached out to caress Tin-Tin's cheek, stopping just short of touching her, not wanting to disturb this vision. He needed to remember her like this. Eyes closed... Muscles relaxed... Face peaceful... Mouth dribbling slightly.

Tin-Tin stirred. Her eyelids fluttered, she nuzzled into her pillow, and drifted back into deep sleep.

Alan couldn't bear it anymore. He felt as though someone was stabbing him with a red hot poker of self-doubt and fear. He needed to get this feeling out of his system before it crippled him, but he didn't know what to do about it. No one here would understand. They'd try to, but they couldn't know. They weren't going to be leaving their wives to the mercy of Doomsday and heading off into unchartered territories in space.

There was no one he could talk to.

Or was there?

Treading quietly over the thick carpet, he let himself out of his room and padded down the hall to one of the spare bedrooms. Once there he checked that the videophone was connected and operational. Then he dialled a number.

His father-in-law answered the phone. "Mister Alan?"

Alan managed a smile that he hoped conveyed none of his fears or misgivings. "Hi, Kyrano. I know it hasn't been a week, but would it be possible to talk to Dad?"

Kyrano frowned. "Is something wrong?"

"No, everything's fine," Alan reassured him. "Tin-Tin's asleep at the moment, but I'm not feeling tired. I just wanted to say hi to my father. Is he available?"

Kyrano hesitated; his eyes grave. Then he inclined his head. "I shall ascertain if he is able to talk to you. Please wait."

_Call ended_ appeared on screen.

Alan blinked at the text in shock. Kyrano had hung up on him? Why? He considered redialling the number, but then decided to give Kyrano time to do whatever it was that needed to be done. How difficult could it be for his father to access a videophone?

He waited.

What was taking them so long?

Alan reached out for the redial button, but before he made contact the videophone rang. He diverted his finger to the answer button and, expecting his father's face to appear on screen, answered the phone. "Hello."

"_Alan? Is that you?"_

"Dad?" Alan stared at the videophone's screen which read _voice only selected_. "What's wrong with the camera?"

"_We, _ah_, we've got _a_ glitch at this end, Alan. How _are_ you? Why have you __called?"_

"I…"

"_Yes?"_

"Are you alone? Can we talk?"

Alan heard Kyrano's voice in the background. "I shall wait in the hall, Mr Tracy. Call me when you require my services."

There was the faintest of clicks.

"_We're alone, Alan. What's wrong?"_

"I…" Alan suddenly felt weak and stupid. "I just needed to talk to someone who has some idea of what I'm going to be going through."

"On_ your mission?"_

"Yes."

"So_ you rang _me_? Why?"_

Alan paused a moment, something wasn't right and he wasn't sure what. The sensation didn't leave him as he started his explanation. "You know what it's like to leave your wife behind and fly into space for a few months. I thought you might be able to give me some advice on how to prepare for it."

"I_ wish _I_ could, _Son_, but it wasn't the same _for_ me as it _will_ be _for_ you. _I_ was with other people. _In_ fact there were times when _I _wished_ I_ could get away and have _some_ time alone. There wasn't _a_ lot _of_ room in the space station."_

Alan felt like a little boy who was asking to crawl into this father's bed to escape his nightmares. Only this wasn't going to be a nightmare. This was going to be reality. He was also aware that something had changed that he couldn't quite put his finger on. This realisation was even more disquieting. "Dad…"

The whisper was so quiet that Jeff could barely hear him. _"Yes, _Son_?"_

"I'm scared. I'm scared that I won't come home to Tin-Tin."

"_That _is_ nothing to be ashamed of, Alan,"_ Jeff soothed. _"We _are_ asking _a_ lot _of_ you."_

"And I'm scared that Tin-Tin won't be here when I get home."

"_She will be. You've got to __stay __positive."_

"But what if Brains' hypothesis doesn't work and John and I are the only ones left alive?"

"_Have you ever known Brains to get it wrong?"_

"No…"

"_No,"_ Jeff asserted. _"Hang _on_ to that thought."_

"But I've been having nightmares. I dream that I arrive home only to find that Scott's been killed; or Gordon; or Virgil; or two of them; or all three… And those are the good nightmares. I-I've had worse."

"_How much worse?"_

Alan gulped, trying to keep it together. "The other night I dreamt that the three of them had been killed and that I'd failed to stop Arnie and it had taken out John in Thunderbird Five and that Five crashed onto Tracy Island destroying everything and everyone and that Arnie crashed onto the States killing you! I was all alone in the universe!"

Jeff could only offer his youngest son words of consolation. _"The odds _of_ that happening _are_ astronomical!"_

Alan was silent for a moment, but when he next spoke Jeff could hear the fear in his son's voice. Fear and a tiny bit of hysteria. "I'm scared that I'll get sick or injured. Or that I'll go crazy in the isolation! Dad! I'm frightened that I'll do something silly like try to fly Thunderbird Three into the Great Red Spot! I'm afraid that I'll lose the ability to reason and won't realise that I need to..."

"_Alan…?" _Jeff heard a strangled sound. "_Alan! Calm down. You'll be fine!"_

"You don't know that! I don't know that! I won't have anyone to help me and I don't know if I'll be able to cope!"

"_Alan!" _Jeff commanded._ "Stop; take _a_ deep breath; and listen. You've been alone and _away_ from home before. For most _of_ this mission you won't find it much different than when you were alone _on_ Thunderbird Five. You'll only be out _of_ radio contact _for a_ couple _of_ months."_

"But when I am in contact I won't have immediate communication. There'll be a time lag while I'll be wondering what's happening and if anyone will respond!" Alan felt as though he was going to be sick. "I… I'm afraid, Dad."

"I_ know, and _I_ wish _I_ could help you_," Jeff admitted. _"Just remember that many people have been isolated for longer than that and survived."_

Alan tried to pull himself together. He didn't want his father to see how weak he was and spend the following months worrying about him more than was necessary. "How did you cope? How did you manage to leave your wife when you knew that she…?"

"I_ told myself that she was being looked after; that there were people around _her_ that would keep _an eye on her_ and help _her if_ she needed it. You know that your brothers will care for her."_

"I know that. Scott will be clucking around her like a broody hen."

Relieved at the light-hearted comment, Jeff continued. _"And then there's Kyrano. She couldn't ask _for a_ better father."_

"Or father-in-law."

Jeff felt a pang of helplessness. _"_I_ don't know that there's much that I'll be able to do."_

"Just knowing that you're behind us is a huge comfort," Alan asserted. Then he heaved a big sigh. "It's only four months, isn't it? I'm stressing about nothing, aren't I?"

"I_ don't think it'll be _as_ bad _as_ you _fear_. You've just got to come up with _some_ strategies to help you cope. Have you got plenty to occupy you?"_

Alan thought. "I've got electronic books, and various computer games. And music."

"_Have you got your trumpet?"_

"Yes." Alan sounded almost embarrassed. "And I've installed a gym on board."

"_Good."_

"And there'll always be maintenance to be done."

"_And you'll be _in_ communication with John for the majority _of_ the time."_

"Yes..."

"_Take lots _of_ digital photos _of_ Tin-Tin with you," _Jeff suggested,_ "and programme the computer to feed you _a_ random one each day _so_ it'll be _a_ surprise. Something to look forward to..."_

"That's not a bad idea."

Jeff heard a slight smile in his son's response and felt easier. _"You'll be _all_ right, Alan. _I_ have faith _in_ you."_

"Thank you. I appreciate that."

"I_ mean it. _I_ only wish there was more _I_ could do to help you."_

"Just listening has helped," Alan admitted, now feeling a little ashamed at how he'd been acting. "Thank you. I guess I just needed to get it out of my system."

"_Believe me, _I_ understand fully."_

Now that his head had cleared somewhat, Alan came to the realisation of just what had been wrong with the conversation. "How is the treatment going? I thought you said it was your hand they were working on, but your speech is clearer."

"_While they've got me captive they're giving me _some_ intensive speech therapy,"_ Jeff lied. _"_I_ guess it's working."_

"It is."

"I'll_ tell my speech therapist. She'll be pleased to hear that."_

Alan sighed. "I guess I'd better hit the sack and leave you to recuperate. I'm sorry I interrupted whatever it was you were doing."

"_Don't worry about it, _I_ want to help."_ Then Jeff chuckled. _"And just remember, Alan, that _if_ you're ever feeling stressed _or_ worried about your mission, just remind yourself that you've never been afraid to stand up to Scott. Compared to him, Arnie should be _a_ pushover."_

Alan laughed. "I hope you're right." He paused, reluctant to finish the conversation. It had been too long since he'd been able to have a good talk with his father. "Good night, Dad."

"_Sleep well, Alan. D-Day will be _here_ before you know it, and you'll be back with your family _on_ Earth before you've even realised you've gone."_

"Yeah," Alan agreed. He paused. "Thanks."

And he disconnected the phone.

Jeff lay there quietly, thinking for a moment. So many lies! Not only about his own health, but about his fears for his youngest son's well-being. All of a sudden those fears overwhelmed him. _"Kyrano…"_ he yelled._ "Kyrano! Where are you!?"_

"I am here, Mr Tracy. Can you not feel my hand on your arm?"

"I_ can't feel anything, you know that!"_ Jeff snapped.

"Do not concern yourself, Kawan Saya. Yesterday you could not smell. Two days ago you could not speak. The day before you could not hear. Each day is a progression towards recovery."

"_But _I_ can't _see_; _I_ can't feel; _I_ can't move; I've got these electrodes sticking out _of_ my head. How long is recovery going to take? What _if_ this _is_ it?! What _if_ I'm doomed to be trapped _in_ my bed wired up like _a_ battery waiting to be jump-started?"_

"Have patience," Kyrano recommended. "The doctors, they are still hopeful."

"I _know..." _Jeff let out a sigh and tried to relax. _"I'd go crazy_ if _it wasn't for you, my friend."_

"I do little."

"_You do _a_ lot," _Jeff corrected. _"You're keeping me _sane_. _I _think I'm getting _some_ idea _of_ what Alan's going to go through; only I'm trapped _in_ my body."_

"What did Mister Alan want?" Kyrano sounded like someone who was pretending that he wasn't really interested.

Jeff debated how much he should tell his son's father-in-law. _"Do you remember that conversation you _and I_ had _a_ couple of weeks before my first space flight? _I_ was scared because _I _was about to venture into the unknown _and I_ was leaving my children _and_ my pregnant wife behind."_

"I remember."

"_I'm sure you _also_ remember that _I_ had _a_ bit _of a_ meltdown then. You were the only person that _I felt I_ could confide _in and _you let me get my fears _and_ concerns out _of_ my system._ _Even now you're the only person who knows how scared _I_ was."_

"This is what has happened to Mister Alan? He had, as you said, 'a bit of a meltdown'?"

"_He's worried about how he'll cope alone _for so_ long. He's _also_ worried about Tin-Tin. _I_ told him that you and his brothers will look after _her_."_

"And now that he has expressed those fears, he has purged them from his system?"

"_I hope so, Kyrano..."_ Jeff replied_. "I hope so..."_

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

_**Sunday September 10**__**th**__** 2079**_

"Master! Master!" Excited, the rag-clad man ran into the room and flung himself at his master's feet; his forehead on the cold stone floor and his arms stretched out in front of him. "Look, Master..." in his hands he held a newspaper, the headline facing the man that towered over him. "International Rescue are going to save us all. Is this not good news?"

His master, gilt robe glinting in the flickering light of the torches that guttered on the walls, glared down at the slave. "How dare you burst into the temple uninvited," he growled.

The slave trembled at that terrible voice. "I thought you would be pleased, Master." He raised the newspaper as high as he could from his prostrate position.

The periodical was snatched from the trembling hands. "I already know that the infernal International Rescue has reformed and will begin their work on the western date of the eighth day of the tenth month."

A chill passed through the slave. Truly his master was a great and powerful man to be aware of this information before the rest of the world. "I am sorry if I have displeased you, Master."

"As the Gods have deigned to save this miserable planet, so shall I be as merciful to you," the towering man declared.

"Thank you, Master."

"But never set foot in here unannounced again."

"Yes, Master." And the Master enjoyed the spectacle of a human being grovelling away from him.

"Bah! Fool!" he spat. "If it did not suit me to have such imbeciles in my service he would be dead." He glared at the newspaper's headline of hope. "Does the fool not realise that I have other ways of getting information?"

He stepped through a beaded curtain that hid one corner of the room and sat down at his computer. "International Rescue!" he growled. "For too many years you have hidden your secrets from me, but now, soon, that knowledge will be mine."

Until a week ago he may have been arrogant enough to believe that the Gods had ordained that he would survive any catastrophe, but he wasn't stupid. When he'd first read the news that had sped around the world at the speed of light, he had decided to permit the accursed organisation to complete its chosen task. After all, why shouldn't the Gods make use of the sanctimonious fools in order to assist him to achieve his goal? He much preferred the idea of using the Thunderbirds to rule over a complete planet; rather than one that was fractured and broken.

He clicked a few links on the computer, accessing some previously bookmarked sites on the Internet.

One of his first tasks after reading the (somewhat predictable in his opinion) news that International Rescue couldn't sit idly by, he'd made use of the one power he genuinely possessed. His weak half-brother had protested at the intrusion into his mind and had even displayed an unexpected strength to battle it.

He sat back in his seat at the memory. Was he growing old and weak?

"No!" he snarled. "Never!" Then he smiled a smile that did nothing to lighten or improve his countenance. He may not have learnt anything that would give him direct information about International Rescue, but he did hear something of interest.

"La-dy Pen-el-o-pe…" Kyrano's cry had echoed around this chamber. "Stop… him… Do not… let… him… do… this!"

The Hood laughed and the guttural sound reverberated off the walls. Kyrano's pleas for help had given him one piece of vital information. A quick search of the Internet had revealed several 'Lady Penelopes' and he'd nearly considered his search hopeless until he'd chanced upon a photograph of a motor car.

A pink Rolls Royce.

That day that International Rescue had first paraded themselves in front of an astonished and grateful world, he had tried and nearly succeeded in gaining their secrets. He had been thwarted by someone driving a particular type motor car.

A pink Rolls Royce.

He had orchestrated his plan and he knew that this time it would not fail, for he had obtained the ideal pawn to do his bidding. A pawn who was waiting on the signal to start laying the groundwork for victory. Then, once Doomsday had been nullified and International Rescue let their guard down as they basked in the adoration that they no doubt anticipated, he would pounce.

And the Thunderbirds would be his!

_To be continued..._


	25. Chapter 25 - Farewell

**Chapter 25: Farewell**

_**Thursday 14**__**th**__** September 2079**_

Supported upright by the walking frame, Jeff Tracy concentrated on lifting one foot, swinging it forward of the other, and then placing it down on the floor. Then he shifted his weight over so that he could repeat the process with the other foot.

He slid the walker forward and took another step.

"Practising, Jeff?"

Trying to ignore the beads of sweat that were standing out on his brow, and the way his arms and back were aching, and the fact that his legs were trembling with the effort, Jeff smiled at Emma. "Yes, but I've _given_ myself an _extra_ _incentive_ this time." He indicated a large book that was in the walker's basket. "I got _this_ down _without_ any help."

He sounded so much like a child who had proudly announced that they could now tie their own shoelaces that Emma almost laughed. "I'm amazed at how much you've improved over this past week. Look at you. You're walking longer distances, your speech is clearer, and you've got a lot more dexterity in your hands than I would have thought possible."

"Thanks." Eager to reach his chair, Jeff took another step. "_I'm _glad I had all _those_ _exercises_ and _physiotherapy_ before _the_ op. Now it's a _matter_ now of _getting_ my _strength_ and _stamina_ back."

"So you think the operation was worth it?"

"I do now, _but_ _until_ day five when I _got_ my _sight_ back I had _serious_ _doubts_…" Jeff grimaced. "_Like_ I'm _starting_ to _doubt_ _whether _I'll have _the_ _strength_ to reach my _desk_. Will you _excuse_ me a _moment?"_

"Of course." Emma stepped out of the way. "Do you want some help?"

"_No,"_ Jeff puffed. _"I can do this."_

Ready to leap to his aid should he need it, Emma watched as he inched his way closer and closer to his desk. The further he walked the more shuffling his steps became, but nothing faltered his determination to reach his goal. When he reached there she pulled out his swivel chair and held it steady so he could sit in it.

"_Thanks,"_ Jeff gasped as he flopped into his seat. _"I never realised that that was such a long way."_

The lack of clarity in his speech told her that he had exhausted himself, so, under the guise of being curious, Emma withdrew the book from the basket. "What is this?"

"_Family photo album."_

"Oh." Emma decided that this was not a book to be nosey with, and placed it on the desk in front of him.

Jeff removed the cap on his head. _"I feel like_ _Virgil wearing this thing,"_ he admitted, running his hand over the downy fuzz that resided there. _"Except that he's got too much hair and I haven't got enough." _He replaced the cap, hiding the healing scars.

Emma giggled. "You could always ask him for one of his wigs."

"_I could,"_ Jeff agreed, _"Except that I've never _seen_ myself _as one of _the blue-rinse brigade…"_ He sighed. _"Even if I am old enough."_

"Don't think like that!" Emma told him. "Now that your health's improving you seem younger every day."

"C_urrying favour_ with the _boss?_" Jeff growled, but his eyes were twinkling.

"I don't need to. Not when he's given me the two months off." Emma hesitated. "Are you sure you want me to take a vacation? I don't mind staying on."

"No," Jeff responded. _"Tracy Industries _had always_ planned _on_ suspending operations _for_ the two months _leading up_ to _Doomsday and you've worked longer than anyone else_. Just _because_ there _is now a chance_ that the worst won't _happen_ doesn't _mean_ that _we're going_ to insist that everyone change _their plans_."_

Emma smiled down at him. "You're a good man, Jeff."

Jeff seemed embarrassed by the compliment. "I just know the _importance_ of _family_, _that's_ all."

"In that case," Emma indicated the album. "How about showing me yours?"

"You_ don't want to_ see _these_ _boring_ old _snapshots_," Jeff protested.

"Yes, I do."

"Well… Okay, _but don't_ say I _didn't_ warn you." Concentrating on holding the cover and getting a full range of movement out of his arm, Jeff opened the album to display the first photos. "That's my _parents_."

Emma looked at the wedding photos. One formal, the other of the couple cutting the cake. "They look happy together."

"I think they were," Jeff agreed. "I don't think I _realised_ how much he loved Mother _until_ the day he died. We _Tracy_ men don't seem to find it easy to tell the _women_ in our lives how much we care." He felt, rather than saw, Emma move away slightly and cursed his choice of words. There'd been a slightly strained air about the secretary these last few days and he was pretty sure that it was his fault.

Emma shifted the conversation to what she considered to be safer topics. "What did they do?"

"They were _farmers _born and_ bred._ I _don't think_ they _relaxed_ and put their _feet_ up a day in their _lives_. Once I had the _money_ so she _didn't_ have to _work_ I tried to get _Mother_ to _take_ it easy, but she _wouldn't listen_."

"I think her son takes after her. Not to mention her grandson."

He turned the page. _"That's_ them _working_ on the _farm_…" He chuckled at another photograph. _"Bessie_ the cow. She was an _important part_ of the _family too."_

Emma smiled. "I'm sure we townies never know just how necessary a cow is to family life."

"No…" Jeff turned the page. "Oh!_"_ He tried to cover the photograph, but his weaker left hand wasn't quick enough to hide the photo of the toddler running buck-naked towards the camera. "That's _embarrassing!"_

Emma giggled. "I'm sure there aren't too many secretaries who can say that they've seen their boss naked without the fear of scandal."

"Why did _Mother_ put that in _there?"_

"It's a mother's prerogative to embarrass her son."

"_Maybe_, but I _don't know_ about a _father's. John'll kill _me if I let you see any of him like that." Making sure that he kept the offending snapshot hidden, Jeff pointed out another photograph. "That's me in my _Scout_ _uniform_." He turned the page and sped through the photos dedicated to his childhood and youth. "_Getting_ my wings. Joining the Air _Force_. Just _before_ I flew to the moon …"

He went to turn the page, but Emma stopped him. "That's the first thing I've seen relating to your astronaut days," she admitted. "You must have more than one photograph in your collection?"

"I do…" Jeff stared at the photo of his younger self – dark-haired, wrinkle-free, and fit, despite the fact that his spacesuit gave the illusion that he weighed about 200 kilos.

"Can I see them sometime?" Emma was asking. "Maybe after my vacation?"

"Do you _really_ want to?"

"Of course I do! Not everyone gets to meet an astronaut, let alone work for him."

"Did you _realise_ that _you've_ worked for two _astronauts_?"

"I've what?!"

"John's been into _space_."

"He has?" Emma stared at Jeff. "I never knew."

"There's a _lot_ you _don't_ know about him," Jeff stated. "I only hope you get the chance to find out one day." He turned back to the album. "I _suppose_ I should be _grateful_ that Mother _reprinted_ these _photos_ _regularly_ and saved the files to new _media_ every time the _standards_ _changed_."

Emma wasn't listening as she wondered what other secrets John Tracy had.

Jeff had stopped turning the album's pages at the photos of his wedding day. He reached out to a formal portrait and touched the face of his late wife. "I'd often heard _people_ say that they'd _found_ their soul mate, but I _didn't_ know what they _meant_ until I met her." His hand moved to the less formal photo of the cake cutting. "I've _met_ a _lot_ of _wonderful_ women before and since, _present company included_…"

"Ah…"

"…But I've _never_ met another _woman_ who could, or who I'd _even_ want to take her place." Jeff continued to gaze at the photographs, turning the pages slowly in a show of savouring the images, and hoping that he'd put Emma's mind at ease.

She said nothing and Jeff decided that he'd lingered long enough on the photos of his wedding and early married life. "You're _waiting_ to see _photos_ of John, aren't you?" he teased.

Emma coloured slightly. "Yes, please!" And to Jeff's relief, he realised that the slight twang of tension in her voice had gone.

"Okay... I can't _remember_ what's in here, so let's see what _surprises_ _Mother_ has left us …" Jeff turned another page. "There's _Scott_."

Emma looked over his shoulder at the baby with stunning blue eyes and dark hair. "He was a cutie."

"He's _always_ been a _lady_ _killer_. They all are. _Take_ after their old man."

Emma laughed.

And Jeff relaxed.

There were lots of photos of Jeff Tracy's sons during their childhood years and Emma pointed at one of a young boy in mid-air as the pair of hands that had thrown him skywards waited to catch him. The child's arms were outstretched and his face was alive with happiness. "That's a good photo."

"That's _Scott 'flying'._ He _loved_ to do it more than my arms did; I'll tell you." Jeff indicated another snapshot of a red-headed tot, impish grin splitting his face as he splashed water at the camera from the pool he was in. "_That's Gordon_... And this is _Alan_." The boy, little more than a baby, was pushing himself along in a toy car. The look on his face showed his determination to get as much speed out of it as he could. "And this is _Virgil_." The toddler was banging on the keys of a plastic piano that was smaller than him. "That was his _favourite_ toy... _Until_ he _decided_ that he _wanted_ to _find_ out what made it tick and _broke_ it. He was _devastated_ and I did my _best to __fix_ it; but it _never_ _sounded_ the same. I _always_ felt I'd _failed_ him _until_ I was able to _afford_ to buy him a _proper_ _instrument_."

Jeff paused as he mulled over the four photographs. "You know, _Mother_ knew what she was _doing_ when she chose these _pictures_. Each one says a lot about the boys, their _interests_, and what their _personalities_ were going to be like when they grew up." He turned the page and laughed. "Or maybe not."

The first photograph of the following spread was of a boy, his toothy grin beaming through a face smothered in chocolate. Thanks to the thick brown 'mousse', what could be seen of his blonde hair was sticking out at all angles, and Emma supposed that there wouldn't have been much point in trying to salvage his clothes in the wash. "Is that Alan?"

"_Nope_. _John_. He _always_ had a _sweet_ _tooth_... "

"John!?"

"Hang on; I've _turned_ two _pages_..." Jeff forced his left hand to turn the heavy page back. "There. That's a _better representation_ of his _personality_." He pointed to the photo of the young boy sitting alone atop of a small hillock; his arms wrapped around his knees as he gazed up at the stars.

Emma stared at the picture. "He somehow seems to be, ah..." She tried to think of the right word. "Lonely."

"I can see what you mean. But _John_ was _always_ _something_ of a loner. And he always _thought_ of the _stars_ as his _friends_. He was _probably_ as _happy_ _sitting _there as any of his _brothers_ in the _other_ _shots_. He gave up a _lot_ when he _took_ _over_ from me at _Tracy Industries_ and I hope that once _Doomsday's_ _passed_ he'll have the _opportunity_ to _find_ true _happiness_."

"What would make him happy?"

"_Finding_ someone who _understands_ him and will be _willing_ to _enjoy_ the _stars_ with him." Jeff turned the page again. "And who also has a _sweet tooth_."

Emma laughed.

They flicked through more pages of the younger Tracys' triumphs. As they passed before Emma's eyes she saw them grow and mature. She also came to realise what a close family they were.

She stopped Jeff at a relaxed family portrait of the boys, now men, and their father. "I like that one."

"_That was taken soon after we moved to Tracy Island. We were nearly ready to reveal_ our _dreams to the world."_

Emma stared at Jeff. What he'd said didn't make much sense and she wondered if that was because he was growing tired. "Don't you wish you'd told them about your operation? I can see from these photos how close you are to them all. Don't you think they would have wanted to be here to support you?"

"_Their work is too important."_

This statement was even more confusing and even Jeff seemed to realise that there was something odd in what he'd said. He shut the photo album.

"Are you tired, Jeff?" Emma asked.

He nodded, his fingers tracing the edge of the book.

Emma looked at her watch. "I guess it's time I should be going anyway... Unless there is something else I can do for you?"

"_No. I'm fine. Thank you, Emma."_ The look Jeff gave her sent shivers down her spine.

"Are you sure? I know you're more capable than you were, but now that Mr Kyrano's returned to the island I don't like the idea of leaving you alone."

He smiled at her concern. _"I'll be all right. Lady Penelope and Parker will be here soon and I know full well that when Penny moves in she'll be cracking the whip to keep order. The less people about to upset her plans, the better."_

"I said it before and I'll say it again. You're a good man to give Sara and Martha time off."

"_Why not? Let them enjoy the next two weeks."_

Two weeks? Doomsday was slated to happen at the beginning of November, which was well over a month away. Worried, Emma tried again. "I can wait until they get here and then I'll leave." She gave a half-hearted chuckle. "I'm sure Lady Penelope won't mind if we say we're enacting the changing of the guard."

Jeff smiled, but it wasn't the happy smile that lit up his entire face. _"I think I'd like some time alone, Emma. But thank you for the offer."_

Emma put the last of the papers in her case. "If you're sure..."

He was running his fingers along the edge of the photo album again. _"I'm sure."_

Case packed, Emma hesitated. "Well, that's that," she announced. "I won't be seeing you again until after Doomsday... _If_ International Rescue is successful."

Jeff gave a sombre nod.

Emma held her arms open. "Can I have a hug for luck for both of us?"

This time Jeff's smile seemed warm and genuine as he struggled to his feet. _"Keep safe, Emma Janes,"_ he said as they embraced. _"Let us hope that the new year is better for everyone."_

"Yes. And don't forget my phone number. If you need me to do anything at any time just give me a call."

Jeff sank back into his seat. _"I'll remember."_

It was time to return to a world where the future seemed uncertain and Emma realised that she didn't want to leave. She forced herself to pick up her case and hugged it close. "Goodbye, Jeff."

"_Goodbye, Emma."_

Aware of a deep set feeling of unease, Emma Janes walked out of the house and to her car. It wasn't that she wasn't sure if she would be coming back to a place that gave her an odd sense of security that made her hesitant; it was that spine-shivering look of Jeff's. Any concerns that she'd had that he'd had a romantic interest in her had been allayed, and she didn't think that Jeff was worried for his own safety. If that had been the case he would have asked her to stay until Lady Penelope arrived.

No. Somehow Emma got the impression that Jeff was worried for the family in that photo album; that his concerns were towards the safety of his sons. Almost as if he thought that they were in greater danger than anyone else on the planet.

Emma told herself that she was being fanciful, that Jeff Tracy's sons were safe on a tropical island, and that the knowledge that she was leaving a man that she had grown fond of in a filial kind of way was making her emotional.

She drove out of the driveway.

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

_**Friday 15**__**th**__** September 2079 - Malaysia**_

Deep in the bowels of his temple The Hood clenched his fists and ground his teeth together in anger. Dominance of the world had been within his grasp; only to be snatched away by the spineless inaction of a weak nobody who was only interested in their own miserable existence.

He'd just received correspondence from his pawn stating that arrangements had been placed on hold until after Doomsday.

The Hood snarled. He would not accept that there was to be a delay in the ultimate transfer of control of International Rescue to him! How dare someone so menial upset his carefully laid plans!? Who was this person to believe that they had the authority to change what had been a carefully planned strategy!? He would curse them! He would torture them! He would make them beg for mercy!

They would die for their insolence!

The Hood sucked in a deep breath and exhaled it through his nose, allowing it to calm him and settle his thoughts.

Did such a delay matter?

No.

He had been waiting the last seven years for the opportunity to gain the power he craved; he could wait another two months.

He could be patient.

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

_**Sunday 24**__**th**__** September 2079 – Tracy Island**_

In the seven days before lift off the Tracys barely surfaced from their labours, Brains hardly slept at all, and Tin-Tin seemed to live in her white lab coat. Even Scott forgot his earlier command that they all eat dinner together and had subsisted on a bite to eat whenever he found a moment to spare. It was therefore something of a surprise that they found themselves in the dining room at the same time...

"Fill it up, Kyrano," John held out his plate. "If I'm going to have to live on freeze-dried rations for the next few months I want to make the most of my last supper on Earth."

"If you carry on at that rate," Alan stated when he saw his brother's plate piled high, "you won't be able to fit your uniform again."

"Oh, yeah?" John took the seat opposite. "Betcha go back for seconds."

Alan smirked, but didn't respond. "Has anyone spoken to Dad lately?"

"I called him last night," Virgil admitted. "Is it me or is his speech easier to understand?" He scratched at the corner of his beard and then smoothed the hair back into place. "I was struggling to work out what he was saying because I was trying to interpret what he said when I didn't need to."

"Me too," Gordon agreed. "I think he understated that 'procedure' that he had so that we wouldn't worry about him. When I visited him last week he was talking and moving a lot more freely than he's done in years."

"Well, if it makes life easier for him, I'm not complaining," John stated. "He'll find it easier to do Tracy Industries' business once it starts up again."

"The quarantine aeroplane has arrived and there is mail for you all," Kyrano announced.

"Thanks, Kyrano." Scott started handing out the sterilised envelopes. "Gordon…"

"Great. More love letters from my lawyer."

"Virgil…"

Virgil accepted the heavy bond paper. "And it looks like I've got one from mine."

"Yours?" Waiting to see if he had any mail, John stared at his younger brother. "You're getting letters from your lawyer? Why?"

Virgil pocketed the envelope. "It's a long story. I'll explain later."

"Good. That'll give me something to listen to when things are slow."

"John…" Scott held out two manila envelopes

"Things to sign for Tracy Industries, I guess." John accepted the letters with a sigh. "I was hoping for something a bit more exciting on my last day on Earth."

"Me…" Scott examined his envelope. "It's from Tracy Aviation." He glanced at John and slipped his letter into his tablet PC's case. "Brains… One of your magazines."

"The N-New Scientist," Brains confirmed. He studied the magazine's cover through the clear plastic wrapper. "More, er, discussion on Doomsday."

"Is there any other subject?" Tin-Tin asked. "Have you anything for me, Scott?"

"It's a big envelope," he said as he handed it over to her. "More catalogues?"

"Of a sort. I have got to keep up with fashion," she told him. "I'm getting behind the times while I've been wearing this old thing." She indicated her lab coat.

"I always thought you had more style than most fashionistas," Alan told her.

"Flatterer."

"Yep. Anything for me, Scott?"

"Here y'are, Alan." Scott held out the last piece of mail; one slightly fatter than the rest. "Looks like it's from your racing team."

"I wonder what they want that they couldn't have emailed me." Alan ripped into the package. "It's been sent on by my manager. Probably someone who wants my autograph and for once has been thoughtful enough to enclose a stamped addressed envelope for my reply."

Tin-Tin placed her unopened envelope on the table. "Is it from a fan, Honey?"

"No..." Alan read some more. "Not really... This isn't for me; it's for all of us."

"All of us?" Virgil pushed his cap back on his head and then pulled it back into place. "What do you mean?"

Alan began to read out loud. "_Dear Mr Tracy..."_

"He's right," Gordon quipped. "It could be for any one of us."

"Be quiet, Gordon!" Tin-Tin scolded.

"Yeah, Gordon" Alan echoed "Be quiet and listen. You'll want to hear this... _Dear Mr Tracy. I am writing to you in the hope that you are the person I wish to contact. My husband said it was you, but I'm not sure._

"_I am the woman you helped rescue at Coche Del Olor on the 2__nd__ of September, and I wish to thank you for your part in saving the lives of my children, my husband, and myself. And I would like to thank not only you, but also those fearless men who risked their own lives to save ours, and the woman who cared for my babies until I was able to. We got the impression that you know these other people and hope that you are able to pass our thanks and this small token of our appreciation..."_ Alan held up his hand and displayed six embroidered patches decorated with the date and place of the rescue. "We could sew these onto our uniforms."

"There is something else too." Tin-Tin picked up the envelope and withdrew a piece of folded paper. Opening it she revealed a child's drawing of a stadium on fire and six people on the ground, two standing on the top, and something being lowered down on a rope.

Gordon looked over her shoulder. "We should stick it to the wall. Where's your duct tape, Virgil?"

"I'll get it later."

"What else does the letter say, Alan" John asked.

Alan continued reading. _"I wish you had given me the chance to give my thanks in person, and if this letter is not meant for you then I hope you will know the wonderful people who saved our lives and will pass my heartfelt thanks on to them._

"_Thank you again, Mr Tracy._

"_Yours with our deepest respect and gratitude._

"_Alice, Brian, Shaun, and Mikala Leith."_

There was silence as they all absorbed what they'd just heard.

Alan looked at his family. "When was the last time we received thanks for a rescue?"

"I'd sometimes get thanked just before we would leave the danger zone," Scott remembered. "But never anything in writing."

"There'd often be letters to the paper and online forums," John reminded him. "I'd check them out on the days following. And there was that web site that Ned Cook set up so that people had a venue to thank us. I wonder what he would have thought if he'd known that we'd check that regularly..."

Alan nodded. "Yeah, I'd often read that when things were a bit quiet on Thunderbird Five. It helped make the people we were rescuing seem more real, didn't it, John?"

"Yes."

"Real?" Gordon frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I know that we were a vital part of the rescue," Alan explained, "but floating above the Earth you did tend to feel a bit cut off from the action, almost as if you were a bystander listening to an interactive radio show."

"That's a good way of describing it," John agreed. "That web site of Cook's had been dead for years until Doomsday was announced. Since then it's been full of people pleading for International Rescue to do something."

"And since we said we were going to attempt the impossible?" Virgil asked.

"It's been swamped with people offering suggestions and pledges of support. Nothing practical, but I think it's helped people feel less powerless. There have also been a lot of people just saying thanks for at least trying and offering us their prayers for success."

Scott gave a slow nod. "Let's all hope that they do some good."

_To be continued..._


	26. Chapter 26 - Stage One

**Chapter 26 – Stage One**

_**Monday**_

_**25**__**th**__** September 2079**_

It was the fateful day when Thunderbird Three was due to depart for Thunderbird Five and then onwards towards the asteroid. Breakfast was a quiet affair, with no one saying much as they each mulled over their own thoughts and prospects for the future. John and Alan were especially introspective as they ate their last home-cooked meal for what they knew was going to be a very long time.

One hour later, Scott called a meeting of his brothers in his room where they wouldn't be disturbed. As a mark of solidarity, even though three of them weren't due to launch their missions for another two weeks, they all arrived wearing their International Rescue uniforms.

At least the four of those who'd arrived at the appointed time did…

Scott looked at his watch. "What's holding him up?" he growled.

Gordon snickered. "My guess is that he's trying to put his hair into a bun. He's probably given up on trying to hide it up under his hat."

Scott checked the watch again. "I knew I should have cut it when I had the chance."

The door to the room slid open.

Scott spun on his heel. "It's about time you go…"

He stopped in shock.

Gordon gaped, and then grinned. "Well…! Welcome back!"

Virgil wasn't wearing his International Rescue cap. Nor was his hair pulled back in a ponytail, or hanging loose. Instead it was trimmed short and chestnut brown. Just as surprising, his beard had disappeared. He smiled at his astonished brothers. "I thought I should make the effort."

"Is this what you've been doing for the last hour?" John asked. "Shaving?"

"No, getting rid of the glue." Virgil stroked his bald chin. "Last week, before I saw Father, I visited Garret and he cut my hair. I've been wearing a wig and a false beard all week so I could keep it a surprise for today."

"But why?" Alan asked.

Virgil shrugged. "Today marks a new beginning."

"What are you going to do when this is all over?" John ruffled the newly shorn locks. "Grow your hair again?"

"Nope." Virgil ran his fingers through his hair to smooth it back into place. "I think that no matter how successful we are; Gustav is going to die Doomsday."

"That's good news," Gordon chuckled. "Paintings by deceased artists are always worth more than those by live ones, so if we ever run low on funds again, you can paint another Gustav original, and we'll make a fortune selling it."

"I don't think we can count on the value of Gustav's paintings increasing much," Virgil told him. "He wasn't that well known alive." He looked around his brothers. "I didn't do it only for me. I did it for International Rescue too. It was known to be manned by clean-shaven young men and we don't want to disappoint anyone."

"Clean shaven _young _men?" John stared at his elder brother's hair. "What do we do about the snow then?"

Like Virgil, Scott had taken advantage of his brief time in the States the previous week to get his hair trimmed short. His hand automatically went to his greying temples. "A lot of women think it looks distinguished," he protested.

"Oh, yeah, Grandpa?" Alan snickered. "Is that why it's only the youngest Tracys that have got hitched?"

"We need to camouflage it." Gordon raised his thumb as if he were an artist contemplating his subject. "Got any spare paint, Virgil?"

Virgil grinned. "I'm sure I can find some."

"We could always use Tin-Tin's hair dye."

His brothers stared at Alan in astonishment. "Tin-Tin dyes her hair?" John clarified. "You're kidding, right?!"

"She says my racing was turning her grey," Alan admitted. "And she's gonna kill me when she finds out I told you, so whatever you do," he pleaded, "don't let on that you know!"

"Our looks aren't important," Scott stated, trying to steer the conversation back on track. "What matters is that today's an important day for the world and, as Virgil said, today's the beginning of a new era for International Rescue." He stepped up between his two blonde brothers.

On an unspoken command the five of them crowded into a huddle; their arms across each other's shoulders as they formed an unbreakable circle. Unbreakable now; but they were painfully aware that not only was this the last time that they would be together until the new year, there was always the horrific possibility that they could never be together again.

Scott continued. "You don't need a long rousing speech from me and you're not going to get one. We all know the challenges ahead of us, and I think we're as ready to face them as we'll ever be. Now…" He hesitated. "We've had plenty of time to reflect on what we've each got to do, and I know none of us are foolhardy enough to believe that it's going to be a walk in the park. We've done the seemingly impossible before and the world is expecting us to do it again; but we've got to face the fact that this rescue is bigger and more complex than anything we've done in the past and that there are numerous things that could go wrong. We've been working from theories and hypotheses from day one and we know that there are no guarantees that our attempts to stop Doomsday will succeed. Therefore, if anyone has had second thoughts and wants to pull out now, then let him. I'll see to it that there'll be no recriminations from me or anyone else in this family."

He waited; looking from brother to brother; staring them in the eye to see if there was any hesitation or hint of doubt. "John?"

"Don't worry about me. I've got the easy job."

"Virgil?"

"You can count on me."

"Gordon?"

"I haven't slaved over Thunderbird Four all this time just to let someone else take control."

"Alan?"

"Tin-Tin's pregnant."

Alan's announcement was as effective as a stun grenade exploding in the middle of their circle.

"What?" Gordon squeaked. He cleared his throat. "Did you say what I thought you said?"

Alan nodded. "Tin-Tin's having a baby."

Scott let out a noisy breath, his mind going over the possible repercussions and necessary changes to their plans. "Then you're standing down…"

"No!" Alan almost shouted the word. "Don't you see? I've got even more reason to fight Arnie now. My kid will barely have the chance to live, let alone experience life, if I don't do something."

Shocked, John was staring at his youngest brother. "How long have you known?"

"Coupla months."

"Oh…" The collective light bulb went on.

"_That's_ why you refused to let Tin-Tin go with you," Virgil exclaimed.

"Yeah. It's not that I don't want her company. It's that I couldn't let her. Not in her condition. I think she's been working too hard, but she says that she's okay. She didn't want you guys to know because you'd make her take it easy."

Gordon's eyes were wide as saucers. "And you've kept this a secret from everyone?"

"Not everyone. Dad and Kyrano know."

There was a knock on the door. "Can I come in?" a soft voice asked.

"Uh… Tin-Tin…" Scott hesitated. "Yeah. Come in."

She opened the door and found four pairs of shocked eyes staring at her. As one, those eyes looked down to her midriff and then sped back up again. That, along with the one reddened face that looked away, told her that her secret was out. "They know, don't they, Alan?"

"Uh, yeah." He still looked embarrassed. "I know you didn't want them to know until after their missions, but I couldn't leave without them knowing."

"We probably would have guessed by the time Alan got home again," Gordon noted, and turned scarlet.

John was still trying to get his head around the idea. "I, ah, guess that congratulations are in order."

"Not until things have settled down," Tin-Tin declared. "Then we can celebrate." She did a double take of her own. "Virgil?" She nodded her approval. "You look much better like that. More like the Virgil Tracy we know and love."

"Er, thanks," he replied, not knowing what else to say and feeling that he should at least return the compliment. "And you look, ah… glowing?" He looked to his brothers for confirmation.

Tin-Tin giggled. "Thank you."

Finding that they were in a situation that was outside their realm of experience, Scott's brothers turned to him for direction.

Their leader gave a confused shrug. "I suppose we'd better get down to the lounge..."

Tin-Tin stopped him. "Before you go, we have a surprise for you all."

"Not another," John muttered. "We've already had a biggie."

Scott, itching to start the rescue that they'd been working on for months while at the same time dreading it, didn't feel in the mood for mysteries. "What is it?" he demanded.

"You can wait one minute while we bring it in." Tin-Tin opened the door and looked out into the hall. "They're ready," she called.

The five brothers waited, not knowing what to expect. In the hallway they could see Kyrano and Brains beaming as they looked towards something out of sight. Then the Tracys were treated to the unexpected pleasure of seeing Lady Penelope and Parker in the hall.

Scott stepped forward to greet their friends. "Penny…"

He pulled up short.

The portrait behind his father's desk had come to life!

His smile still a little lopsided, but as wide as the doorway, Jeff Tracy pushed his walking frame into Scott's room. His sons rushed forward, eager to reassure themselves that they weren't seeing an apparition.

"Father!"

"Dad!"

"What are you doing here?"

"How did you get here?"

"You're looking fantastic!"

"I was wrong," John admitted. "This is one surprise I'm more than happy to get… Not that the other was a bad one, Tin-Tin, just a, er, shock…"

Tin-Tin smiled and left the room, closing the door behind her so the Tracys had some privacy.

"Boys…" Jeff disengaged himself from his walker and, taking up the position that had been Scott's moments before, put his arms about John and Alan's shoulders. With no word or thought of complaint, Scott took his place between Virgil and John and the Tracy huddle reformed.

"When did you get here, Dad?" Alan demanded.

"Just after you visited me. I needed to see you all one more time before you start your biggest rescue." Jeff squeezed his sons' shoulders. "Making it a surprise was Tin-Tin's idea. She manned the proximity beacons to make sure we didn't set them off, and let us know when it was safe to sneak in."

Virgil grinned. "I knew she was good at organising us all."

"Kyrano had made us enough meals to keep us going until we flew out here, enabling Lady Penelope, Parker, and I to be in quarantine too. Once we got here, Kyrano's been looking after us in the Round House."

Gordon smacked himself on the forehead. "So that's where he's been disappearing to!"

Jeff looked across the group to his eldest. "I'm not here to usurp your position, Scott. You're still commander."

"No way!" Scott exclaimed. "If you're here, you can earn your keep!" He grinned. "It'll free me up to concentrate on making sure that Thunderbird One and I are ready for our mission."

"No, you can't expect me to suddenly turn up and take over now. You'll have to maintain command at least until after Thunderbird Three leaves."

"Oh," Scott lost his smile, suddenly remembering why they were all in uniform. He looked at his watch. "Nearly time for launch…" He nodded to his father. "Do you want to say anything more before we head out there?"

"Yes. I want to say to you boys…" Jeff stopped and looked around the five of them. "No. You're not boys now, are you? You've shown that in the way that you've accepted this challenge… And 'Men' sounds too impersonal…" He smiled. "Sons! I know it hasn't been easy, and that you've all given up a lot and are risking even more to attempt the seemingly impossible, but I'm proud of you and all you've achieved… Because of that I had something made that I hope will be of use, and will also signify what each of you mean to International Rescue and to the family."

Mystified his sons watched as Jeff released his hold of John, lifted the seat of his walker, reached into the basket beneath, and drew out a box.

Gordon watched as his father performed these tasks with relative dexterity and assuredness. "Why do I think that you understated the extent of this 'procedure' on your 'hand'?"

Jeff looked at him, and to his sons' surprise, reddened. "I didn't want you to worry."

"But what exactly _did_ you do?" Alan asked.

"I haven't got time to explain it now, just be as grateful as I am that it was a success." Jeff deflected any further questions by closing the basket's lid and placing the box on top. He then tried to open it, but his fingers fumbled the catch. He sighed. "Although, I've still got some work to do before I can say that I'm one hundred percent… Will you open it for me, Scott?"

Scott flipped open the catch, glanced at his father for approval, and then swung the lid open.

Inside were six small parcels and one by one Jeff handed them to each of his sons keeping one for himself. "You can open them."

"Looks like we're getting Christmas early instead of late, Alan," John quipped as he removed the paper that protected his gift.

Inside each parcel was a sky-blue button shaped object. On one side was the International Rescue motto: "_Never give up at any cost"_. On the other was enamelled a picture of an eagle flying in front of storm clouds.

Jeff grinned at Virgil who was looking a little stunned. "I hope the picture wasn't copyrighted. I made Sara take a photo of it before _she_ made me clean it off my arm."

"Er, um, no," Virgil stammered. "I like it better like this."

"Now, if you slip your nail into the gap and open it…" Jeff attempted to show them how and failed.

Scott had followed orders. Both sides of his disc sprang apart and a chain fell free. "It's a locket!?"

"Yes. I thought you each might like to put something special in for the duration of your missions."

"Like a wedding ring."

Jeff squeezed his youngest son's shoulder. "Yes, Alan. I thought you might want to store your ring somewhere safe when you're working so it won't be damaged. And, and I know this sounds mushy and I don't expect your brothers to understand, so that you can keep it close to your heart."

Alan placed the charm around his neck. "Thanks, Dad."

"That's all right for you," Gordon grumbled. "But what are we going to put in ours? I'm certainly not putting my wedding ring in mine."

"I'm sure you'll all think of something." Then Jeff lost his smile. "Alan and John; none of us want to see you go for as long as you have to, and you needn't worry that you'll be forgotten while you are away. Hang on to that thought. Remember that we'll only be separated for four months, and that's only a blip in the history of this planet that you're helping to save."

"No, Dad, we won't," Alan promised. And then, surprising everyone including himself, he pulled his father into an embrace. "And you take care of yourself too." A little embarrassed he stepped back, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Someone's got to keep these guys in line."

Jeff chuckled. "I'll do my best." He turned to his eldest. "I've said my piece, Scott. You'd better take over."

"Right. Thunderbird Three launch in T minus thirty minutes…"

"Scott…"

Scott stared at his father. "What?"

"You've forgotten something."

"I have?" Bewildered, Scott scrolled through the checklist on his tablet PC. "I don't think so…"

"What is our organisation?"

"Our organisation?" Scott looked confused. "You mean International Rescue?"

"Yes. And what does International Rescue say for affirmation?"

Scott stared at Jeff. Then he smiled. "F-A-B."

"Exactly. Take over, Scott!"

"F-A-B." Scott held his hand out into the middle of their huddle. Grinning, Alan then John followed by Gordon and finally Virgil placed their hands on top of his. "You too, Father."

Jeff obeyed, buoyed by the easy way that his sons were pulling them back into the world of International Rescue. "F-A-B," he chuckled.

"Are we ready to save the world, Fellas?"

They pumped their hands upwards. "F! A! B!"

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

Time passes quickly when you want to hang on to every minute, and Alan and Tin-Tin spent as much of that final thirty minutes as they could hanging onto each other.

John made the most of what remained of his time on Earth with the rest of his family. However he made a point of seeing Scott alone. "Are you going to be okay?"

Scott nodded. "I'll be fine. I'm enjoying flying Thunderbird One again."

"Don't forget that if you ever need to talk, you know where to find me. I'm not planning on going anywhere."

Scott chuckled. "Thanks. And if you ever need company, don't forget to give me a call. Apart from a quick trip to the ice, I'm not planning on going anywhere either."

John smiled and held out his hand. "Good luck, Scott. Keep safe."

Scott grabbed the outstretched limb. "That's not going to good enough, Brother." He pulled John into a bear hug. "You take care of yourself, you hear?"

"I hear… Look after them; especially Dad. I expect to have you all waiting for us when Alan and I return home."

"I'll do my best."

"I know you will."

Both men stepped back, reluctant to say goodbye.

John cleared his throat. "I think I'll go see if I can rescue Tin-Tin from Alan's clutches long enough to steal a quick hug from her. She won't want to know me when he gets home. Mind you, by then we might not be able to get our arms around her."

Scott chuckled with a rueful shake of his head. "That was a bombshell, wasn't it?"

"I'll say! Alan must have been bursting to tell someone for weeks!" Then John sighed. "I guess we'd better head back to the lounge."

Scott nodded, suddenly sombre. "Guess so."

In the lounge things were subdued. Even the sounds of the ocean and the screeching of the gulls seemed to have been muted in a solemn gesture of solidarity.

Alan and John took their places on the couch that would take them to Thunderbird Three, as their family and friends stood close by so they could all share that final farewell.

The sun went behind a cloud.

"Alan… John… I w-would like you to, er, wear these on your weaker wrists." Brains held out what looked like two bracelets.

John took his bracelet and examined what appeared to be a metal disc on a sky-blue silicone strap. "Is it traditional to give jewellery when people are going away for a long time?"

Brains looked confused. "N-No. N-Not that I'm aware of."

"I was beginning to wonder." John slipped the bracelet onto his arm.

Alan did the same with his own bracelet. "Knowing you, Brains, these things have a purpose. What is it?"

"If you p-place the disc against the inside of your wrist, where the veins are closest to the surface… Er, allow me." Brains twisted Alan's bracelet around until he was satisfied with its placement and then repeated the action with John. "The d-disc is a medical scanner. It will r-record your pulse, temperature, and other d-data, and transmit that information back to Earth in real time."

"What's the point of that?" Alan asked. "It's not like you'll be able to do anything if one of us gets sick, and for half the time you won't even be able to receive a useful signal from me."

"I am hopeful that the d-devices will pick up the early symptoms before you are even aware that you are ill. The early warning may be enough t-to alert us to the possibility of an illness and we will be able to mitigate any, ah, potential p-problems. Or at least reduce the s-severity of the symptoms."

"So you're saying that I'm finally going somewhere where I won't have Big Brother watching over me 24/7," Alan cocked an eyebrow in Scott's direction, "and I've got to put up with Good Friend instead?"

Embarrassed, Brains shuffled his feet. "I-If you think it is an intrusion, A-Alan, you can…"

"No," Alan said hurriedly, waiting to allay any discomfort he'd caused the engineer. "I'm grateful that you'll be looking after me even when I'm far away."

"Yeah," John agreed. "Thanks, Brains." He looked at the bracelet again and then pressed it back into place. "Let's hope these things are redundant."

Brains fixed him with a solemn stare through his thick glasses. "I h-hope that too."

"Okay… Anyone else need to say anything?" Scott turned to his two space-bound brothers. "Is there anything that you guys need to do before you go?"

"No," John confirmed. "I'm as ready as I can be."

"Me too," Alan added. "The sooner we get this mission underway, the sooner we'll be home again." He took Tin-Tin's hand one last time. "Look after yourself, Honey."

"You too." Her eyes were bright with unshed tears, but she was remaining strong. She bent forward and gave him a kiss. "I love you, Alan." She stepped back into her father's comforting arms.

Scott wished with all his heart that he didn't have to separate the couple. "Good luck, Fellas," he said, and as the wishes of good health and good luck echoed from the rest of the group, he sent the couch sinking down through the floor.

Everyone assembled out on the balcony to witness Thunderbird Three launch herself on her longest and most difficult mission. As they waited they listened to Scott's conversation with the spaceship's pilot.

"Base to Thunderbird Three."

"Thunderbird Three, receiving. All systems are go."

"You are cleared for launch, Alan."

"F-A-B."

There was a flash of light from the vicinity of the round house. Seconds later a deep rumble assailed the ears of those watching as an orange arrow shot up on fletchings of fire through the structure.

Scott joined the group on the balcony and together they watched the departing spaceship until Thunderbird Three was no longer visible in the sky.

Even then they stayed together in the sun; feeling restless and unsettled. They were all aware of an odd sensation of confusion. Real concerns for the safety and wellbeing of those who had just left were intermingling with the exhilaration of embarking on International Rescue's first rescue in over seven years.

It was Jeff Tracy who broke the silence with the phrase that summed up the monumental event that they'd just witnessed.

"Thunderbirds are go!"

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

John and Alan took advantage of the run up to Thunderbird Five for one final check of all of Thunderbird Three's systems. Should they discover any faults on this short trip, she was still close enough to Earth to turn back for repairs. Should anything go wrong after Alan had left Earth's gravitational pull, they knew full well that he would be on his own.

The trip and eventual docking with the space station was uneventful. They then proceeded to transfer extra supplies, which had been brought up on earlier flights, from Thunderbird Five's control room to the spaceship.

Finally, as they had done with Thunderbird Three, both brothers gave Thunderbird Five a thorough going over. John might not have been about to embark on the same long, dangerous mission as his brother, but just like Alan he was going to be entombed in a space capsule, far from any help or support, for a very long time.

At last he was satisfied. "I think that's it." He turned to his brother.

Alan was staring out the window; gazing onto the planet that he called home.

John joined him and looked down towards the Pacific Ocean. "She'll be all right, Alan," he soothed. "You thought you had it tough growing up with one mother hen clucking over you all the time. Tin-Tin's going to have to deal with three…! Not to mention a father and father-in-law who'll wrap her in cotton wool."

Alan managed a chuckle.

"And I know that there's not a lot that I'll be able to do from up here, but I'll keep an eye on her too."

Alan looked at his elder brother. "Thanks."

"You'll be home before you know it."

"I keep telling myself that," Alan admitted, looking back towards the blue-green globe. He sighed. "It's beautiful… I don't ever want to forget it."

"You won't."

"And I want it to stay like this forever."

John placed his hand on Alan's shoulder. "And the five of us will do our best to make sure it does."

"If…" Alan hesitated. "If I don't make it back… Tell Tin-Tin that what I want most of all: is for her to be happy. If she falls in love with someone else and wants to get married again, even if it's Gordon, tell her she has my blessing."

"I think he's discovered that he's not the marrying type." John grinned, trying to make light of the comment. "I can't see him getting involved with anyone again for a long time. Not even Tin-Tin."

Alan showed no emotion at his brother's forced good humour. "Will you promise me something, John?"

"Of course I will. What?"

"If I don't survive…"

"Alan…"

"Make sure my kid knows all about me. I want him, or her, to know that I did this for them."

"You have my word." John squeezed Alan's shoulder. "Why do I think that you're asking me, rather than anyone else, because you think that as I've got the easy job I've got the best chance of survival?"

"No." Alan placed his hand on top of John's. "I know better than anyone that there's nothing easy about being in Thunderbird Five. Not when you're listening to them get into trouble and knowing there's nothing you can do to help."

"You've got that right, Kiddo." John pulled himself up short. "Guess I'm going to have to stop calling you that, aren't I? Now that you're going to have a kid of your own."

Alan managed a wan smile. "Want to know the truth? I think the idea of being a father is more frightening than shooting an asteroid into Jupiter. We're not talking about only four months. We're talking about a lifetime!"

"At least you won't be treading unchartered ground. You've got two great role models to follow."

"Yes," Alan nodded. "I have." He straightened and held out his hand. "Good luck, John."

John grasped his brother's hand. "Sometimes Scott's right," he said as he pulled Alan into a brotherly hug. "Take care of yourself... Don't do anything stupid, Alan. Do you hear me?"

"You mean aside from travelling halfway across the solar system to shunt an asteroid into a gaseous giant planet?"

"Yeah. Aside from that."

Alan grinned. "I hear you. The cab will be back to pick you up in four months time."

"Just don't leave the meter running."

Alan laughed. Then he pulled himself up tall. "See you soon." He strode out of Thunderbird Five and through the airlock. "Thunderbird Three ready to disengage."

He heard John's voice. "Thunderbird Three, airlock sealed. You are cleared to disengage."

"Clear of Thunderbird Five. Setting course for Jupiter."

"Understood."

Back on Earth as the conversation was fed through the intercom units in their various workstations, their family heard the exchange. They also heard John's final: "Good luck, Alan. Keep in touch."

"F-A-B."

-F-A-B-

Now that he was alone, Alan did his own checks of his spaceship. He prowled through the various compartments and cabins to reassure himself that everything was shipshape and that nothing had been neglected. Entering the infirmary he pulled open the fridge's door and checked inside. The top shelf was lined with bags of red.

Blood.

His blood. Some collected by Brains over the past two and a half months and some synthetic. He shut the door, pulled open a drawer, and looked down on the scalpels, saws, and sutures that resided there.

A shiver ran up his spine. If anyone was going to require any of this it was going to be him. And he would be administering it to himself. There would be no one to help. He was alone...

He slammed the drawer shut and stalked out of the room. He had to stop thinking like that. If he carried on he'd be a nervous wreck before he'd passed the Moon's orbit.

He decided to check the sleeping quarters. His single bed looked lonely and he resisted the impulse to curl up on it in the foetal position for the next four months. More out of the need for something to do than because it bothered him, he smoothed down a crease in the bedspread that covered his pillow.

Something crackled.

Mystified he pulled back the bedspread to reveal what appeared to be a letter folded into two.

Even more puzzled he picked up the page and opened it. Two photographs fell out. The first was a photograph of Tin-Tin and him on their wedding day. The second...?

At first Alan stared at the grainy greyscale picture, trying to work out just what it was showing him. Judging by the angles of the actual photo and the data around the edges it appeared to be a cross-section scan of something, but he didn't know what. Then he noticed Tin-Tin's name across the top and realised what she was showing him.

It was an ultrasound of a baby.

His baby.

That was the moment when he nearly turned Thunderbird Three for home.

Instead he took a deep breath, tucked the letter into his pocket to read later, and strode out of the room to continue his inspection.

_To be continued..._


	27. Chapter 27 - Couvade Cascade

**Chapter 27: Couvade Cascade**

_Tuesday 26 September 2079_

Alan awoke after a restless night, trying to work out what was wrong.

He'd half expected to feel the reassuring warmth of Tin-Tin at his back and the sounds of the birds awakening to another tropical island morning; but instead he found himself in a tiny grey room with two photos and a letter taped to the wall by the head of his bed.

His stomach turned at the sight.

Then it turned again.

Thirty seconds later found him bent over the toilet, glad of Thunderbird Three's artificial gravity.

When he'd finished losing his largely digested meal of the previous evening he sat back on the floor.

What was wrong with him?

He rubbed his face in his hands. His stomach was still letting him know that it wasn't happy, but at least it seemed to be past the stage of letting him know exactly how unhappy it was.

He rubbed his arm. What _was_ wrong with him? Was it simply nerves? The realisation that he was starting his first full day of what promised to be a long, tedious journey? Or, more ominously, had he contracted something that promised to weaken him and put that whole mission in jeopardy?

Should he tell someone what had happened?

He decided against that. His stomach was quietening down now. Besides, he reflected as he looked at Brains' sensor on his wrist, 'someone' probably already knew. He'd wait and see if anything was said to him.

He got to his feet, decided that he wasn't hungry and that he'd just have a hot water for breakfast, and made his first contact of the day with John.

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

_Tuesday 26 September 2079_

Brains tried to settle into his work, but found it difficult to concentrate. He knew he should be relieved that International Rescue's latest, and perhaps greatest, mission had finally begun after all the months of work, stress, and uncertainty. But still the knowledge that, should anything go wrong, two of his friends were going to be beyond help, kept on nagging at him.

The snuffling sounds that were coming from his associate told him that he wasn't the only one feeling this way.

Brains would have been the first to admit that he wasn't the most socially adept when it came to dealing with women; but it would have taken a more cold-hearted, frozen-minded man than he to not realise that Tin-Tin was upset by her husband's departure.

He came to a decision. Laying down his tools he turned to face the back of her white lab coat and jet black hair. "Tin-Tin…"

He saw her shoulders freeze. Then she wiped her eyes before turning to face him. "Y-Y…" She took a breath, lifted her chin, and spoke again. "Yes, Brains?"

"We're going to have a, er, recess, Tin-Tin."

She frowned, trying to make sense of what he was saying. "Recess?"

"We n-need a break. We _d-deserve_ a break."

"But… But can we afford a break?"

"I think we can. We've f-finished, er…" Brains decided that mentioning either of the Thunderbirds or the pilots who had departed would be a bad idea. "…th-th-the first stage of the m-mission, and we have nearly f-finished the acoustic concussion generators and Thunderbird One's lead missiles. I b-believe that we can have the day off."

"Are you sure?"

"Q-Quite sure. B-Besides…" Brains took off his spectacles and polished them. "Y-You shouldn't be working so hard in your, ah, condition."

Tin-Tin humphed. "I am pregnant, Brains. I am not suffering from a terminal illness."

Brains continued polishing the glass so that he didn't have to look at her. "I am aware of that."

"It is a natural part of life's cycle."

"Erm… Yes…" Brains turned pink.

"There are women who work in the fields right up until the moment they give birth and they or their babies don't suffer any ill effects."

Brains' pink hue had turned scarlet at the phrase _give birth_. "Nonetheless I think we, er, both should take some time off. Why…" He held the specs up to the light and inspected them. "Why don't you g-go and help your father in the garden? No matter wh-what your condition, the fresh air will do you good."

Tin-Tin had to admit that he was right. "And what will you do, Brains?" she asked. "You will have a break too, won't you?"

"I p-promise that I will walk out of this room and I won't return until, ah…" The workaholic in Brains got the better of him. "…After lunch."

Tin-Tin smiled. "Then I will meet you here after lunch."

Brains nodded, accepting the compromise.

They walked out of the door together and Tin-Tin turned left to find her father. Turning right, Brains headed for his room. He didn't have any plans to go outside for fresh air, but he was going to take his own medicine and have a break from anything and everything to do with Doomsday.

He settled down at his computer. Now that he had a morning of freedom, what should he do? He thought about Tin-Tin and decided that it would be prudent to reacquaint himself with various aspects of pregnancy.

After five minutes of looking at diagrams of assorted parts of the female anatomy, he switched the monitor off with a shudder. He could never face anything like that without an almost overwhelming desire to hide away down in the deepest, darkest bunker of International Rescue's complex. The idea of connecting Tin-Tin with what he'd just viewed made the prospect of tunnelling deeper still in the Mole seem most appealing.

He switched the monitor back on and decided to research something less embarrassing.

One of his goals, before Doomsday came along and upended everything, was to find a cure for the damage caused by Jeff Tracy's stroke. Therefore seven years ago he'd set up the search engines in his computer to automatically alert him to any new treatment that offered the slimmest possibility of a cure. Now he had to admit that Jeff's doctors had seemed to have found the miracle he'd been searching for without needing his assistance.

It was churlish of him he knew, but Brains felt a little put out that Jeff's almost miraculous improvement had come about without his intervention. He'd long cherished a dream of transforming the life of the man who'd done so much for the betterment of his own.

He sighed. His friend and mentor had been helped by people who must have been experts in their field, and Brains had to admit that neurology was not one of his strong points... A bit like obstetrics; although the former didn't cause him to break out into a cold sweat.

He cleared the keywords out of the search engine and started deleting all the redundant documents and theses.

His finger hovered over the delete button as something caught his eye. It was a paper produced by a Dr Alex Cooper, neurological surgeon.

Brains read the document. "Patient X..." "...Age 70..." "...seven years earlier..." "...Genetic predisposition..." "...acute ischemic cerebrovascular syndrome across both hemispheres of the brain..." "...Reduced mobility in facial features and all limbs, especially marked on the left side..." "...Patient X displayed a singular determination to advance his rehabilitation..."

Brains downloaded the entire text into his tablet PC and, clutching it tightly, hurried out of his room.

He strode straight up to the desk in the lounge and jammed the tablet under the nose of the person sitting there. "That's you!"

Astounded by the abruptness of the greeting Jeff looked up at Brains before taking the computer. He read the first few paragraphs. "Yes. It is."

"You didn't tell me!"

"I didn't tell anyone," Jeff corrected. "I didn't want anyone to worry."

"You could have asked me for advice!"

Jeff could see that the younger man was upset. "Let's go to my room and discuss this." He stood and grasped the handles of his walker. "We'll have more privacy there."

Brains opened his mouth as if to speak, thought the better of it, and led the way. Jeff followed as quickly as he was able and found his friend waiting impatiently at the door to his room.

Once that door was closed behind the pair of them, Jeff indicated that Brains should sit down and chose a comfortable chair for himself. "I'm sorry I didn't talk to you about this, Brains. Believe me I wanted to, but your work here is important and I didn't want to interrupt it."

"I-I-I w-w-w…" Brains paused to try to regain control of his wayward tongue. "I wanted to help you, Sir. I've been searching f-for a cure since you had the st-st-stroke!"

"I know you wanted to help. And I wanted your help. I agonised over whether or not to go ahead, and I wanted nothing more than your interpretation of what was going to happen and to have your reassurance that I was doing the right thing. Lady Penelope read Dr Cooper's notes and backed me in my decision; but, intelligent as she is, she could not offer me the reassurance that I knew I'd get from you."

Brains was horrified. "You asked Lady P-Penelope for advice?!"

"No. I told her I was having the procedure, so that someone would know that I entered into it of my own free will if things went wrong, and then she asked if she could read what it entailed for her own peace of mind. I suppose she felt that she was acting on behalf of everyone here on the island."

"I could have acted on everyone's b-behalf!"

Jeff remained calm in the face of Brains' continuing indignation. "You had enough to worry about."

"B-B-But you could have had another stroke! You could have lost your sight or your hearing! You could have been permanently paralysed! You c-could have died!"

"Brains, listen to me." Jeff leant forward. "I didn't tell you. But remember I didn't tell the boys either. You are as close to being my son as it's possible to be without blood ties and if I had told them I would have made a point of telling you too, because you are a part of my family. If I thought I could have told you all without putting the whole mission into jeopardy, I would have done so. But I decided that the fate of the world was more important than my own fate. And so I didn't tell any of you. I wouldn't have even told Kyrano if the boys hadn't suggested that he come and stay with me."

The revelation of the affection Jeff Tracy held for him mollified the younger man. "You've given me so much," Brains almost whispered. "I-I wanted the chance to be able to repay you."

Jeff smiled. "You have repaid me a thousand times over, Son. We wouldn't be getting ready to save the planet if it hadn't been for you and your talents. I'd be sitting in a house in the States, waiting for the world to end, and thinking about what might have been. It was you who brought my dreams to life."

Brains nodded and Jeff let him think for a moment. "W-Will you tell me about the operation?"

Jeff relaxed back into his chair. "What do you want to know?"

"I've read the r-report." Brains indicated the tablet PC. "But what was it, er, actually like?"

"Horrible!" Jeff exclaimed. "Not the operation itself, I was anesthetised of course, but afterwards. It wasn't even the loss of my senses that was distressing, although it was in its own way. It was the not knowing. The first day was a complete blank. I couldn't see anything, I couldn't hear anything. I couldn't smell. I couldn't even feel whenever the medical staff did something to me. It was like I was floating in this black void. And I didn't know if things were going to get better."

Brains listened.

"The next day they switched on my hearing. At first it was like I'd broken through a barrier, but when I realised that I couldn't respond or react to what I was hearing, it was like the depression came flooding back."

"You were depressed?"

"Not a deep physiological depression. Just having to deal with the fact that things were better before I had the operation, and wondering if I'd made a huge mistake." Jeff gave a rueful grin. "That was when I really wanted your reassurance.

"The next day they switched on my ability to speak. What a relief that was. At last I was able to interact! I couldn't do much else, which was incredibly frustrating, but at least Kyrano was able to keep me entertained."

"The following day I was able to smell. Before the operation I would have said that was the sense I could most live without, but the... the..." Jeff paused to think of the appropriate word. "The _elation_ I felt at being able to smell the world... You've got no idea how amazing it was. Especially since I was still blind. Kyrano developed this game where he brought in various scents and I had to guess what they belonged to. He must have been incredibly bored, but I thought it was wonderful."

"He has been a good friend to you, Mr Tracy."

"As have you, my friend."

Brains blushed. "And the next day..." hiding his face he consulted the tablet, "you regained your sight?"

"Yes, they did whatever they had to do with the electrodes, and they switched that part of my brain back on. I suppose there's some logic to the order of reinstatement?"

Brains nodded. "Hearing first to allow the p-patient to regain contact with the world, and to allow them to get some, er, u-understanding as to what is happening to them. Speech second; so they can communicate. Smell next because it is an underutilised sense in humans and it gives the brain some respite, plus it triggers memory. Then sight, because, wh-while it is a complex process, it only utilised the brain. Touch and m-mobility are last because that involves the entire nervous system."

Jeff had been aware of this and had asked the question to give Brains the illusion that he'd been of some assistance. "I'd been undergoing some intensive physio and exercises before the operation and during recovery. So it meant that my muscle tone and bone density hadn't regressed too much during the time I was laid up after the op. I wasn't able to jump out of bed and start walking right away, but I had made good progress by the time the boys visited me."

"I kn-know. They were impressed." Brains gave Jeff a sideways look. "And completely ignorant as to wh-why you'd made such a remarkable recovery."

"I'll admit it, I lied to them." Jeff lifted his hands in a gesture of submission. "I'm not proud of it, but once again I did it for the greater good." He allowed Brains to mull over his statement.

"A-Any side effects?"

"Not side effects," Jeff admitted, "but things tend to go a bit haywire if I'm tired or under stress." He chuckled. "And I'm not improving as fast as I would like, but that's me being impatient."

Brains laughed with Jeff. "The report says that you _displayed a singular determination to advance _your_ rehabilitation_."

"I stand corrected."

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

_Wednesday 27 September 2079_

Alan awoke after a restless night, trying to work out what was wrong.

He grabbed at the bowl that he'd placed on the table the night before.

For much of the previous day he'd felt nauseous, but not to the extent that it had rendered him incapable of doing the various chores he'd set himself. After a while he'd felt well enough to dispense of the container that he'd kept close by and, playing it safe, had placed it next to his bed.

He was glad that he had.

He groaned as his stomach complained again. He was feeling terrible and considered rolling over and going back to sleep, but his rebelling stomach wouldn't let him.

He lay back on his bed and contemplated his options. No one had said anything about his health yesterday, so clearly they weren't worried. So why was he? Deciding that his nausea was fading and that he could deal with it with a strong dose of mind over matter, he got up for the day.

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

_Thursday 28 September 2079_

Alan awoke after a restless night, trying to work out what was wrong.

He grabbed at the bowl that he'd placed beside his bed the day before.

When his stomach had settled down somewhat he sat back to consider what was happening to him. One morning's illness wasn't an issue. Two was becoming worrisome. Three could well indicate a catastrophe.

He scratched his head. Under normal circumstances he would have been nothing more than slightly worried, but every second he was moving further and further from Earth. Sure, if the symptoms worsened, he only had a less than three day trip back home, but that would put him at least six days behind his planned rendezvous with asteroid 2070SB. Those six days might mean the difference between sending Arnie into Jupiter or into an uncontrolled orbit back into Earth's path.

He decided that he had no choice other than to play it safe.

He waited a little while longer until his stomach had settled down, slowly climbed out of bed, got washed and dressed, disposed of the contents of his container, and then sat down at Thunderbird Three's controls to radio home.

He was mildly surprised to find that his father greeted him with a warm smile instead of a worried frown. "Good morning, Alan. Did you have a good night's sleep?"

"Uh... Dad, could you put me through to Brains? I've got something I want to ask him."

Jeff looked over towards the door to the lounge. "I don't need to put you through. Here he is."

"Oh... Good." Alan would have preferred not to worry anyone else, but decided that his father would be just as concerned if he requested a private meeting. "Morning, Brains."

"Good morning, A-Alan. How are you t-today?"

Alan hesitated. Brains' query hadn't been with a frown of concern; nor had it been a more probing question, just a general greeting. This, surely, had to be a positive, so Alan took the bull by the horns. "Not great. I've just been sick."

Brains looked at him sharply. "Sick?"

"Yeah. I don't want to worry anyone but it happened yesterday too... And the day before."

"Were you aware of this, Brains?" Jeff enquired.

Brains had his tablet PC with him and he studied the readout. "N-No. There's been a slight increase in Alan's pulse rate at odd moments, but nothing of concern… You h-have, er, been feeling ill s-since when?"

"Tuesday morning... Well, it was at its worst yesterday morning, and just as bad this morning. It kinda got better as the day wore on."

"Could he have condracded some kind of illness?" Jeff demanded. "Wazn'd the quarandine..." He stopped and made a visible effort to get his words back under control. "...quaran-tine period long enough, Bwains?"

Alan felt even more sick. In the little time he'd had to talk to his father he'd been impressed at how his speech had improved. Worry over Jeff Tracy's youngest son had seemed to have caused some kind of regression. The idea made the hair on the back of Alan's neck stand on end, and he rubbed at the prickly feeling.

Brains seemed equally concerned. "Mr Tracy…"

Annoyed with himself, Jeff flapped his hand at him. "I'm all righd… right."

This wasn't reassuring enough for Alan. "Are you sure, Dad?"

"I'm sure. I'm more…" Jeff made a conscious effort to enunciate the next words, "worried about you. Brains?"

Doubly worried, Brains chewed his lip. "I thought it w-was long enough..."

"Did we infecd him?" Jeff looked mortified at the idea. "Iz thiz my fauld?"

Brains didn't answer. "I w-wonder if John is experiencing the same symptoms?"

"Baze to Sundavird Fife."

John's portrait remained blank.

"Mr Tracy…"

Supremely irritated by his own limitations, Jeff thumped the desk in frustration. "Come in Sundervrid Vive!"

"Mr Tracy," Brains repeated, and placed a hand on Jeff's arm. "I-I know you are w-worried about Alan, but s-stressing isn't helping."

Jeff took a deep breath to get his anxieties under control. "You are righd… ah… right, Brains. Guess I haven't god… got full control of my tongue back yet." He managed a weak smile before turning back to the microphone. "Base to S… Thun-der-bird Five."

There was a long wait before John, panting, his face bright red, and with a sheen of sweat reflecting off his brow and soaking his shirt, answered the call. "Morning," he gasped.

Brains scowled at his tablet. "H-How are you f-feeling this m-morning, John?"

"Fine." John wiped his face on a towel.

"N-No n-nausea?"

"Nausea? No."

"Aches? Pains?"

"No. I feel great. In fact you caught me in the middle of a run on the treadmill."

"Oh." Everybody relaxed.

"Why?" John draped the towel about his shoulders. "What's going on?"

"Alan's displaying s-symptoms of s-some illness."

"What!?" Worried, John stared at his youngest brother's video image. "What are they? Are you going to have to turn around?"

"No. I'm... I..." Alan found a sudden urge to use his container again. He disappeared off screen for a moment, reappearing to see three concerned faces watching him. "I'm okay," he lied.

At that moment Gordon, Virgil and Scott, deep in discussion, wandered into the lounge.

It was Scott who read the mood of the room. "What's wrong?"

"Alan'z zig… I mean, sick," Jeff explained.

"Sick? How are you sick?" Scott demanded. Alan disappeared off screen again and they heard the distinctive unpleasant sounds. "Ah."

"How long has this been going on?" John queried when his youngest brother, looking green, resurfaced.

"Since the morning after I left," Alan admitted. "Only I'm not too bad in the afternoons." He scratched reflectively at his tummy. "I'm starting to feel okay now. That last episode must have got rid of whatever caused it."

"Aside from a raised pulse rate, which is probably due to stress, your r-readout isn't sh-showing any, er, abnormalities," Brains admitted. "B-But I would like you to take specimens for tests, and let me know h-how you're feeling later today."

"Okay," Alan nodded.

"What do you think is wrong with him, Brains?" Virgil asked. "Motion sickness?"

"Th-That is a possibility."

"I've never had motion sickness in my life!" Alan protested. Now that the audience had increased in size, he wanted to get the conversation over and done with as soon as possible. "I'm fine now. Let's leave it. Okay?"

"Not until we know what's wrong," Scott corrected. "Any ideas of a possible treatment, Brains?"

"N-Not until we, er, know what's causing the illness. In the meantime, Alan, be sensible and treat the symptoms. Drink plenty of fluids, eat a light meal…"

"I've got no other options there," Alan reminded him. "Light meals are all I've got…" He scratched an itch on his shoulder. "Besides, I'm not hungry," he admitted. "I think I'll just have water for breakfast."

"Not hungry?" Brains made a note in the tablet PC. "Did y-you have m-much to eat yesterday?"

"Same as the day before. I had an evening meal, but only because I wanted to keep my strength up." Alan rubbed his nose.

"Do you know what I think's wrong with him?" Gordon offered, trying to lighten the mood. "He's got morning sickness."

"Don't be ridiculous, Gordon." Alan glared at his brother.

"I'm not! You've been sick in the mornings. Ergo: you have morning sickness."

"In case you hadn't noticed, Gordon, I'm not pregnant and I'm never going to be!"

Brains looked as if someone had flipped the switch that had turned his brain on and entered something into his computer.

"Brainz?" Jeff, still worried, watched the scientist flick through various screens on the tablet PC. "You'f god an idea, hafn'd you?"

Their concerns switching from their youngest brother to their father, the five brothers exchanged looks. "Father…" Scott began, but stopped when Brains silenced him with a meaningful glare.

"I th-think I have the solution." Brains read through a screen of text. "Let's see..." he muttered. "Nausea and... Yes... That fits…" He looked up. "Alan. Do you have the following symptoms?" He re-read the page of notes. "Have you gained any weight over the last few weeks?"

"Couple of kilos, but I've been eating a lot of Kyrano's home baking. I wanted to make the most of it while I could."

"But you said you'd l-lost your appetite?"

"Only since I left Earth."

"How well are you sleeping?"

"The last three nights? Terrible. But my cabin isn't exactly the Ritz. I'm still getting used to the sounds and vibrations."

"Any headaches?"

"No."

"Toothache?"

"Toothache? No." Alan reached over his shoulder and tried to scratch a spot on his back.

Brains watched his struggle with interest. "Is your skin itchy?"

"Itchy?" Alan wiggled in his shirt to try to vanquish the irritation. "Now that you mention it..." He scratched his forearm.

"Any food cravings?"

"Food cravings?! Brains! You're as bad as Gordon! What's wrong with me!?"

Brains peered at the astronaut through his blue-rimmed spectacles. "I still want to see the results of those tests, Alan, but I believe that you may be suffering from couvade syndrome."

"Couvade syndrome?" Alan looked like he was about to be sick again. "What's that? Is that serious? Should I head for home?"

"No, no, there is no need for that," Brains soothed. "Couvade syndrome is when a male, whose female is pregnant, displays s-similar symptoms to a, er, pregnancy."

Alan's brothers burst out laughing.

Seeing his father's frown of disapproval, Scott did his best to get his laughter under control. "You're kidding, aren't you, Brains?"

"N-No."

"But I'm not pregnant!"

"No, but Tin-Tin is," Brains reminded him unnecessarily. "It is not uncommon for a male to display the symptoms of pregnancy, such as morning sickness, when their female partner is pregnant."

"You mean like sympathy pains?" Virgil asked. "But I thought that that only happened during the birth."

"I thought it was an urban myth," John added.

"No." Brains checked his computer. "Some estimates put the number of instances of it occurring at, ah, 80 percent."

Whereas Alan had looked green before, now he was looking pale. "If I've got this couvade syndrome, what else have I got to look forward to?"

"Th-That is what makes it so hard to diagnose," Brains admitted. "Some fathers experience a multitude of s-symptoms, while others experience only one or two. Morning s-sickness, poor sleep, and skin irritation may be all you will have to deal with."

"But so I don't go stressing over any other symptoms, what are they likely to be?"

"Well, obviously I am no expert," Brains admitted.

Gordon snickered. "Gee, I wonder why."

"But my literature says that there is a possibility of..." Brains adjusted his spectacles and started reading. "Weight gain..."

"Check," Gordon teased.

"Nausea and vomiting..."

"Check."

"Stomach cramps, constipation or diarrhoea, loss of appetite..."

Gordon ticked it off his fingers. "Check."

"Sleep disturbances..."

"Check!"

"Gordon!" Alan complained. "Will you stop doing that!?"

Brains carried on reading. "Food cravings, headaches, toothache, nosebleeds, and/or irritated skin."

"Check!"

Alan glared at his three grinning earthbound brothers. "Is that all, Brains?"

"Th-They are the most common symptoms." Brains continued. "But there are other, rarer, er, expressions of the syndrome. I-I-It has been known for f-fathers to experience a..." He made a strange noise; a kind of strangled snort.

Alan frowned. "What was that, Brains? I didn't catch it."

Brains had another attempt. And only succeeded at making the noise again.

"Brains?" Virgil looked at his friend with concern. "What's wrong?"

Brains handed the tablet over. "Read it."

"_False pregnancy_," Virgil read and a burst out laughing. "_In extreme cases the fathers' abdomen can swell until it is similar to that of a seven month pregnant woman_!"

It was too much for Alan's brothers. Laughing, they collapsed onto each other, while John, with no one to support him, had to make do with leaning on the control panel.

"You might have to get the sewing kit out, Alan," he gasped.

"Shut up," Alan growled. "Is that the worst I can expect?"

Brains had claimed back his tablet. "No." Now that he wasn't trying to hide his amusement, the engineer actually giggled.

Alan sighed. "Et tu, Brains? Let's hear it. What?"

"In ex-extreme cases the male may experience b-breast augmentation..."

It was as if the lounge and space station had been infused with laughing gas.

All except for Jeff Tracy who watched his youngest's pout of annoyance in sympathy. "It's not funny, Boys."

"Come on, Father," Scott soothed. "You must admit that it is a little bit."

"I didn't think so when _you_ nearly prevented me from joining the astronaut corps," his father informed him.

This stopped Scott's laughter. "_I_ did?"

John, having escaped his oldest brother's guilt trip, was still getting enjoyment from his youngest brother's predicament. "You're gonna need bigger shirts, Alan," he stated. "If we'd known you could have had my old ones. Since I don't need 'em any more," he gloated.

"This is going to take a bit of ingenuity," Gordon giggled. "What can you use to support 'em?"

"How about a couple of food ration packets and some duct tape?" Virgil suggested.

"Good ol' duct tape." Gordon nodded his approval. "I like it."

Alan groaned in mortified horror. "How long will I have to deal with this?" he asked, desperate to get the conversation back to something that didn't directly involve being laughed at.

Brains cleared his throat in an effort to get his giggles under control, but before he could continue Tin-Tin and her father entered the room.

Scott could have given an order and his brothers wouldn't have reacted with such alacrity. Gordon got his sister-in-law a chair; Virgil grabbed the nearest footstool and placed it in place; while Scott leapt to the door to assist Tin-Tin across the floor to her newly arranged throne.

She waved them all away with the air of someone for whom such attentions had got very old, very quickly.

Alan laughed. John had been right when he'd said that Tin-Tin would have three mother hens looking after her.

Tin-Tin heard the sound and turned; her face lighting up. "Alan!"

"Hiya, Honey."

"How are you?"

"Erm…" Alan didn't want to worry her. "Not bad… It's nothing to worry about, it's not like I've got to come home or anything, but Brains says I've got couvade syndrome."

Tin-Tin's hand went to her mouth and Kyrano frowned in concern. "What is that?"

"Erm… Nothing major…" Alan gave what he hoped looked like an unconcerned shrug. "I'll be okay to carry on."

"But what is couvade syndrome?"

"Alan's showing you how much he loves you…" Gordon tittered.

"Gordon…" Alan growled.

Gordon ignored him. "He's having a sympathetic pregnancy."

"A sympathetic pregnancy?" Tin-Tin gasped.

"Yep," grinning, John confirmed. "Morning sickness…"

"John…"

"Loss of appetite," Virgil offered.

"Virgil!"

"Skin irritation."

"Scott…" Alan groaned. "Give me a break, Guys," he begged. "How long am I going to have to put up with this, Brains?"

"It v-varies. Some fathers experience it th-throughout the pregnancy, others only after the first trimester, while some only experience symptoms towards the end. For some it lasts for weeks. In a few extreme cases it has continued after the, ah, birth. For some couples the mother may never experience the expected problems, while the father has to deal with them all."

"That's you, Alan," John confirmed.

"Actually it's not," Alan said smugly. "Tin-Tin's been experiencing morning sickness. Right, Honey?"

"Tell me about it," she sighed.

"You never knew, did you, Fellas?"

Scott shook his head. "So that's why you two had breakfast alone!"

"Yep," Alan was revelling in a brief spell of one-upmanship. "She's only just starting to get better now."

"Passing the baton to you," Gordon sniggered. "Isn't that sweet."

"Shut up, Gordon."

Virgil looked over Brains' shoulder at the tablet again. "What causes it?"

"Y'see, Virgil... When a man loves a woman…" Gordon began, and ducked a cuff over the head from Scott.

Brains flicked through a few pages. "No one knows, although there are v-various theories, most of which consign the condition to the c-class of psychosomatic disorder. One is that the male feels jealous of the attention that the female's receiving and is seeking to divert some of that attention to himself. Another is that the male is trying to show empathy for the female. Another is guilt that they have impregnated the female. And another is that the male is trying to take some of the burden from the female and have a more active role in the birthing process." He looked up. "In your case, Alan, my hypothesis is that you are s-subconsciously trying not to miss any of the pregnancy."

Tin-Tin looked at her husband with big, love-filled eyes. "That's so sweet."

"Yeah, well…" Alan wriggled in his shirt. "I miss you."

"When I said it was sweet you told me to shut up," Gordon reminded him.

"You were laughing at me when you said it."

"True."

Alan sniffed and rubbed his nose.

"Ah… Alan…" His father began.

"What?" Alan rubbed his nose again and then glanced at his hand, seeing blood there. "Aw, geez. Not another one."

"Check," Gordon and his brothers laughed.

"Don't you boys have work to do?" Jeff suggested. "Instead of wasting time?"

"He's right," Scott agreed. "Come on, Fellas, we'd better get moving." He started walking towards the door. "Sorry we've been teasing you, Alan, but you must admit that it's funny."

"Come and stand in my shoes and say that," Alan challenged, dabbing at his bleeding nose with a tissue.

"High heels or flats?" Gordon asked, and was dragged out of the room by his elder brothers.

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

_Friday 29__th__ September 2079_

"Hello, John," Jeff Tracy greeted his second eldest son. "Can you spare a few hours later?"

John was naturally surprised by the request. "A few hours? Yes, I can do that. Why?"

"You know that all of Tracy Industries' staff have taken leave until after Doomsday."

"Yes."

"I've been trying to keep the business afloat by myself. By and large it hasn't been a problem. Our customers have been accommodating and had taken what stock they were going to need in advance, on the understanding that they wouldn't have to pay until the end of November."

John nodded. He knew that.

"So I've been keeping the administrative side ticking along; flying the flag as it were."

"I've had the time to check the company's records and you're doing a good job," John admitted.

"Thank you. I've been trying to bring MagRec under our banner," Jeff admitted," and I've made them a fair offer, but their M.D. is an obnoxious so-and-so, and he thinks that just because I'm a helpless cripple that he can walk all over me. If I didn't think that MagRec offered something to Tracy Industries I'd walk away from it, but if nothing else I'm determined to show Magnus Recidin that I'm not the pushover that he thinks I am."

"So how can I help?"

"He wants a meeting with me. He thinks that he'll be able to beat me into submission and ramp up the buying price. I've agreed to a video conference and I'd like you to sit in on it."

"Of course," John agreed. "When is it?"

"Thirteen hundred hours this afternoon. Can you spare the time?"

"We've still got ten days until blast-off, so yes."

"Thank you, John. Leave me to do all the talking, but I'll give you a signal if I need you to take over."

"This sounds more in Lady Penelope's line," John chuckled. "What's the signal? Are you going to tap the side of your nose with your pen?"

"I was thinking of something a little more high-tech," Jeff admitted. "I'll flash the takeover command light on your console."

"Roger that, Agent triple-Oh seven-Oh." John checked the time. "I've got three hours to find something that a former chief executive might wear. I didn't plan on attending any business meetings when I got here."

"Just worry about your chest up," Jeff reminded him. "You could be wearing your pyjama pants for all that anyone would know."

"I hate to say it, Dad, but my best outfit is a sky-blue polo-neck skivvy and a lilac sash. I'll see what else I can rustle up. I'll make contact quarter of an hour before we're due to start."

"Thanks, John."

"F-A-B, Dad."

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

1.00pm that afternoon found John and Jeff seated at their respective consoles, already in communication with each other.

The "incoming call" buzzer sounded on his videophone and Jeff answered. John, not yet part of the conversation, listened to his father begin the formalities. "Good afternoon, Magnus."

"Afternoon? It's evening here, Jeff! Here in the industrial hub of the world where real people do real work!"

Jeff didn't rise to the bait. "I have requested one of my associates to join us in this meeting. He is well versed in the company and filled in for me during my leave of absence…"

"You mean your son John Tracy, don't you?" Magnus gloated. "Everyone knows that he took over when you were incapacitated with your stroke. You were hospitalised for six months and you've barely ventured from your house in the intervening years."

John listened. The man was a piece of work all right. He was trying to unsettle Jeff before the meeting had even started. Still John knew one piece of information that the creep had yet to learn. It took more than a few taunts to unsettle Jeff Tracy.

As Jeff was proving. "Ample time to keep watch over the engineering world and learn who the movers and shakers are."

"And what am I, Jeff? A mover or a shaker?"

John decided that Magnus Recidin was a shoover. A Socially-Handicapped, Obnoxious, Over-bearing, Venomous, Excremental…

He hadn't worked out what the "R" stood for when he was called to the meeting.

"This," Jeff Tracy introduced, "_is_ my son John. John; this is Magnus Recidin of MagRec."

John knew that he had to remain civil for the good of the company. "Good evening, Mr Recidin."

"Ah… One of the famous Tracy Boys; stars of the tabloids," Magnus Recidin sneered at the younger man who was dressed in a respectable white shirt and pale yellow silk cravat. "Enjoying luxuriating on your father's tropical island, are you?"

"No, Mr Recidin," John responded. "I am currently stationed at one of our satellite centres."

Magnus Recidin had no way of proving or disproving that, or even understanding its true meaning, so he redirected his attention to his main target. "All right, Jeff. We are here to talk business. Let's hear you talk."

"You've heard my offer," Jeff responded. "I'd be interested to hear your counteroffer now."

Ready to jump in when he was needed, John sat back and listened; observing the interaction between the two men. Each thrust by Recidin was expertly parried by his father. Each sneer and taunt was subtly countermanded. Each attempt to gain the upper hand was dragged back down to a level playing field. And as the sparring continued John could see that Jeff was starting to enjoy the challenge.

John was reminded of a time over seven years ago when he would listen in awe to his father's bargaining skills. He would have been the first to admit that even after all those years of practise he was still an amateur working in the shadow of the professional. And now it was as if those seven intervening years had never existed.

John grinned. Magnus Recidin didn't have a chance.

And so it proved. Finally the managing director of MagRec conceded defeat. "Agreed, Jeff. Send the contract to my office and I'll have my lawyers look at it."

"Thangk you, Magnuz." Now that the work had been done and the adrenaline was wearing off, John could hear a slight slurring to his father's words. He sat forward ready to pick up the reins.

An amber light flashed on Thunderbird Five's console, and John stepped in as easily as if he and Jeff had always planned it this way. "I'll see to it that you receive a copy of the contract this evening, Mr Recidin," he stated. "And I'm sure you'll get as much out of working with Tracy Industries as Tracy Industries will get working with MagRec."

Magnus Recidin was looking slightly deflated as if he'd just realised that he'd been crushed by the hands of the master. Then he chuckled. "You're a hard, but fair man, Jeff Tracy, but I like someone who'll take me on and won't simply roll over because it's the easy way. I can see we're going to have a good working relationship."

Jeff was still sitting up straight with some effort. He smiled, and that weaker left side didn't quite hit the mark. "I can zee tha too."

John wasn't sure; but he thought that Magnus Recidin had realised that he'd tired out the older man. His: "Thank you for the meeting, Jeff. I'll talk to you later," had a sympathetic ring to it before, with a "Goodbye, Jeff. Goodbye, John." he signed off.

Jeff slumped back in his chair with a sigh of relief.

"Are you okay?"

Jeff nodded. "Outa practiss."

"You enjoyed it though didn't you? I could tell."

Jeff grinned his lopsided grin. "Yup."

"Now…" John leant forward closer to the camera. "Are you going to tell me exactly what this so called procedure on your hand was to make you improve so much in such a short space of time?"

"No, not now. I don' want to have to repeat myzelf. You can all wait until Alan'z home."

John sat back. "You're the boss. Do you want me to amend the contract?"

"I c'n do it later."

"Are you sure? Things are pretty quiet at the moment."

"In the zatellite zentre where you are currently ztationed?" Jeff teased.

John laughed. "I thought it sounded good."

"It set Magnuz onto the back foot," Jeff agreed. "He had you tagged as a billionaire playboy."

"You mean I'm not?" John pretended to be surprised. "In that case what have I been doing on our tropical paradise for the last two and a half months?"

Jeff chuckled. "I see you found something suitable to wear."

"Guess what it is," John challenged.

"I haven' got the energy for games," Jeff admitted.

John removed his neckwear revealing a plain white shirt. "I took your advice. It's a pyjama jacket." He waved the pale yellow cravat. "I hope Tracy Industries appreciates that fact that I sacrificed my best silk pillowcase for its benefit."

Jeff smiled his appreciation. "Put it on your expense account," he advised. "Thank you, John. I really needed your assistance today."

"I didn't do much. Emma would have been more than capable."

"She's on leave."

"Enjoying some time off with her boyfriend, I expect."

Despite the planned neutrality in John's tone of voice, Jeff knew his son well enough to hear a faint air of despondency. He'd debated whether or not he should tell John that Emma wasn't in a relationship; trying to decide if it would be better for the younger man to spend four months believing that there was no chance of the two of them having a life together, thereby avoiding the risk of being hurt; or if John would prefer to live with the hope of a bright future together with the secretary.

"She doesn' have a boyfriend, John."

"What?!" John looked startled. Then he parked his face back into neutral. "Who?"

"Emma. That date she was on the other week was with an old school friend and his wife."

"It was?"

"I was, erm…" Jeff decided that John would rather not know how much he'd played cupid. "She told me that the three of them often have their vacations together. She was bridesmaid at their wedding."

"And she doesn't have a significant other?"

"She said she's still looking for Mr Right."

"Meaning that she hasn't found him yet." That negative inflection had replaced the hopeful timbre which had coloured John's voice.

"Or, that she has but she doesn't know it," Jeff corrected. "She didn't even know that you'd been an astronaut, John. You've been hiding from her. Once all this is over you're going to have to show her the real you."

"That's if I can find the real me after all this time."

"You're still there, Son. I've seen glimpses..." Jeff, desperate to cheer his son up, had an idea. "Have you looked in your locket?"

"Huh?" Surprised by what appeared to be a sudden change in topic, John stared at his father. "No. I didn't have time to think about what I wanted in it, so I didn't bother." He pulled it out from under his pyjama top. "I am wearing it though."

"Look in it..."

Mystified John opened the locket.

Emma's smiling face was staring up at him.

"I hope you don't think it too forward of me, John, but I…"

John didn't know what to think. It seemed kind of creepy to be wearing the image of someone he'd admired for years without any knowledge if she felt the same way.

"…wouldn't have done it if I hadn't seen clues that made me think that she possibly feels the same way about you."

John looked up. "She does?!" He caught himself. "We've always gotten along well. We've probably been as close as a couple can while keeping the employer and employee relationship. I suppose that within those boundaries we've been friends…"

"John…"

"I'd better get back to work, Dad, and you've got a contract to finalise. I'll talk to you later."

"Oh… Okay…" Jeff had a feeling that he'd made an enormous blunder. "You know where I am if you want to talk."

John managed a smile. "Thanks. Maybe later. Bye."

"Goodbye, John."

The screen went blank.

John absentmindedly wrapped the remains of his pillowcase around his hand as he stared at the photo in the locket. He closed it slowly, dropping it back under his pyjama top…

Then he punched the air in delight. "Yes!"

_To be continued…_


	28. Chapter 28 - D-Day

**Chapter 28: D-Day**

_Sunday_

_8__th__ October 2079_

It had taken so long to reach this date that no one seemed to know what to do with themselves. It hadn't helped that during the night the island had taken on a life of its own and had jolted them out of bed. What with that, and subsequent aftershocks, no one on Tracy Island had had a good night's sleep.

Alan, already thousands of kilometres away from his home planet, had reported in early, needing to wish his brothers good luck for their upcoming missions, but not wanting to risk interrupting some vital preparation. He'd signed off by wishing John many happy returns and suggesting that when he had a moment he check in the bottom drawer of the cabinet on the right wall in storeroom number three.

After Alan had vanished from the screen, John had continued to stare at it, wondering how he'd managed to forget his own birthday. He finally decided that he'd forgotten it because there were more important things to worry about.

Much more important.

**D-Day**

_30 minutes to blast off_

Final preparations had been completed. Brains had given Scott, Virgil and Gordon medical examinations and had declared them all physically prepared for their upcoming challenges. The Thunderbirds and the Mole had undergone their final diagnostic checks.

All was ready.

Scott had ceded control of the whole operation, including his tablet PC, to Jeff, but nevertheless he called his two brothers into his room for a final, brief meeting. "Are you guys A-OK? Gordon?"

Gordon had been subdued this morning and was looking grey at the prospect of diving to the deepest part of the ocean. "Yeah."

"Are you sure?"

"Apart from wanting a bit more sleep, I don't think I could be more ready," the redhead admitted. "I just want today to be over and done with."

Scott nodded his understanding. "Virgil?"

"I keep telling myself that this is no different to any other drilling job in the Mole we've undertaken. It's just a bit deeper."

"Does that help?"

"No." Virgil fingered his yellow sash. "I don't remember being this apprehensive before our first rescue. Do you?"

"No, but we've matured," Scott reminded him. "We've got a better idea of our own mortality. Plus this time we've got the extra burden of knowing that we're attempting to save the lives of everyone on this planet."

"Instead of just an airliner full of passengers," Gordon remarked. "Including Tin-Tin…"

"Yes."

"While trying to stop a madman…"

Scott raised an eyebrow. "Lady Penelope took care of that problem."

"While you guys had to stop an atomic explosion from destroying not only London Airport, but a large part of the surrounding countryside as well…"

"We don't need to be reminded that the Fireflash was a big job and an important one, Gordon," Virgil complained. "We were there!"

"Yes, you were. And you were nearly killed doing it!"

"Even so, that Fireflash job is nothing compared to the scale of what we're going to try to do today. This is almost overwhelming!" Virgil looked at his eldest brother. "How about you, Scott? How are you feeling?"

Scott gave what he hoped was an unconcerned shrug. "The weather over the Bentley Subglacial Trench is perfect. If it can stay like that I shouldn't have any difficulties." He reached out; his right hand to Virgil's right hand; his left to Gordon's left. "Good luck, Fellas."

His brothers grabbed his hands, used their free ones to take each other's and, forming a triangle, held on tightly.

"We're International Rescue!" Gordon stated, with a sudden show of bravado. "We can do this, right!"

"Right!" Virgil agreed. "Never give up at any cost. That's our motto."

"Besides," Gordon's attempted jocularity didn't quite ring true. "What's the worst that can happen?"

His brothers didn't answer that. They all knew exactly what the worst could be. Even if they survived this challenge, the planet might not.

Scott gave his siblings' hands a final squeeze and then dropped them. "Let's get this show on the road."

They joined the rest of their family in the lounge. From his portrait on the wall, John gazed down on them.

Jeff looked at his three sons, wishing that there was something that he could say or do that hadn't already been said and done. He wished he had something to reassure them that their work would be a success.

He had nothing.

The earth shook. A shimmy that seemed to express the nerves they were all feeling.

"That's gotta be one advantage to flying out of here," Gordon commented. "We're going to be away from the quakes." He nudged Virgil. "What say when we've finished you and I stop off somewhere where the ground isn't doing the cha cha every two minutes? You could do some painting… I'll do some swimming… You could join us too, Scott," he offered.

"Maybe in a few months time."

"Brains…" At the sound of Jeff's voice, Brains looked up from where he was perusing his computer. "Do you want to say anything, Brains?"

Brains' thick glasses trained on Scott, then Virgil, then Gordon, and then finally back to Scott. He opened his mouth as if to say something and then closed it again. "No."

"Does anyone want to say anything?"

Everyone looked like they wanted to say lots of things, but had decided against it. They all shook their heads.

Jeff stood. "Well, Boys. I guess this is it. It's what you've worked months for. It's what the world's waiting for. All we can do now is wish you all good luck. We'll keep all communications to the minimum and send them through John to minimise interruptions."

They nodded their understanding.

"Prepare to launch, Scott…! And good luck."

"F-A-B." Scott strode across to the twin lamp fittings, placed his back to the wall, and looked at his family. "See you soon." He swivelled out of sight.

"Virgil. Gordon. Take up launch positions. Good luck, Boys."

"See you down there, Virg," Gordon promised as he proceeded to the passenger elevator.

"F-A-B." Virgil placed his back against the painting of the rocket.

He slid away out of sight.

"Thunderbird One to base. Ready to launch."

Jeff checked the radar. "Thunderbird One, you are cleared to launch."

"F-A-B."

Outside the blast-proof doors that led from the lounge to the patio, the rocket plane that was Thunderbird One roared up out of the swimming pool and skywards. The sun glinted off her body briefly as she turned south. Within seconds she had disappeared from view.

"Thunderbird Two to base. Ready to exit hangar."

Jeff checked the radar again. "Thunderbird Two, you are cleared to exit hangar."

"F-A-B."

Now that Thunderbird One's exhaust gases had dissipated, the patio doors had opened and Tin-Tin and Kyrano stepped outside to observe the next phase in the unfolding drama. They stood in the tropical spring sunshine; watching as the palm trees fell backwards and Thunderbird Two lumbered forward. They weren't surprised when she stopped metres short of her usual launching platform.

After that earlier damaging earthquake it had been decided that as there wasn't a need for excessive speed on this rescue it would be quicker and easier to remove the rubble and fill in the hole that had been the launch ramp. Thunderbird Two would have to make do with a vertical take-off.

"Thunderbird Two to base. Ready to launch."

Jeff checked the radar a third time. "Thunderbird Two, you are cleared to launch."

"F-A-B." Four vertical columns of fire shot out from beneath the great craft, four clouds of smoke mingled into one, and a delayed concussive roar blasted the villa.

Jeff spoke into the radio one last time; his missive going out to the pilots of Thunderbirds One, Two and Four. "Thunderbirds are go. Good luck, Boys. This is base signing out." He sat back with a sigh. "Well, that's that. For better or worse the mission is…"

"We must evacuate the i-island i-immediately!"

Jeff stared at the engineer in confusion. He'd anticipated a quiet moment's contemplation on the dangers he'd just sent his sons into; not being told to leave his home. "What?!"

"I didn't want to worry the boys; th-they have enough to worry about. B-But magma is rising under the island," Brains showed Jeff a lot of, to him, meaningless squiggles on the tablet PC. "The volcano could erupt before the day is over."

Jeff got to his feet. "Isn' there..." He stopped and composed himself. "Isn't there anything we can do?"

"There is, er, something that can be done," Brains admitted, "but only Scott in Thunderbird One can do it. I didn't tell him because I don't want him rushing the Bentley Subglacial Trench deployment... John," he turned to the wide-eyed man who was listening to their conversation, "I want you to t-tell Scott to return to Mu'a as soon as he has completed his mission."

"Understood, Brains." John nodded. "But why Mu'a?"

"B-Because that is where I have stored the missiles required to nullify the volcanic activity occurring on this island. It is also where we are evacuating to."

"F-A-B. I won't breathe a word to Scott until he's leaving Antarctica," John promised. "You guys had better get moving. Report to me as soon as you get there."

"F-A-B, John," Jeff acknowledged. "Tin-Tin, you're the bes' pilot we've got left. Ready the helije'."

"Yes, Mr Tracy."

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

Jeff stared out the window of his helijet as he watched his home disappear from view.

His home? He'd only returned a little over two weeks ago and now he was being whisked away again.

Taking care not to get too close, Tin-Tin had flown over the peak that dominated the island. There were no signs of fiery rock or glowing magma, but an ominous cloud of sulphuric smoke was writhing up from the crater.

Jeff wondered if Scott would make it home in time and what it was that Brains intended him to do with missiles to save International Rescue's base.

Mu'a was an island within the chain owned by Jeff Tracy. Preparations had been made months earlier in case an evacuation had been deemed essential, but somehow no one had quite been able to believe that such a move would have been necessary; certainly not before or during their main mission.

It still didn't seem possible even as the helijet touched down and they climbed out; their feet crunching on the gravel of the helipad.

"Permit me, Mr Tracy." Kyrano offered his arm to allow Jeff to walk unsteadily across the uneven surface.

"Thank you," Jeff acknowledged. "Ironic, isn't it? Here we are trying to save the world and our own home's about to be destroyed."

"Keep positive," Kyrano instructed. "It may not yet happen."

"The show ain't over until the fat lady sings, huh?" Jeff chuckled as they reached the sealed footpath. "Sometimes I wish I had your optimism, my friend… Thank you, Honey…" He accepted his walker from Tin-Tin.

This property on Mu'a was by no means as grand or palatial as that on Tracy Island, but it was dry, comfortable, away from an erupting volcano (if not that volcano's earthquakes), and most importantly, had a direct video link to Thunderbird Five.

Jeff's first priority was to initiate contact with John. "I want to know how the boys are getting on."

"Scott's approaching the Bentley Subglacial Trench," John confirmed. "The weather's holding, but a storm is approaching from the sou'east."

"And Thunderbird Two?"

"Virgil's making good time. He's just passed over the equator."

"What's the weather like in the Philippines?"

"Settled. A slight swell, but nothing that should cause Gordon or Thunderbird Four any problems."

"And at the Dead Sea?"

"There's a strong easterly, but nothing that'll upset Thunderbird Two." John smiled at his father. "Looks like we're in the gods' good books."

"Let's hope we don't do anything to upset them," Jeff growled.

"How are things on Mu'a?"

"No different from the last time we were here. I'd rather be on Tracy Island, but we can't afford to take the risk. We flew over the crater and the eruption looks imminent."

"Well, as much as I'd love to, I'm not about to tell Scott to hurry."

"Good. I don't want you to..."

-F-A-B-

The blue sea was becoming dotted with slabs of ice. That ice quickly overtook the seascape and became the land's overriding feature.

It was a perfect day.

Roosting penguins in dirty patches amongst the blindingly white snow looked up when they heard the roar of the rocket plane flying overhead. But the speed of light is faster than the speed of sound, and Thunderbird One was long gone before their bills pointed to the crystal clear skies.

Thunderbird One was following an unerring path along a preordained computer-generated route; past the landmarks of the driest, coldest, and one of the most isolated places on earth. To port, the grandeur of the Vinson Massif was becoming visible above the snowy plains. To starboard Mount Erebus reared up from the Ross Island; a faint plume of smoke ascending from its crater. If Scott Tracy had been aware of its similarities with Tracy Island, the scene would have sent shivers down his spine. As it was he took no notice as he narrowed in on the Bentley Subglacial Trench… And kept a wary eye on the storm clouds that hovered ahead on the other side of the continent.

He knew the weather could change here; and change very quickly.

-F-A-B-

Thunderbird Two's flight was just as uneventful. The Pacific Ocean retained its azure hue as the summer sun turned into a winter one when they crossed that demarcation line known as the equator.

"Lovely day for a dip," Gordon joked as, already dressed in his wetsuit, he leant against the edge of the flight console. From here he could see outside while enjoying a final conversation with his brother.

Virgil opened his mouth to say something, appeared to change his mind and closed it again. Then he repeated the action. Finally clamping his mouth shut.

"Spill it."

Virgil kept his gaze on the horizon. "It's nothing."

"I don't believe you."

Virgil glanced up at Gordon. "I keep remembering your panic attack. Are you sure you're going to be able to do this?"

"That happened once and once only," Gordon reassured him. "And it happened months ago. I'm fine."

"You're not worried about Neptune?"

"I'm not worried about Neptune, Poseidon, Titan, Sedna, Tangaroa or any other god of the sea. My only concerns are whether or not I can launch the ACG on its correct trajectory and whether or not Brains' theory will actually work."

"Yes," Virgil agreed. "I've got to admit that that's been worrying me too. We've got a lot riding on Brains' hypothesis."

"He's been really on edge today, hasn't he?" Gordon stated. "He didn't seem to be concentrating on what he was doing when he gave me my physical. He took my blood pressure twice because he didn't remember doing it the first time and then discovered that he had recorded it in his computer."

Virgil checked their bearing. "I noticed that he seemed uptight too. He was nearly as obsessive over that tablet PC as Scott was at his worst."

"I suppose it's understandable. He's got the whole world's survival riding on the back on one of his theories. If he's miscalculated it could be curtains for the entire planet. It's a lot of responsibility for one person to deal with, knowing that we won't get any second chances."

"And now it's out of his hands and down to us."

"So we'd better not let him down."

Virgil nodded. "Agreed." He indicated ahead of them. "We're due south of Guam; Challenger Deep coming up. Time for you to get into position."

"F-A-B." Gordon held his hand out. "Good luck, Virgil. Don't forget to pick me up on the way home."

"I won't." Virgil switched Thunderbird Two onto autopilot. "Somehow a handshake doesn't seem to cut it in this situation." He got out of his seat and both brothers embraced. "You tell Neptune to stay out of your way, okay!"

"F-A-B," Gordon grinned. "Give my best to the Dead Sea."

And he walked out of the flight deck.

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

Back on Mu'a Island Jeff Tracy sat in the house's lounge and watched the video consoles. There wasn't a lot else that he could, or wanted to do at the moment. Not that the videos were showing him much. One camera was focused on the Tracy Villa. Another on the runway. A third on the Round House. And the fourth was trained on a wide shot of the volcanic peak that dominated the entire complex. Apart from the smoke that slowly writhed above the mountain all four shots may as well have been still photographs.

He could have asked John to patch through video signals from the Thunderbirds, but until they reached their destinations there would be nothing of interest to watch there either.

Jeff's mind drifted to his sons; wondering what they were doing, what they were thinking, what they were feeling at this precise point in time. Were they scared? Were they confident?

Were they ready?

He supposed that they were as ready as they could be in such a short space of time.

He thought back to the last time that each of his sons visited him in the States. Unaware of his and Lady Penelope's plans, the boys had thought that this would be their final opportunity to see their father before they set off on their respective missions. And, although they'd tried to hide it from him, he could tell that they were aware that they might never return again. They'd tried to appear upbeat, but he could sense that they were unsure whether they could succeed in their tasks. The most obvious representation of this had been Virgil, who'd arrived later than expected for his allocated half day with his father.

Jeff remembered the surprise he'd felt when his son had walked in the door clean-shaven and with his hair cut short. "I wanted you to remember me the way I am," the younger man had said.

All of Jeff's sons had made the most of their brief time with their father. It had been quality time, unlike those last few days before Thunderbird Three's launch and then today. Those days had been frantic snatches of conversation in between long, intense periods of work.

Were they sufficiently rested?

Were they ready?

Even if they were and they successfully launched their acoustic concussion generators deep into the Earth there was still going to be a long stressful wait until the ACGs detonated and the SHAKER reported whether or not Doomsday had been averted.

Was the little International Rescue had managed to do in three months going to be enough to save the world? Was it enough to ensure the survival of the next generation?

Jeff thought back even further to the beginning of August. Then he'd been surprised and delighted by a visit by his daughter-in-law.

"_Tin-Tin! What are you doing here?"_

She'd seemed a curious mixture of demure shyness, quiet elation, and nervous tension. "May I use your phone, Mr Tracy?"

"_Of course you can. Do you want to use the one in my study for some privacy?"_

She'd smiled. "No. You may listen."

Jeff hadn't caught the number that she'd dialled, but he recognised the voice who answered the phone.

"Hiya, Honey... Well?"

Her face had lit up. "Yes."

"Really?!" Jeff couldn't interpret the emotions revealed in that single word. It was like he'd never heard Alan sound like that before…

And yet there was something familiar about it.

"Do you want to tell him?" Tin-Tin had asked.

"Yes."

Tin-Tin twisted the videophone around so that Jeff could see his son's face. "Hi, Dad."

"_Hello, Alan."_

"Guess what!"

Jeff remembered the bemusement he felt at the couple's clandestine manner. _"What?"_

"We're going to have a baby!"

"_What…?"_ Jeff remembered staring at his youngest boy.

No, not a boy; now a man.

Then he looked at the young lady that he'd always regarded as a daughter.

What lay ahead of them?

Jeff remembered feeling the joy, the pride, the wonder, the realisation…

The fear.

The world was going to end.

What did the future hold for this child?

Alan was going to be flying to Jupiter and back. He would be gone for months.

If he returned.

So that was why Tin-Tin wasn't going with him.

"Dad?" Alan's voice had cut into his reverie. His son had had the time to get used to the idea, and would have been through the elation and fear. Now he was frowning at Jeff's lack of reaction. "Are you okay?"

Jeff nodded. _"Yes."_ He let the more positive emotions overwhelm him. _"Yes! That's wonderful news!"_ He felt his lopsided face explode into a grin._ "I'm going to be a grandfather!"_

Relieved, Alan had laughed. "Kind of a shock, isn't it?"

"_Yes. I never expected to hear anything as wonderful as this. Not now."_

"We are not going to tell anyone back at the island, except for my father," Tin-Tin had explained. "I will need to be free to work as hard as any of them, and they will not give me that freedom if they know. It will be a secret shared by the four of us."

Jeff had understood. _"I wish it didn't have to be like this, Tin-Tin."_

She'd taken his hand. "Nor do I. But it is necessary."

He'd squeezed her hand…

"Mr Tracy." Jeff looked up to see Tin-Tin, to his masculine eye still not obviously pregnant, standing beside him.

He took her hand and squeezed it. "Yes, Tin-Tin?"

"Are you all right?"

He smiled at her, wanting to alleviate her worries. "I'm a darn sight better than I have been for a long time. And you? You must be glad that now you've got time to rest."

"I will be happier when they are all home."

Jeff sighed. "Won't we all, Tin-Tin. Won't we all…"

_To be continued…_


	29. Chapter 29 - Scott

_Firstly my apologies for those waiting to see what Alan and his family had hidden from John in Thunderbird Five. Unfortunately they've kept his birthday presents a secret – even from me._

**Chapter 29: Scott**

_D-Day_

The Bentley Subglacial Trench was dead ahead, although as it was 2540m below the ice Scott had no visual way of knowing that. It was only the line on the computer screen that told him he was on track.

The skies above were still clear, but in the distance he could see a bank of ominous black cloud drawing closer. He would only have one chance at this, even if he had more than one set of missiles to play with.

Which he didn't.

Despite the front bearing down on him, Scott played it safe. International Rescue had informed the various Western Antarctic stations in Marie Byrd Land that they were going to be releasing missiles into the area and those stations had all agreed to keep well away from the action. But that didn't mean that some rogue scientist, or penguin, wouldn't be in the firing line. Thunderbird One did a circuit around the area and Scott decided that his way was clear.

"Thunderbird One to Thunderbird Five."

"Thunderbird Five, receiving. Go ahead, Thunderbird One."

"I'm over Marie Byrd Land and the Bentley Subglacial Trench is dead ahead. Any last instructions from base?"

"Negative, Thunderbird One. You're cleared to launch missiles when ready."

He lined up his target.

He locked onto the computer's trajectory.

He pushed forward on his side sticks and, wings retracted, Thunderbird One eased forward and down; almost on the vertical.

Despite the fact that the Bentley Subglacial Trench was roughly the size of Mexico, Scott knew that he had little leeway. He was going to be firing three missiles in quick succession. The first two were to melt the almost rock-solid ice that concealed the trench and the third was the acoustic concussion generator that would burrow into the rock beneath. Each of the three missiles had to hit exactly the same spot or else they would be useless. Even if he was dead on target with all three, if each subsequent missile was released as little as a millisecond too late the ice could start to re-solidify between them, impeding the ACG's progress into the frozen earth.

He'd practised and practised again. With his well known patience Kyrano had sent him on hundreds of virtual bombing runs of the Antarctic; never complaining about the repetitious nature of his task.

Scott gave out a silent vote of thanks to his friend as he kept Thunderbird One on her unwavering path towards the trench hidden beneath metres of snow.

The ice drew closer…

As did the storm.

Thunderbird One's altimeter was spinning downwards as her nose cone drew closer and closer to the ice. Aware that he had the tiniest of margins of error, Scott found himself counting down till the moment that the onboard computers armed and released the missiles.

Despite the external cold, he felt a bead of sweat form on his upper lip. Timing was crucial. Fire the missiles too far from their target and there was a greater chance of the projectiles going off course. Too close and those missiles would not be able to make use of the momentum provided by Thunderbird One's flight to burrow into the ice. Way too close and he would crash onto the frozen landscape.

The ground proximity alarm blared, warning him that he was moments away from a catastrophic collision; but he held his nerve. Barely a second later he felt the smallest of kickbacks as the computer shot the two lead missiles and the ACG from Thunderbird One's cannons. As a small cloud of snow and ice blossomed from the surface of the great white continent, Scott finally pulled back on the controls, lifting Thunderbird One's nose clear of the approaching ground.

Extending One's wings to increase her stability in the increasing wind, he circled back and checked the scanners. By rolling the rocket plane slightly to port and looking out of the cockpit windows, he saw through the first snow flurries the spot of icy-blue where the ice was re-solidifying above his three missiles.

Three missiles, but only one mark on that pristine white landscape! He'd done it! He let out a whoop of exhilaration. "Bulls-eye!"

He knew that he could do it! This was what he should have been doing for the last seven years. Flying by the seat of his pants as he saved the lives of others who couldn't survive without his intervention. He hadn't felt so alive in years! Whatever had possessed him to leave this career for the dead end one he'd been enduring for nearly a decade?

His faith in his own abilities had been justified!

Thunderbird One rocked slightly as the storm started to pound her hull and dumped snow on her wings. Deciding that it would be better to celebrate in the sun, Scott began climbing out of the buffeting winds and freezing temperatures.

Only then did he get on the radio. "Thunderbird One to Thunderbird Five! Mission accomplished! We are F – A – B!"

In contrast to his exhilarated exuberance, John sounded subdued. "Understood, Thunderbird One. Return to Mu'a immediately."

A lesser man than Scott Tracy would have felt put out at his brother's lack of enthusiasm at what he'd just achieved, but he knew John well enough to realise that there had to be a reason behind that unemotional order. He snapped to attention and turned Thunderbird One for home. "What's wrong, John?"

Thunderbird One crested the storm and emerged into the sun.

"Tracy Island's been evacuated…"

"What!?"

"It's the volcano, Scott. She's about to blow. Brains didn't want to tell you guys so you wouldn't worry…"

Scott's mouth went dry as he listened. One minute he'd been on top of the world; now it sounded as though an important part of his world was about to blow itself to smithereens.

John was still talking. "…Virgil and Gordon don't know, and I'm holding off telling Alan; but Brains has got a plan to stop the eruption and he needs you back at Mu'a right away."

"Tell him I'm on my way." Scott pressed forward on the side sticks. "Patch him through, John. He can brief me while I'm flying there."

He heard a quiet click as the transfer was made. "S-S-Scott?"

"I'm listening, Brains. What's the action?"

"It's almost a repeat of the mission you've just c-completed. I-I need you to land on Mu'a and take on board another missile."

"Do you want me to try to divert the lava flow away from the complex?"

Brains, switching to full scientific-mode, lost his stutter. "No. Tracy Island is a Complex Stratovolcano, formed by its explosive eruptions. We must stop the eruption before mountain explodes."

Scott silently agreed.

"The missile you are about to take on board in some respects does the opposite to the two lead missiles you've just fired. It cools rather than heats. I am hopeful that by solidifying the magma rising through the conduit and into Tracy Island's volcano's throat, it will act as a plug, either diverting the magma flow elsewhere in the volcanic field or else stopping the flow altogether. My theory is that as this eruption is an aberration, since the main field has moved away from the region, the volcano will once again become dormant once we have nullified Doomsday."

"We've trusted your theories so far, Brains, and I see no reason to think that this one won't work." Scott was close to Mu'a now, and he looked out Thunderbird One's window, seeing the ash cloud rising up above the family's home. "I'm coming in. Get ready for me. This has got to be a quick turnaround. I want to be on the ground minimal time."

He'd barely given them time to react when he was touching down on the helipad's gravelly surface. He jumped out of his aeroplane. "Where's this missile…?"

In a short time Thunderbird One was armed and ready for battle. Having received Brains' final instructions Scott was about sprint across the helipad to his craft when his father caught his arm. "Wait, Scott!"

Scott stopped; itching to get moving. "What?"

"Well done, Son… And good luck."

"Thanks." Eager to take to the skies again, Scott ran across the gravel and leapt up into the cockpit. "Maintain safe distance," he commanded. "Thunderbird One: about to launch."

He heard his father's voice. "F-A-B, Thunderbird One. You are cleared to go."

Exhausts flaring, Scott headed for the skies and back to Tracy Island…

The gases rising from the crater seemed thicker now and he kept a wary eye on them as he opened the mike. "You want me to fire the missile straight down the throat of the volcano, Brains?"

"Th-That is correct, Scott. We need to get it deep into the magma chamber beneath the volcano for maximum effect."

High above the gas cloud, Scott fancied that he could see the vaguest of red glows beneath the thick black ash. "I'll do my best."

He lined up Thunderbird One with Tracy Island's crater. This time he didn't have the option of relying on computer guidance. This time he could only trust himself and no one or nothing else.

In that short space of time the crater had become obscured by the noxious volcanic gases spewing out of it. Switching his video viewer over to thermal imaging turned the seas around Tracy Island from azure blue to midnight black; the landscape paled as the land rose up to the volcanic peak; and the centre of the crater was immediately visible as an ominous white-hot glow.

He took a deep breath. "Missile armed."

He heard John's reply. "F-A-B, Scott. Good luck."

"Thanks." Scott gave his control panel one last check. "Going in." Taking another deep breath, and believing in himself like he'd never believed in himself before, Scott pointed Thunderbird One's nose down the throat of the volcano and pushed forward on the side sticks.

The glowing crater grew bigger…

Miles away on Mu'a Island, everyone had retreated to the lounge to watch the video feeds. They saw Thunderbird One hover above the ash cloud. Then they saw her point her nosecone downwards and seem to fall from the sky.

Tin-Tin grasped her father's hand, holding it tightly.

Jeff gripped the arm of his chair. As much as he wanted his home to survive, he was more concerned about his eldest son. Diving straight into the gaping mouth of a live volcano seemed to be foolhardiness at best.

Thunderbird One was nearly out of sight behind the smoky crater's rim when the missile flared out from her nose and she began to turn for the heavens; extending her wings for stability.

It was then that things went wrong.

Jeff didn't know what he'd expected to see when the missile hit the crater. He did know that he hadn't expected the cloud of smoke to become thicker and denser. He hadn't expected a wall of fire to rear up and engulf the rocket plane.

He definitely hadn't expected a wing to fall off.

Not the new wing that replaced the one that had been damaged when Thunderbird One had been sealed away in her hangar. This was the starboard wing that was tumbling towards volcanic slopes that were coated in ash and splashed with lava. Scott had checked and retested and checked the wing again and again before clearing it for flight; but now its age and the thermal shock caused by the relatively rapid temperature change between the Antarctic blizzard, tropical sun, and raw molten rock had conspired against the aircraft and her pilot.

Jeff heard Tin-Tin's gasp of horror as Thunderbird One disappeared in the cloud of smoke, ash, and semi-liquid red-hot rock. "Scott!"

The video camera locked onto Thunderbird One as, her rockets burning at full throttle, she burst out of the screening, poisonous plume.

But any hopes that Scott was still in command of his plane soon vanished.

Her uneven wing configuration causing her to spin upwards out of control, Thunderbird One was gaining altitude at a rate of knots. It was obvious to those watching the video screens that it must have been almost impossible for anyone on board to maintain consciousness.

But still Jeff held out hope. "Scott! Retract port wing!" he ordered.

There was no response.

"Scott!"

Silence over the airwaves.

"Come in, Thunderbird One."

Nothing.

With his heart in his mouth Jeff acknowledged that he wasn't about to receive a reply. "John! Take control of Thunderbird One!"

"F-A-B."

It was a relief to hear John's calm voice acknowledge the order. The Chief Executive Officer was about to enact a takeover bid…

"Initiating transfer sequence... ... C'mon... ... Talk to me... ... That's it... ... Nearly there... ... I have command of Thunderbird One!"

Jeff let out the breath that he'd been holding.

"Igniting port jets to rectify spin... ... What the...?! ... I've got...! ... Slow down... ... Come on, Baby... ... Don't fail me now...!"

There was a long pause.

"I have control!"

Finally the camera was able to zoom in on the image it had been tracking and the tiny dot in the distance resolved itself into a shape as big as a child's toy; a toy that was no longer spinning like a top, but suspended in mid-air.

"Retracting port wing," John announced.

"Any word from Scott?" Jeff asked as the distant video showed the changes to the aircraft's profile.

He felt his stomach knot when John responded with a tight "Negative."

"Can you bring Thunderbird One back to Earth?"

"Negative," John repeated. "Gaining control was a drain on Thunderbird Five's power resources. Keeping her airborne is draining her more. I'll set One into hover, but not gonna attempt to land her."

"Understoo', John. Bring her dow' as low as you can and we'll thing of a way of getting her to safety." Jeff turned to Brains. "Will Scott be all righ'?"

"H-Having seen the g-forces that he was exposed to, er, I would assume that he has lost consciousness."

Being told something that he already knew wasn't what Jeff Tracy wanted to hear, and it was with some effort that the former Air Force pilot and astronaut in him refrained from snapping at the engineer. "Shouldn' he be regaining consciousnez b'now?"

Kyrano placed a reassuring hand on his friend's shoulder.

"There a-are potentially other issues..." Brains chose his words carefully. "If the explosion has compromised the i-integrity of Thunderbird One's hull and caused a reduction in cabin pressure..." He stared at his computer, trying to decipher the signals from Scott's medical scanner bracelet. "Taking into account the maximum altitude Thunderbird One obtained, and the speed at which she attained it, then Scott c-could suffer the effects of d-decompression sickness."

"The bends?" Jeff stared at him. "But, if he's goin' to suffer from DS, he shouldn' be showing any symptoms for at least another hour."

With an abrupt gesture, the only outward sign of his concerns, Brains minimised one of his computer's screens. "A-Aside from the video link, and Scott's medical details, which tell me little, we h-have received limited feedback from Thunderbird One. I do not want to ask John to forward more information while his, ah, focus is on bringing Thunderbird One down."

Jeff's glance at the video screen showed that the child's toy now looked big enough to ride on. "If Scott'z not in a fit shape to land, and Thunderbird Fife doesn' have the power to bring her in zafely, then how are we goin' to land Thunderbird One? Air-to-air tranzfer?"

Brains nodded. "Unless Scott regains consciousness soon, and has…" He hesitated, unwilling to articulate what he knew they were all thinking. "…Er, all his f-faculties, that is the only option."

Sure that there had to be a solution, Jeff began to muse out loud; the planning process calming him and stabilising his speech. "To do an air-to-air transfer we need two pilots: one capable of holding the helijet steady as the transfer is made; and one who can fly Thunderbird One. Tin-Tin can land One; but neither you nor Kyrano are helijet pilots. Besides," Jeff turned to the young lady sitting next to him, "I'm sorry, Tin-Tin, but I don't think you should attempt a transfer in your condition. I could never look Alan in the eye again if something happened to you or the baby."

"You could land Thunderbird One, Mr Tracy."

Jeff stared at his daughter-in-law. "Me?"

"I am sure that I can hold the helijet steady while you and Brains transfer to Thunderbird One," Tin-Tin clarified. "Then you can pilot her."

"Th-The idea has merit, M-Mr Tracy," Brains agreed. "We've seen you practise flying the Thunderbirds on the simulator." He got to his feet. "I am going to get a medical kit. I w-will meet you down at the helipad."

"But that was only curiosity," Jeff protested as the engineer left the room. "I wanted to get some idea of what the boys are going to be going through. I can't fly a real plane. Especially not Thunderbird One!"

"I have watched you," Kyrano told him. "I have seen you grow in strength and confidence. You have regained many of your old skills. And have you not been flying the Karearea?"

"Another pilot's been flying her. I went along for the ride."

"You would not be in the air for long. I have faith that you can fly Thunderbird One and save the life of your son."

They were suddenly aware how little time they had when John announced: "Not going lower. Need plan soon."

Tin-Tin stood. "We're going to do an air-to-air transfer, John. Hold Thunderbird One steady and open the topmost hatch."

"Be quick."

"I'm going to get the helijet ready." Her mind already on the task ahead, Tin-Tin strode towards the door. "See you down there, Jeff."

Not sure which of the developments of the last few minutes he was finding the most shocking, Jeff watched her depart. "Did she just call me Jeff?"

A tiny frown creased Kyrano's forehead. "I shall speak with her later."

"No, don't do that. I don't want my grandchild growing up calling me 'Mr Tracy' and it's about time she called me something different." Grasping the walking frame's handles, Jeff pulled himself to his feet. "Do you really think I can do this, Kyrano?" he asked as he started walking towards the door.

"There is no one here more capable."

"That's a backhanded compliment if ever I heard one."

"It is not meant as such."

"I'm sure it wasn't. Come on, my friend. Let's hope your judgement's as good as your cooking."

-F-A-B-

John had managed to bring Thunderbird One down so that she was in a hover a few metres above the surface of the ocean and close to Mu'a's shore.

Jeff looked out at the sleek rocket shape as he allowed Kyrano to strap him securely into a harness. "John, make sure you keep her steady until we're on board."

"Right." So far John's responses had been abrupt; almost to the point of monosyllabic. He hadn't even questioned his father's role in the rescue.

"Any response from Scott?"

"No."

The helijet's rotors were warming up, and as Kyrano assisted him across the helipad, Jeff was aware that his thumping heart was beating nearly as fast. He climbed into his seat and took a deep breath. "I think you've tightened this harness too much," he commented, shifting in his seat as he tried to stop the strapping from cutting off the circulation to his legs.

"I wished to ensure that you felt secure."

Jeff managed a chuckle. "I have no fears of falling out of it, I can guarantee you that."

Brains climbed into the seat facing him, and donned his headphones. "Take her up, Tin-Tin."

"F-A-B," she responded, and the helijet left the helipad.

Soon they were hovering over Thunderbird One's sleek cylindrical body, looking down through the open hatch. They could see no sign of her pilot.

Brains clipped his medical case and a small oxygen cylinder to his harness and his harness to the winch. There was no trace of fear as he instructed Tin-Tin to hold the helijet steady and Kyrano to lower him towards the disabled craft.

The transfer was made with textbook precision.

Then it was Jeff's turn.

The adrenaline was pumping as Kyrano attached the winch cable to Jeff's harness. "Are you ready, Mr Tracy?"

Ready? Jeff felt impatient at his friend's caution. He needed to get down there now. Moreover he _wanted_ to! His world had been constrained for too long. He was ready to step out into whatever life threw at him.

Instead he stepped out into the downdraft from the helijet as the winch cable took up the slack and then started lowering him down towards Thunderbird One. Keeping his arms pressed close to his sides he passed though the hatch and into the cabin.

Brains had already placed a neck brace on the patient and had slid a backboard between Scott and his seat's backrest. Now he was intent on examining the unconscious pilot.

"Brains?" Jeff queried, some of the adrenaline ebbing away when he saw his unmoving son. "How is he?"

Brains checked a vital signs monitor. "Scott is unconscious," he announced, stating the obvious as he withdrew a syringe from his case. "This is to keep him sedated."

Jeff winced when he saw the small cut on his son's forehead and the blood running into his eye. "Why sedate him if he's unconscious?" He got some gauze and wiped the blood away.

"The c-concussive forces experienced during the time that Thunderbird One was out of control would have sent his brain slamming into the side of his skull…"

Jeff held up his hand. "No need to get too graphic, I understand that much."

"A-Also," Brains continued, "Scott appears to have struck his head on something multiple times…"

"Looks like it was the microphone." Jeff indicated a smear of blood.

Brains glanced at the instrument and then carried on with his treatment. "A blow to the head, coupled with the g-forces sustained, could produce c-complications if he were to b-become ag-gitated. And… Ah…" Brains hesitated. "M-Mister Tracy," he stammered. "S-Seeing y-y-you p-p-pilot Th-Thunderbird One at, er, at th-this stage of your r-recovery, would, in all p-p-probability, be, ah, v-very s-stressful to him."

Dumbstruck, Jeff stared at the scientist.

"Please f-forgive me for s-saying th-this."

"Don't apologise. You're right," Jeff conceded. "I'm the last person he'd expect to fly Thunderbird One."

Brains put away the remainder of his medical gear and stood, regarding his patient as if he were an obstacle to their goal. "You cannot pilot standing up, but h-how are we going to get Scott onto the floor? I c-cannot do it alone."

Jeff looked at his fit, muscular, _heavy_ son. "Neither can I, but with any luck we'll be able to do it together."

It was a major struggle as the pilot's seat seemed unwilling to release Scott's limp body, but eventually they succeeded and he was laid with reasonable care on the floor of his cabin.

Puffing as he tried to regain his breath, Jeff crouched next to his son as Brains checked him over again. "Any deterioration?"

"No." Brains put an oxygen mask over Scott's face.

Jeff looked about him. "I can't see any holes in the cabin. We may not have to worry about decompression sickness."

"I hope not, but to make sure I want to get Scott into a hyperbaric chamber. We must not, ah, discount the possibility of micro-punctures in the hull."

"No," Jeff agreed. "Our problem is how do we access one? The hyperbaric chamber's on Tracy Island and we don't know if Scott succeeded in stopping the eruption."

Brains stole a quick glance at his watch. "And we won't be able to use Thunderbird Two's recompression chamber for hours."

"And Thunderbirds Three and Five's chambers aren't an option."

Brains indicated the pure oxygen that was flowing into Scott's mask. "That will, er, help ease any symptoms in the short term."

Jeff watched as Brains shone a light into each of Scott's pupils. "How bad do you think the head injury is?"

Continuing with his examination, Brains shook his head. "I cannot say at this stage. At best I would anticipate that his brain would have sustained some minor bruising. A-At worst…" He swallowed. "At worst he could have had a haemorrhage."

"Haemorrhage!" Jeff stared at the engineer. "You mean he could have a stroke?!"

Brains concentrated on making sure his patient was comfortable. "I would prefer not to think that, but I must consider all possibilities."

"So the sooner we get him to a proper bed the better?" Hoping that his hands had stopped shaking from excitement and the strain of lifting – at least enough to control a state-of-the-art rocket plane – Jeff stood, using the pilot's seat's framework for support, and claimed it for himself. "Wish us all luck, Brains." He closed the hatch above them.

"I-I do not believe that we will need it, Mr Tracy. I wouldn't have agreed to you being the pilot if I didn't think you were capable of the t-task."

Jeff tried not to think that that last little "t-t" had been some sign that the engineer was simply trying to boost his confidence and reassure them both; and told himself to appreciate the compliment. Taking a deep breath, he entered the codes that would allow him to take command of the aeroplane. "Thunderbird One to Thunderbird Five. We have control."

"F-A-B."

John hadn't asked about his brother; which, under most situations, Jeff would have considered to be out of character. But now he didn't have time to worry about such observations. Now he had to land Thunderbird One safely and then get Scott to somewhere where he could get proper medical attention. "Are we returning to Mu'a, Brains?"

Brains looked up. "Huh…? Oh… Yes. U-Until I am sure that we will not be endangering our lives on Tracy Island, the f-facilities on Mu'a will be adequate."

"Right," Jeff grunted. "Fingers crossed."

He pushed forward on the controls and felt Thunderbird One's powerful engines respond to his touch. A slight thumbing of a lever and the aircraft rose ten metres and then stopped. Pushing forward on one side stick and pulling back on the other caused the rocket plane to swing about in a balletic arc. Now that she was nose-on to the helipad, Jeff coaxed her forward, telling himself that that slight draught he felt on his face was his imagination.

Now what?

He had no wings to maintain Thunderbird One's stability in a standard, danger-zone, horizontal landing. With no wings he had lost her side support struts, meaning there was a real possibility of rolling the craft on touchdown. A vertical landing, similar to when Thunderbird One returned to her hangar was feasible, but Jeff feared that any change in orientation would have an adverse affect on his injured son.

He had no other options.

"You are over the helipad, Mr Tracy," Tin-Tin's voice interrupted Jeff's musings. She and her father had landed the helijet and were keeping a close watch on Thunderbird One's progress. "You may land her now."

Jeff wished that the pair of them could change places. How did you land a crippled, weakened aircraft with crippled, weakened hands?

With tenacity and stubbornness: that was how. That, plus the safety mechanisms built into the aeroplane in case of such emergencies.

Jeff hoped that Scott had had time to check all those systems.

Taking it slowly, keeping his breathing regular and even, and trying to minimise any sudden moves, Jeff brought Thunderbird One closer to the ground.

"Twenty metres till touchdown," Tin-Tin told him.

_Keep it steady… Keep it slow…_

"Fifteen metres."

_Easy does it…_

"Fourteen metres."

_Easy…_

"Thirteen metres."

_Nearly there. Don't get excited._

"Ten metres."

_Just relax and continue doing what you've been doing…_

"Ten metres."

_Ten metres and it'll be all over…_

"Ten metres. You are nearly there, Mr Tracy."

_Ten metres and you can relax…_

"You are holding at ten metres…"

_Ten metres! Ten measly metres! For Pete's sake stop __screwing around__ and just do it, Tracy!_

Tin-Tin watched as, a giant airbag expanding from underneath her nose cone, Thunderbird One, gracefully and with a delicate precision that her regular pilot would have been proud of, settled onto the helipad. The engines cut out and the rocket plane nuzzled into her cushion of air; remaining upright.

Jeff felt a surge of exhilaration. "Thunderbird Five! We're down!"

Helping her father carry a stretcher, Tin-Tin dashed to Thunderbird One's entrance hatch, which had swung open almost as soon as the aircraft had touched the ground. "How is Scott, Brains?"

"Stable," he admitted. "Mr Tracy's landing was so comfortable that it had no effect on him whatsoever."

"That is wonderful! I knew he could do it."

Brains grinned. "Didn't we all."

On the other side of the cockpit, an elated Jeff had grabbed Kyrano's hand. "We did it!"

Kyrano smiled. "_You_ did it, Kawan Saya. You have landed Thunderbird One. From now on you will not let anything hold you back."

"You're right." Jeff got to his feet. "Let's get Scott up to the house." He switched on the microphone. "Thunderbird One to Thunderbird Five."

There was no reply.

"Come in Thunderbird Five."

Silence.

"Thunderbird Five?"

…

"John...!?

...

"Answer me!"

There was no response from space...

_To be continued…_


	30. Chapter 30 - Gordon

**Chapter 30: Gordon**

_D-Day_

"Good luck, Gordon."

"Thanks, Virgil. Same to you." Even as he was speaking Gordon Tracy was passing an expert eye over all of Thunderbird Four's various gauges and readouts. Satisfied with what he saw, he coaxed her under the waves.

It had been one of the easiest pod drops that he could remember. This time there wasn't the frantic splash and dash that had marked earlier rescues, so Virgil had made an effort to make the start of his mission as easy as possible. Gordon appreciated the thought. Reflecting back on their final conversation together it had been obvious that his brother was worried about him.

And for a long time, Gordon had to admit, he had been just as worried. But now there was nothing to worry about.

...He hoped.

It wasn't long before Gordon and Thunderbird Four were descending into the aphotic zone; the area where the Sun's rays couldn't reach. Not that Gordon could see the light leach from the sea; trapped as he was behind the hexirhombi double-coating that had replaced all of Thunderbird Four's viewports. With no visibility at depth there'd been no need for what could potentially be a weak link in the submarine's hull, so one of her defining features had gone.

"Thunderbird Five to Thunderbird Four."

"Thunderbird Four. Reading you strength five, John."

"How's she performing?"

Instinctively Gordon looked to where his view on the world should have been. "Like a dream."

"I see you're at 300 metres. Only another 10,600 to go, huh?"

"Yep. I'll be there and back before you can say: _Thunderbirds: One, Two, Three, Four. Thunderbird Five? What a bore?_"

Gordon heard John laugh. "It'd be a long time before I said that."

Gordon glanced at the radio signal meter sure that it was losing its strength. "How's Scott doing?"

"He's finished."

"He's completed his mission?"

"Er… Yeah."

"Great! How'd it go?"

"He, erm, he was right on the money."

"You sound surprised. What's he doing now?"

"Ah… He's on his way, er, back…"John was still sounding distracted.

Gordon frowned at his brother's hesitancy. "John?"

"The signals I'm receiving from the ACG and the two lead missiles are looking promising."

"That's good." But something about John's manner was making Gordon uneasy. He had a feeling that his brother had something he didn't want to say. The question was; how to tease it out of him? "What's Scott doing now?"

"Heading back, ah, home."

"John!" Gordon decided that at the speed that he was diving he didn't have time to waste. It was time for the direct approach! "Tell me what's wrong now!"

"Wrong…? Ah… Nothing, Gordon. I'm sorry, but I'm trying to keep watch over four Thunderbirds and I've only got two eyes. We've never spread our resources so thinly before."

Gordon chided himself for not considering how stressful it must be for John alone in the Space Station. "Our signal's fading, so you won't have to watch out for me much longer."

"You know that once we lose contact I'll be watching even harder until I hear from you again."

"I know," Gordon admitted. "We're all glad you're up there keeping an eye on us, John." He glanced back at the radio. "Now receiving you at strength four."

"Virgil will be arriving at the Dead Sea soon. I'd better be ready for when he checks in. Keep safe, Gordon."

"Thanks, John. Keep your ears open."

"F-A-B."

And the radio was silent.

Even as John had signed off the strength of his radio signal had dropped to three. It wouldn't be long before Gordon was going to be completely on his own. He suppressed a shiver.

Thunderbird Four sank even deeper towards the Mariana Trench; occasionally slowing her descent as she encountered a deeper, colder thermal layer. Outside, the submarine's sonar told him that apart from the arc of the largely underwater mountains that made up the Mariana Islands there was nothing around him for miles…

Then something swam into 'view'. Something massive.

Gordon stared at the sonar, wishing he could see into the black waters as the sperm whale cruised beside him; diving down to feed on the squid that lived deep in these waters. Gordon checked his depth gauge. He was presently at 1500 metres below sea level; only at half the mammal's theoretical maximum depth.

He reflected that the whale and Thunderbird Four had a lot in common.

Years ago, when he and Brains had been working on the initial plans for International Rescue's future submarine, they'd decided that there was no need to reinvent a process that Mother Nature had already perfected. Spermaceti, the milky-white waxy substance which had given this species of whale its name, had remarkable properties. Whilst the mammal was breathing on the surface the spermaceti was held in an organ within its head in a liquid form. When the whale was ready to dive it pulled water into the organ, cooling the wax and solidifying it. The denser the spermaceti, the less buoyant the whale, and the easier it was for the mammoth creature to dive.

Thunderbird Four used a synthetic form of spermaceti called hydracax. At this moment cold water was constantly circulating around the hydracax chamber that lined the base of the submarine, decreasing the buoyancy of the air-filled cocoon that was the sub. Once Gordon had decided that it was time to surface he would eject the cooling seawater, warm the hydracax, and enable the wax to liquefy again to assist the submarine back towards Gordon's natural environment.

The sperm whale abandoned its dive and swam off leaving Gordon feeling jealous of its abilities. There'd been many times when he'd wished he could hold his breath for 45 minutes. Then again, he reflected, if you were a diving whale and your lungs and other organs had collapsed to enable your body to survive the water's pressure at these depths, you wouldn't have much choice other than to hold your breath.

But he wasn't a whale. He was a mere human not built to survive so deep in the ocean. If Thunderbird Four sprung a leak those pressures would crush his craft and then his puny body as easily as he could crush a shell under his heel…

Gordon banished the thought before checking the time. He'd been diving for nearly half an hour and was two kilometres beneath the surface.

He remembered one of those odd facts that are never of any use in the real world. If Mount Everest suddenly materialised so that it was sitting on the bottom of the Challenger Deep, its peak would still be 70 odd metres beneath him…

He continued diving…

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

They'd been submersing for over two hours and Thunderbird Four was nearing her destination. Now she was motoring along between the walls of a submerged chasm.

Gordon checked her over, pleased at the way his sub was handing the stresses of the depths. Out there 108.6 megapascals of pressure was pressing down on her, and she was showing no sign of the strain.

Normally he would have been desperate to witness a whole different world so rarely experienced by man. He would have loved to have observed the weird, blind, pressure-immune fish that swam past Thunderbird Four and the crab-like creatures that scuttled across the chasm floor. But not now. Now his focus was on finding the spot that had been chosen to launch his acoustic concussion generator into the Earth.

The curved Mariana Trench had an average width of 69 kilometres, and Gordon was aiming for a particular spot at the southern end of the arc. Using the sonar screen as his eyes, he guided Thunderbird Four into a crack in the Earth's crust, his expert touch guiding her away from the rocky walls that loomed over them. This was the Challenger Deep; the deepest known point on the planet's surface. It was here that the Pacific Plate was being subducted under the Mariana Plate at a rate of centimetres a year, and Gordon didn't want to be hanging around if one plate decided to nudge against the other.

A red dot on the sonar drew him in and locked him into position; ready to fire. He was lucky. His ACG only had to travel less than forty kilometres or so to reach its destination. With an expert hand he nudged Thunderbird Four closer; bow down towards the seabed; not so close that she was touching the ocean floor, but close enough to ensure that the ACG would hit its target.

He was ready. Thunderbird Four was ready. The ACG was ready. All he had to do was fire…

His thumb pressed the button that sent the acoustic concussion generator rocketing out of the submarine and into bedrock. Hidden behind the hexirhombi screen he didn't see the impact as the ACG bit into the seabed, but he saw the red dot on the sonar turn black as the bull's-eye was scored. He didn't hear the explosion as the ACG vaporised the floor of the chasm, but he felt Thunderbird Four react as the force of detonation drove him backwards. He didn't see the bubbles of air erupt out of the cannon the instant after launch and, as he pointed her bow upward for the eleven kilometre climb back to the surface, didn't realise that Thunderbird Four was doomed...

He had done his best to protect his submarine from the eight tons per square inch of pressure, but while he was strengthening her had realised that the cannon was her Achilles Heel. For the descent the launch tube was protected by the twin-skinned, hexirhombi sandwich amour until the moment of detonation when the tube's relatively weak lining was exposed to the pressures of the Pacific Ocean. At normal depths this exposure could be handled by the lightning fast operation of the cannon's protective cover.

But these weren't normal depths.

The pressure of the water and the concussive force of the ACG blasting into the rock had warped the mouth of the tube, preventing the protective cover from sealing it for the return journey. With Thunderbird Four's engines accelerating at full throttle and pushing against eleven kilometres of water the cover distorted and then snapped free.

Even then events didn't happen at an insurmountable speed. There were no screams of tearing metal as Thunderbird Four was torn apart. In fact Gordon, certain that the worst of his mission was over and that all he had to look forward to was a leisurely one hour trip back to the surface, had relaxed as the wall of the cannon ruptured and warning alarms started screeching. He almost leapt out of his wetsuit at the first shriek; fear flooding his system as fast as water was now flooding the compartments beneath his feet.

Taking a breath to calm his nerves, he made a rapid assessment of his situation. Thunderbird Four had holed and the parts of her outer shell that hadn't been ripped open were collapsing under the ocean's pressure. This was not good. Four's cabin still had light and oxygen, there was no change to its atmospheric pressure, and she was on her way to the surface under her own power. This was good. The cooling water around the hydracax had already been jettisoned and a quick check reassured Gordon that that compartment hadn't been compromised. If he lost motive power at least the submarine should still make it to the surface...

Eventually.

But he'd need help when he got there.

He opened a general emergency radio channel. "Mayday, mayday, mayday..." he enunciated, without any real hope of his message reaching anyone. "This is Thunderbird Four... Thunderbird Four... Thunderbird Four... Mayday... I am at eleven degrees 22 minutes 39 seconds north – 142 degrees 35 minutes 54 seconds east in the Mariana Arc and I am taking on water. I am International Rescue's submarine. There is one person on board. No injuries. This is International Rescue submarine Thunderbird Four. Mayday."

As expected he didn't get an answer. From this deep he doubted that there was any chance of Thunderbird Five picking up his distress signal. Even if Thunderbird Two was flying overhead, the chances that her radio would be strong enough to hear his call were slim. Ditto Thunderbird One.

He hadn't exhausted all options though. He knew that at the same moment that Thunderbird Four had alerted him to her distress, a small disc at the base of the dorsal stabilising fin would have been released. This disc was made of an extra buoyant material that guaranteed that the disc would float no matter what the conditions or viscosity of the liquid. Upon nearing the surface the disc would start broadcasting an automated mayday message similar to the one that he had just submitted: the name of his craft, his co-ordinates, and the fact that Thunderbird Four had been holed. This message would be broadcast on two channels – the first the general emergency frequency; the second International Rescue's dedicated network.

The problem was that with only one submarine in International Rescue's flotilla it was all a waste of time. Assuming the disc wasn't eaten by some sea creature before it reached the surface; there was nothing that John could do when he heard its mayday. Besides, judging by the ominous sounds of surging water that sounded as if it was working its way between the hexirhombi lattice, by the time the disc reached a depth where its signal could be received, it would be too late anyway.

"Stop thinking like that, Gordon!"

"_Why? I've had it this time."_

"Don't say that! You'll survive!"

"_Will I?"_

"Of course you will! You always have!"

"_How?"_

"By luck and improving your odds."

"_Improving my odds? How do I improve my odds?"_

"Let's see…"

This monologue had helped to settle Gordon's nerves and he began to think rationally. So what if his distress message couldn't be heard by John at the moment, Thunderbird Four was ascending towards the surface. Any rescue, once the outside world knew of his predicament, would be carried out in much shallower waters than the bottom of the Mariana Trench.

"Things aren't that bad, Gordon," he told himself. "The main cabin's still intact. You've got plenty of oxygen. You've got light. Internal pressure's fine. The engines have got pow…"

The lights went out.

Gordon looked around him, waiting for his eyes to grow accustomed to the dim glow of the emergency lighting. Now he knew that his options were limited and decreasing by the second. He scrambled out of his pilot's chair and, trying to maintain his footing against the sloping floor, and ran his hand over Thunderbird Four's bulkhead. Was the poor light creating an optical illusion, or were the panels bowing in? While he hoped it was the former, he was pretty sure it was the latter.

He only had one option now. Abandon Thunderbird Four.

Behind his cabin was an emergency life raft of sorts; able to hold three, or at a pinch four people. It was a sphere, reminiscent of the bathyscaphes that had first descended into the black abysses of the seas. Its shape meant that it was capable of withstanding equal pressure on all sides; but whether it was going to be strong enough to survive outside of Thunderbird Four at this depth, Gordon didn't know.

Just as he didn't know how far they'd already ascended. His control panel had died along with the lights. He didn't know the temperature outside, or the temperature inside. He didn't know how much oxygen he had remaining. He didn't know what the cabin or external pressures were. But he did know he had no choice other than to take a chance and hope that Grandma was looking out for him the way she'd always looked out for him. He'd always said that if it had been a contest of wills between Neptune and his grandmother, he'd back his Grandma to beat the god of the sea any day.

Gordon put an oxygen cylinder into the sphere. Then, after a moment's hesitation as he considered the size of the space he was going to be sharing with two metal canisters, added a second. The trip was going to be a long one and he didn't want to risk running out of air before he reached the surface.

It was time to leave Thunderbird Four.

Gordon knew he should be hurrying into the relative safety of the sphere, but the idea of leaving his beloved submarine to her fate was abhorrent. Many a time she'd protected him from Neptune's fury, and to abandon her to the sea god now seemed to be an act of betrayal.

"I'm sorry, old girl. I wish it didn't have to be like this. There are a lot of people in this world who owe you their lives, including me." He patted Thunderbird Four's control panel before stepping into the sphere. "Thank you, Honey."

Not giving himself time to think about what he was doing, he pulled the double-doored hatch shut on his yellow submarine and spun the lock, sealing into the sphere tight before pressing a button at the side of the hatch.

He waited for the sphere to pop free of Thunderbird Four and float up to the surface, unassisted by anything other than its own natural buoyancy.

It didn't happen.

Gordon pressed the button again.

There was no change in the sounds about him or the orientation of the sphere.

Gordon said something that would have caused his grandmother to box his ears if she'd heard him.

Gordon hoped that she hadn't heard him. Or that if she had, she had understood his frustrations and was going to do whatever was in her power to help him. He looked up to the sky; or at least where he assumed the sky would be if he wasn't under thousands of metres of water. "I'm sorry, Grandma," he apologised. "But, if you're listening, I need your help." He pressed the button again.

Grandma wasn't listening. Or if she was, she was punishing him for all his past misdeeds.

Once again Gordon found himself evaluating his options. Should he exit the sphere and take his chance in Thunderbird Four's warped cabin? Stay in the sphere and hope that whatever had distorted and was stopping the life raft from detaching from the submarine would un-distort itself? Or stay in the sphere and, if they didn't go their separate ways, let Thunderbird Four's engines motor them to the surface and trust he had enough oxygen to last that long?

What if Thunderbird Four's upwards trajectory became shallower? Gordon knew that that would mean that he would be underwater for much longer than necessary, putting a greater strain on his oxygen supply. It also meant that Thunderbird Four would surface miles away from his last known position and possible rescue by Thunderbird Two.

After a brief debate with himself, he decided that even though he had no control over whichever of the last two options lay in the future, they were still better than the first. And so he sat on the curved floor of the sphere and awaited his fate.

He shivered. In Thunderbird Four's cabin he'd enjoyed the luxury of heating. Here in the sphere, designed as it was for survival rather than comfort, there was nothing to keep him warm. He pulled his wetsuit's hood over his head.

He wondered how long the emergency lighting would last. His present source of light was only a temporary measure, designed to give him a start until the surface of the life raft came in contact with sea water. Then the ocean's salts would act as a catalyst and the resulting chemical reaction would give the sphere's occupants adequate light for the remainder of their journey. Without that salty bath, Gordon knew he'd be lucky if his present light source lasted an hour.

Not that he could do anything about it. He could do nothing except listen to the quiet rumble of Thunderbird Four's motors as they chugged towards the surface, and hope that the sound wouldn't suddenly stop.

Shivering again, he settled back, hugged his arms to his chest, and tried to make himself comfortable…

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

Gordon had no idea how long he'd been travelling. He was cold. He was uncomfortable. And, not that he was willing to admit it, even to himself, he was scared.

His brain seemed numb with boredom and cold, and was beginning to ache.

It was stuffy too. For a little while he tried to work out how it was possible to be cold and hot at the same time.

"Physical impossibility," he stated, trying to wake his brain up. "Doesn't make sense."

His voice sounded hoarse.

He agreed with himself that it didn't make sense and decided that it was too much of a challenge to even consider such a conundrum. Maybe he'd be better if he just drifted off to sleep…?

Sleep? How could he sleep when his mouth was as dry as the Dry Valleys Region of Antarctica? He was gasping for a drink. All that water around him and he couldn't touch a drop of it.

Life could be cruel sometimes.

How much further did he have to travel?!

He pulled at the neck of his wetsuit, trying to let the air circulate so that he could breathe…

Breathe!

It was like being slapped in the face. He knew the reason why he was feeling stuffy and his mouth was drying out. He knew why his brain felt like it was wading through molasses. It was because the air in the sphere was growing "thin". Or more correctly he'd almost used up all the oxygen available and was starting to overdose on his exhaled carbon dioxide.

Quickly, his hands working as much on instinct born of years of practise as on conscious thought, he connected an oxygen cylinder to his mask and slipped the mask over his face. Then he turned the air flow on, savouring the refreshing feel of oxygen entering his lungs.

That was close.

Now he was feeling more alert and he knew that he couldn't let himself get to that stage again. At least next time he was running low on oxygen the cylinder would give him an audible warning.

He settled back to wait for the next act in this never-ending drama...

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

Gordon groaned and tried to stretch his back. Why hadn't they made the sphere bigger? He couldn't stand up. He couldn't lie down. He was sitting, but his legs were bent up against the opposing side increasing the arc of his backbone.

He'd spent the last unknown number of minutes with his spine curved outwards as it rested against the wall of the sphere. When that had become too painful he adjusted his position so that his arms were behind his back and he was resting on them allowing his back to straighten. This wasn't that successful as his shoulders would soon complain about being bent behind him and his exposed torso would start shivering. Then it was back to hugging his body and gritting his teeth against the complaints he was receiving from his spinal column and vertebrae.

He wasn't made to be sitting around doing nothing. It wasn't as if had a tendency to act impulsively like Alan, but he couldn't stand being inactive. Even when he'd been bedbound after his accident he'd tried to keep his mind active. His family had been a huge help in stopping him from dwelling on his predicament too.

But his family weren't here now. Not here under the waves anyway. Doubtless John was trying over and over again to make contact with his AWOL brother. And hadn't John said that Scott had finished his mission? Gordon was sure that their eldest brother was circling overhead in Thunderbird One; his eagle eyes watching out for a yellow submarine.

Then Gordon wondered if Virgil had finished his mission yet. If the Mole hadn't surfaced then Gordon could imagine Scott flying between the Dead Sea and the Pacific Ocean, scanning the area for one missing operative, and then flying back again see if the other was waiting for him.

Gordon felt warm affection rush through him as he thought of Scott's devotion to his younger siblings. He hadn't always enjoyed Scott's fussing over him; but when he'd needed help and reassurance, his big brother had always been there...

Except over the past year when they hadn't been talking.

The pain of remembering the events that had led up to that rift, and Scott's subsequent withdrawal from his life, squashed Gordon as effectively as the waters intended to do if the sphere collapsed. He shrugged his shoulders to try to shake off the feeling, and put his right arm behind his back to ease the physical pain.

These maudlin thoughts vanished into the darkness when he felt the whole sphere rock and his centre of gravity move. He didn't even need to press his ear against the hatch to hear that sound he most dreaded.

The walls of Thunderbird Four's cabin had collapsed.

Gordon drew his legs closer to his body and hugged them tightly. What had always been his haven had flooded. His beloved Thunderbird Four was disintegrating and he could do nothing to stop it. How long would it be before this sanctuary was compromised? Even if it remained intact, would he reach the surface before it was too late? His new centre of gravity was telling him that the change in Thunderbird Four's external structure had altered her angle of ascent. They were still climbing, but at a much shallower angle than before.

At least the vibrations through the walls told him that the engines had continued to run smoothly. Thunderbird Four was still pushing her less than aquadynamic body towards the surface.

Gordon told himself to be thankful for small mercies and tried to get comfortable again.

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

He didn't know how long he'd been dozing when he woke up, curled up in a ball and shivering in the cold and dark. Something in his environment was changing and it took him a moment to work out what.

As he became more alert he realised that he was slowly rolling towards the stern. At least he thought it was the stern. If it hadn't been for the hatch's lock, which had occasionally dug into him as he tried to get comfortable, he would have lost all sense of direction. Now Thunderbird Four appeared to be rolling in such a way that the hatch was sliding beneath Gordon's body.

He yelped when the unused oxygen cylinder rolled across his leg; bruising him. Hugging the one that was giving him life, and trying to shift the other without damaging it or inadvertently opening the hatch, he shuffled sideways until the rolling stopped. The exit was now slightly above him on his right side instead of his left, meaning that he was sitting on what could loosely be called the ceiling.

Wary, in case Thunderbird Four should start moving again, Gordon continued to hold onto the cylinder and waited. He was more than a little relieved when he realised that Thunderbird Four seemed to have stopped her weird rolling dance.

Now that he was reasonably sure that things had settled down, Gordon secured his oxygen cylinder next to him and then, his teeth chattering in the cold, tried to analyse what had happened. If the hatch had changed sides then that meant that Thunderbird Four was upside-down. Why would she suddenly flip?

He came to the conclusion that that she would flip if her engines stopped. Without their forward propulsion they would become dead weights in the water and Thunderbird Four's more buoyant bow would climb faster than the stern of the sub.

Gordon frowned. How buoyant could the bow be if it was filled with water and had probably lost much of its hexirhombi skin? And why had Thunderbird Four almost completely inverted her natural orientation? He could have understood if she was "standing" on her stern, but she was upside-down – if a little tail heavy.

As he rubbed his arms to try to keep warm the solution came to him. The hydracax! Despite all that had happened to the submarine, the chamber that housed the buoyancy aid couldn't have flooded and must have been still warm enough to keep the waxy substance in a liquid state. The hydracax, spread out in a thin layer inside the base of Thunderbird Four, was dragging her to the surface.

For the first time in what seemed to be hours Gordon smiled. All was not lost yet...

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

Crouched on the "floor" of the sphere, his weight on his shins and forearms instead of his back, Gordon groaned. He couldn't stop shivering and his enforced captivity was doing his head in.

He sat up and swung his legs around to the front, hugging them again to give them a rest without straining his perpetually aching back. Yep, he was definitely losing it. Why else would the lighting in his prison seem brighter? His old concerns reared their ugly heads and he tried to suppress them. He had enough problems without thinking that his mental health had taken a turn for the worse. He told himself that he was probably mildly hypothermic and hoped that that condition wouldn't worsen.

He stood, leaning with his hands against the far wall to try to straighten out his spine without dislodging the oxygen feed between his mask and the cylinder. His haunches bumped against the lock and he crouched down again.

How much further did he have to travel? Why hadn't they installed a self-lit depth gauge in here?

He shivered uncontrollably.

Desperate for some relief from captivity he took a breath, removed his oxygen mask, and rubbed his face. It wasn't much of an escape, but at least for that brief moment a part of him felt free. He exhaled, seeing a mist form before him, before replacing the mask. He found himself staring through a fogged up lens.

Taking another breath he pulled the mask away from his face and rubbed the condensation away. His hands brushed against his cheek as he replaced the breathing apparatus and they felt cold.

Cold and wet.

Wet?

They were wet from the condensation...? Right?

A warning light went on in Gordon's brain. A light brighter than the dim glow of the sphere. He had a horrible feeling that when he'd first rubbed his face his hand had been wet.

He licked his lips, tasting salt...

Sea salt.

Despite the illusion of increasing illumination, it still wasn't bright enough to see clearly. Squinting in the darkness Gordon examined his hands, unable to make out any detail. Then he rubbed his hand on the floor before bringing it back up to mask level.

A drop of water dripped from his fingers.

His sanctuary had been breached.

This shiver wasn't the uncontrolled spasms caused by his chilling muscles. This one was caused by simple, uncontrolled, fear.

He wasn't going crazy. His world was growing brighter as the exterior was coming into contact with the salty water of the Pacific Ocean. The brighter the light, the more water surrounding the sphere. The more water surrounding the sphere, the more pressure on its hull.

And the more pressure on its hull, the greater the probability that water would flood Gordon's life raft...

_To be continued..._


	31. Chapter 31 - Virgil

**Chapter 31: Virgil**

_D-Day_

Virgil felt the slightest of jolts as Pod Four disengaged from Thunderbird Two's fuselage and fell into the water. He backed away, swinging around so that he could see the pod's door open and Thunderbird Four slip into the Pacific Ocean above the Mariana Trench. "Good luck, Gordon."

"Thanks, Virgil. Same to you." Thunderbird Four disappeared beneath the dark, foreboding waters, and the pod door closed.

Swinging back into position, Virgil engaged the connection system that re-established the pod as an integral part of Thunderbird Two; then, jets firing, he turned west. "Thunderbird Two to Thunderbird Five."

"Thunderbird Five. Go ahead, Virgil."

"Thunderbird Four descending into Mariana Trench. I am en route to destination."

"F-A-B. I'll send Gordon a good luck call before he gets out of range. Let me know when you reach the Dead Sea."

"Will do, John. Thunderbird Two out."

International Rescue had been granted access through all the airspaces above the countries between the Mariana Islands and his destination. But despite the fact that he would be flying high above all landmasses, his natural caution, (despite a nagging recollection of his encounter with the USN Sentinel), caused Virgil to fly above the seas where possible. There was, he reasoned, no seat-of-the-pants rush this time.

It felt strange to be heading out in Thunderbird Two to a rescue without Scott calling him up for progress reports and to encourage him to coax every ounce of speed out of his aircraft. Not nagging him; just updating the state of affairs at his end as they unfolded and emphasising the urgency of the situation.

This time, Virgil knew, Scott had his own mission to worry about.

He lost altitude as he closed in on the Dead Sea. Far below him those who knew of International Rescue's mission looked up and, seeing the spot in the sky, cheered him on.

Virgil continued flying; unaware of the accolades he and his organisation were receiving.

On reaching his destination he began to drop vertically. As he watched his altimeter changed from positive to sea level and then continued a downward slide.

But even those negative numbers weren't going to be low enough for what he needed to achieve.

The altimeter read -416 metres as Thunderbird Two came to rest. Here, at the boundary between the African and Arabian Plates, a "pull apart basin", known as the Dead Sea, had formed. This dry, arid land was the lowest part on Earth not covered by water or ice.

But Virgil needed to go deeper. His job was to drill down between those two plates, plant an acoustic bomb, and get the heck out of there.

He headed down into the pod. Down here he was aware of the familiar vibrations and sounds as the pod disengaged and Thunderbird Two rose up on her legs. He climbed into the Mole and checked all her systems.

In front of the Mole's drill nose the pod door swung downwards and Virgil initiated communications. "Mole to Thunderbird Five."

"Thunderbird Five. Go ahead, Virgil."

"About to exit pod."

"F-A-B."

Starting up the Mole's powerful engines, Virgil pressed forward on the control lever and, with a jolt, the mighty machine lurched forward. "Any word from Scott?"

"He's … successfully launched his ACG. He's left Antarctica."

Virgil, focused on negotiating his way down the pod's ramp, didn't catch John's minute pause. "Great. One down; two to go."

"Yeah."

"I only hope that I'll be just as successful."

"I'm sure you will be."

Virgil was about to make some comment about being at a disadvantage when he stopped himself. John was fully aware that the Mole's ACG would have to travel further than their brothers'. And both of them knew that none of their tasks could be classified as easy. Not even John's. "How's Gordon doing?"

"Seems okay. The only issue he's got is the loss of radio signal."

"That might be my problem too." Virgil stopped the Mole's forward momentum. "About to commence drilling."

"F-A-B," John responded. "Good luck, Virgil. Call me when you're topside again."

"F-A-B." Keying in a code, Virgil felt a tremor run through the Mole; building in intensity until the gauge told him that the drill was rotating at full revs. He pushed forward on a lever and the topmost section of the machine tilted forward, slid off its trolley, and the drill bit into the salty soil. The vibrations increased briefly and then settled down as the craft submerged itself under the Dead Sea plain.

There was nothing to do now. Nothing except keep an eye on the life-support systems, guidance computer, and depth gauge. Nothing except wait for the moment when he was to launch an acoustic concussion generator even deeper into the earth.

Virgil got up to stretch his legs, giving the life-support console a quick glance as he walked past. Oxygen levels were good. Atmospheric pressure was good. Temperature was comfortable.

He climbed upwards to the back of the capsule and, as much as for something to do as anything, checked all the emergency life-support equipment.

Bracing himself against the downward slope, he walked back down to the master control panel.

Oxygen levels good. Atmospheric pressure good. Temperature good. Gravity good.

Gravity. Not much point worrying about that. The Mole would have to travel a long way beneath the Earth's crust before it would feel any gravitational changes. Virgil recollected Brains saying once that if it were possible to survive at the centre of the Earth's core, then the centrifugal forces exerted by the spinning planet would equate to six times the force of gravity on the planet's surface.

Six Gs.

Virgil had no intention of going that deep, even if it were theoretically possible…

Which it wasn't.

But he did know that they had never had the need to test the Mole to her limits and he intended to make use of each theoretical metre and more. He knew that should Scott and Gordon be successful in their endeavours, then this mission was going to be the weak link in Brains' plan, simply because he couldn't match the depth at which his brothers' ACGs were going to start burrowing.

He reclaimed his seat and checked the depth gauge. The Mole had already passed the 100 metre mark. Only 900-plus more to go…

Thinking about his brothers had Virgil wondering how Scott was getting on. He checked his watch, did a quick calculation, and surmised that his eldest brother should be on his way back to Tracy Island by now.

"Mole to Thunderbird Five."

There was no answer.

"Mole to Thunderbird Five."

Silence on the airwaves.

"Come in, Thunderbird Five."

There was something disquieting about John's lack of response.

Virgil checked the strata that he was burrowing through and then, noting the depth he was at and his increasing distance from the surface, decided that he was simply out of radio range. Either that or John was too busy communicating with Scott, Gordon, Alan, or base. They'd never split their radio resources so widely before and there had been some doubt as to whether Thunderbird Five would be able to monitor four vastly differing directions at once.

Satisfied with that explanation, Virgil banished his concerns and settled back to watch the depth gauge creep downwards…

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

_One thousand metres._

The Mole's theoretical maximum drilling depth.

Virgil stopped the great machine and regarded the control panel. None of the gauges were creeping into the red and there weren't any sirens blaring at him. All of the life-support console's readouts were also in the green.

Time to take a chance and go deeper.

Virgil restarted the engines and kept a careful watch that none of the systems so vital to the mission and his survival showed any signs of strain or danger of collapse.

All was well.

All except for the fact that he was bored. There was none of the adrenaline that had accompanied earlier missions in the Mole, and without exception each of those had been shorter than this one.

Much shorter.

He'd checked and re-checked every system, tool, meter, and gauge in the place. For the first time ever, Virgil found himself on an International Rescue operation wishing he had his keyboard with him.

He got a pencil and a piece of paper and started to draw…

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

_One thousand five hundred metres._

One and a half kilometres.

One mile.

Another one thousand metres and he would almost be at the same depth to where Scott's ACG would exit ice and hit solid rock. He had no chance of reaching Gordon's almost 11,000 metres, but even 2,000 metres below sea level didn't seem to be a bad place to fire the Mole's ACG.

Virgil carried on drilling.

He checked the life-support console… Oxygen levels were good…. Atmospheric pressure was good… Temperature was comfortable…

Virgil's instincts warned him that they were in trouble even before he received the first blaring alarm. He sensed a change to the Mole's vibrations. He heard the pitch of the engine deepen. He felt their forward momentum slow.

Virgil scanned all those gauges and meters that he'd been so bored with only moments before. The drilling auger up front was slowing; as if it were biting into some substance that was fouling the works.

Something viscous.

He stopped the drilling engine and then restarted it.

All forward momentum had been lost.

He tried again, the computer readout telling him that the screw was barely turning now. If he wasn't going to be able to go forward here, then he'd have to search out a spot where he could.

Virgil put the Mole into reverse.

Nothing happened.

Now Virgil was starting to get worried. Something was stopping the drilling machine from moving forwards or backwards. And if the Mole couldn't move, then neither could he.

He wasn't immediately concerned for his own survival. A quick glance at the life-support systems console told him that he had no fears on that score. His big worry was that something was stopping him from moving and, more importantly, did it have the potential to stop him from launching his ACG? The missile launching tube was offset from the centre of the Mole, but was that enough to get past the impediment?

And just what was the impediment anyway?

Virgil decided to try reversing again. He started the Mole's engines…

And the lights went out.

The next thing he knew, he was lying on the floor of the Mole wondering what had happened. A little dazed and sore he got to his feet, gripping the console as his disorientated brain threatened to overbalance him again. He blinked, trying to get his eyes to adjust to the dim glow of the emergency lighting. It took a moment for his brain to register that it wasn't his sense of balance that was disorientated; it was the angle of the floor he was standing on.

The realisation as to why they'd lost power hit him as quickly as the Mole's floor seconds earlier. The torque produced when he'd last switched on the engines, coupled with the fact that something was holding the drill fast, had caused the body of the Mole to spin instead of the screw. The attempt at a single rotation had happened so quickly that Virgil had been bounced about like a ping pong ball in a clothes dryer.

Virgil gingerly touched the friction burn on his cheek and reflected that he was fortunate that he'd been standing in the only bit of the craft where there was nothing jutting out from the wall or the ceiling. If something had caught a wayward body part, something hard and angular like the life-support console or a cupboard, then he would be hurting a lot more than he was now.

Since it was the Mole's body that had spun instead of its nose, then Virgil could almost guarantee that the tracks along the vehicle's sides had snapped, or that they had been stripped free of their housings, or that they had been damaged in any number of ways that would have rendered the vehicle helpless and unable to return to the surface.

Not that that mattered when there was no way of restarting the Mole. It appeared that all the power circuits, except those powered by separate systems, had been severed. Virgil removed a torch from a nearby cupboard and tried to ascertain just why he was working in semi-darkness.

"Mole to Thunderbird Five."

No reply.

"Come in, John."

Silence.

Virgil sighed. He obviously was too deep for John to receive his signal. This meant that he no way of getting advice from Brains.

He wished he could contact Scott to discuss his situation.

Still pondering his options, he ran his hand through his short hair, feeling a few bruises protest. He wasn't incapable of formulating his own plans, but it would have been good to bounce some theories and strategies off someone else. Just so that he would have had the comforting confirmation that he'd considered every angle before making his final decision.

Final being the operative word.

At the thought of failing his mission and then the world, he felt a trail of anxiety trickle down his spine. He rubbed his neck to wipe away the feeling.

His hand came away wet.

Wet?

He was sweating; but not through fear.

Not yet anyway.

Was it getting warmer?

Virgil shone the torch onto the thermometer. His machine's internal temperature had risen by six points from a comfortable 20 degrees Celsius to 26 degrees.

The Mole was a sealed capsule, which, without cooling assistance, would have meant that the capsule's air supply would have got very hot and very uncomfortable very quickly. To stop the air getting stale they'd fitted it out with an efficient air-conditioning system plus an emergency backup. As part of his maintenance over the last few months Virgil had made a point of checking and re-checking that both systems and their independent power sources were A-OK.

Lighting up the life-support console's readings with his torch he was dismayed to discover that the main air-con unit had gone into overdrive. Even more unnerving; it was working so hard that the backup had kicked into action to help it out. But even the combined effort of two machines didn't seem to be making a difference to the air temperature.

Which had now risen by seven degrees.

As Virgil watched the thermometer crept past 28 degrees Celsius.

"Mole to Thunderbird Five! Come in, John!"

Silence on the airwaves.

Virgil hadn't expected any different, but that didn't make him feel any better.

29 degrees and climbing.

What was causing that temperature rise and was it related to what had trapped the Mole like a fly in treacle? Virgil wished that the ground scanning computer was operational so he could try to find something that would give him a clue. Last time he'd checked, just before he'd ground to a halt, he'd been tunnelling through solid rock beside the seismic fault line.

He frowned. In the split second before the power had gone out he thought he'd seen the forward radar change to read that something with a high viscosity was dead ahead.

30 degrees.

Virgil stared at the rising temperature gauge; certain now that he knew what had ruined his mission and was endangering not only his, but the world's survival.

Molten rock…

Magma.

Just as the reigniting volcanic field under Tracy Island had been an unexpected glitch caused by Doomsday; so was the reawakening of the Dead Sea Transform.

Virgil hoped that this bursting back to life wouldn't be accompanied by Earth tremors. Sure he'd intended on starting one of his own, but he'd planned on being well clear of the area before the event.

31 degrees.

32.

Virgil had to admit that he had limited options. Whatever happened he had to release the ACG or else his mission would have been in vain. There was no way of adjusting the angle of the Mole or increasing the depth of launch, so he had no alternative other than to fire the missile now and hope that the magma didn't hold the ACG back…

Or cause it to detonate prematurely.

33.

Virgil cuffed sweat from his brow and armed the missile.

34.

35.

Now both air conditioning units could be heard whining their protests at the way that they were being forced to work at maximum capacity. Virgil figured that sooner rather than later they would burn out and then things would really start to cook. Even now the increasing temperature was escalating faster than he could act.

36.

37.

38.

He didn't hesitate. The Mole, mired in the volcanic glue that had probably started melting even the heat-resistant screw nose, didn't react as the acoustic concussion generator exploded out of its canon. Virgil had no way of knowing whether or not the ACG was speeding on its designated path or if it had simply met molten rock and stopped.

39.

40.

41.

Virgil knew that he'd done what he'd burrowed so deep into the Earth to do.

42.

There was no point in hanging around now.

43.

To do so meant certain death.

45 degrees Celsius.

Virgil had already come to the conclusion that if he were to survive then it would mean sacrificing the Mole. Not that that mattered. The Mole was doomed anyway.

46.

47.

48...

50!

Now the acrid smell of smoke was wafting around the cabin, giving everything a hazy appearance. Obviously the air-conditioning units' useful lives were now being measured in seconds, rather than hours or minutes. And Virgil knew that if he didn't speed up his escape, his life would be just as fleeting. Even in the brief time since the Mole had ground to a halt, he'd lost a lot of fluid and electrolytes through sweating. Not wanting to hang around any longer than necessary, but knowing that he had a long hot trip back to the surface, Virgil grabbed a bottle of electrolyte replenishing water from one of the storage cupboards and drank it all in one gulp.

The water was warm.

53 degrees Celsius and still climbing.

Taking a heat-resistant overall from another cupboard and putting it on over his sweat soaked uniform, he slammed his hand against a palm reader on the wall and entered a code into the keypad that appeared. A previously unseen compartment opened in the floor and a cylindrical object, with a screw nose like the Mole, rolled out of it. Its name, like that of its parent machine, was stencilled across its flanks.

_Pup._

Virgil clipped a flat profile oxygen cylinder to his back. The Pup was an emergency rescue vehicle, which had been designed to operate within the Mole's theoretical limit of one kilometre. Pushed to that limit its oxygen delivering ability would depend on the intake of its sole occupant, and Virgil knew that if he relied on the Pup's capacity alone he'd have asphyxiated by the time they reached the surface. The auxiliary oxygen supply was to hopefully give him enough time to reach fresh air.

Not that breathable air was his only problem. The Pup had been designed to be compact in where it was stored and what it carried. For the first time in living memory Virgil was actually glad that he wasn't the tallest of his brothers. But even so he knew it was going to be a long trip, folded up into a space smaller than a coffin.

Looking at the temperature gauge, which was reading 58º Celsius, Virgil wished he hadn't thought of that analogy.

Pulling his heat-suit's hood over his head he heard the reassuring sounds of oxygen flowing as he took one last glance at the temperature gauge, well into the red at 62 degrees. But, despite the broiling heat, he couldn't leave without performing one last task.

Virgil patted the Mole on its control panel. "You've helped a lot of people, old friend. Thank you. You've done us proud."

The only reply was the hiss of the overheating air-conditioning units.

Time to leave on perhaps the most dangerous trip of his life.

Virgil knelt inside the Pup. One concession the vehicle had to comfort was a groove in the 'floor' for his toes, but that was going to be little comfort on the long, one point five kilometre, journey ahead. Regretting all the exercises he'd done to build his upper body strength, he curled into a foetal position and squeezed himself into the tiny space.

But first he had to close and seal the Pup. The standard evacuee position was to have his arms in front of him; elbows against his knees and hands flat near his face. But the extra bulk provided by his heat-suit and the oxygen tank on Virgil's back prevented the hatch behind him from closing. In the end he solved the problem by sliding his hands to the side of his head giving his body room to arch downwards so the tank was free of the hatch. This was uncomfortable in the extreme, but at the moment Virgil was willing to trade off comfort for survival.

The Pup sealed itself around him, but he couldn't know how much protection this lifeboat was going to offer from the magma that was undoubtedly forcing its way past the Mole. Was it almost literally going to be a case of out of the frying pan and into the fire?

As the Pup rolled back into the Mole's floor, rotating 90 degrees so he was now lying on his right side and the pressure of his body weight was no longer on his shins, Virgil had no idea what the temperature was inside or outside the Mole. All that he knew was that he was hot; it was pitch black, his back was already aching, he was sweating; he was thirsty; and he was probably already dehydrated.

What state would he be in when he reached the surface?

If he made it that far.

He'd sacrificed all control over his destiny when the Pup had sealed behind him. Now he could only lie in the cramped space and wonder what he was about to encounter. He felt the machine tremble as its motors got up to speed and its nose at front started to spin at full throttle. Then he was aware of a sound behind him as the forward-thrusting rocket fired, pushing him through the Mole's side and into the earth next to the Dead Sea's fault line. There was a brief moment when the Pup vibrated so much that he feared that it would shake itself to pieces around him, and then the drill took a healthy bite of the ground ahead of it and they moved forward.

Virgil relaxed a little. So far he wasn't aware of any major increase in temperature, and the sounds and vibrations of the Pup told him that everything was going as it should. He became aware of a slow change in orientation as the Pup drove its nose towards the surface causing much of his weight to rest on the soles of his feet.

Now all he could do was wait. The Pup's micro-computer was constantly scanning the area above it, searching out the easiest, although not necessarily shortest way to its homing beacon: Thunderbird Two. Occasionally Virgil felt their path flatten out slightly as the Pup dodged too hard rock. He tried not to think that it might be dodging too hot magma. What if that molten rock found the surface before he did?

They'd barely been travelling ten minutes before his body felt like it was screaming to be let loose of this confining space. His back was complaining the loudest, bent out of shape as it was by the oxygen tank. But he could do nothing to relieve his discomfort except grit his teeth and try to think of things to take his mind off his pain. Imagining whole symphonic scores didn't help. Neither did he get anywhere trying to compose a new piece of music. Trying to visualise a soothing picture resulted in a mental image that was all black with red bolts of lightning streaking across it. Virgil tried humming, but each tune got swallowed up by the monotonous drone of the Pup grinding its way through 1.5 kilometres of earth and rock.

He thought about his family. Scott would have safely returned from his mission by now. Virgil knew that his eldest brother wouldn't be luxuriating in the tropical sun in the knowledge of a job well done. Rather the elder would probably be pacing up and down the lounge, demanding regular updates from John in Thunderbird Five.

Gordon must have reached the bottom of the Challenger Deep and had probably deployed his ACG into the rock and was on his way back to the surface of the ocean to wait for Thunderbird Two to pick him up. Virgil hoped that it wouldn't be a long wait.

A wait without end.

How long would it be before someone got worried? How long would it be before they realised that something had gone badly wrong with his mission? When would John realise that the reason why Virgil wasn't responding to his insistent calls was because Virgil was unable to…?

And would never be able to?

"Stop thinking like that!"

Okay. So once they realised that he was in trouble, what would they do? Scott would probably get back into Thunderbird One and fly out to the Dead Sea in double time. He would see Thunderbird Two sitting forlornly waiting for her pilot. Then what would he do?

What could he do?

Nothing.

There was no way to burrow into the earth on a rescue mission. They only had one Mole and it was trapped at the bottom of a 1.5 kilometre hole. Brains would probably come up with a solution, but by the time they'd built something capable of drilling down to that depths it would be too late.

Way too late.

"Shut up, Virgil!"

He had a headache as powerful as Doomsday. Dehydration was taking its toll on his brain cells. He had no way of knowing for how long and how far they'd been travelling.

An intermittent piercing squeal started drilling into his brain as surely as the Pup was drilling through the earth.

A squeal?

Forcing his sluggish brain back to life Virgil concentrated on that sound. What was making it?

Realisation hit; making his head hurt more fiercely than it had been before. His oxygen tank had five minutes of air left and was letting him know that it was time to change it. At least this was one problem that would be easily remedied. All he had to do was unseal the hood from the body of his suit so that he could use the air supplied by the Pup.

He soon decided that it wasn't his day when he tried to move his hands. They were wedged tightly against his body and didn't seem to be planning to move anywhere useful.

A different squeal this time; with a different pitch and intensity.

Four minutes remaining.

Virgil stopped struggling for a moment and took stock. He was trying to move both arms at the same time and neither were budging more than a centimetre. What if he were to concentrate on moving his left arm? He tried it, pulling his hand downwards, but his knee got in the way. His distorted torso prevented his elbow from sliding off the knee. Clearly this alone wasn't an option.

Could he move his right hand instead?

Still hopeful he attempted a reverse manoeuvre and got the same result.

Another squeal. This one with a compelling repetitiveness that insisted on instant action.

Three minutes of oxygen remaining in his tank.

This wasn't good.

Try another tack.

What if he were to move his right hand 'up' (he'd lost track of which direction he and the Pup were facing) and around and angle his head and upper body the same direction. Would his left arm then have enough room to escape his knee and be able to move downwards until his fingers were able to reach the seal?

Virgil knew that it wasn't all going to happen in one smooth action. He edged his right hand up as far as he could. Then he shuffled his body to the right in what seemed to be one millimetre. Gouging his left elbow along his knee he managed to bring his hand closer to his throat.

Time to repeat the process. Up with the right hand. Shuffle with the body. Across with the left hand.

Again.

Up with the right…

Another squeal. This time prolonged and aggravating.

Two minutes remaining.

Up, shuffle, across. Up, shuffle, across. Up, shuffle, across. Up, shuffle, acr…

His left elbow slipped off his left knee, but he wasn't out of the woods yet. Now his torso, pressed against the floor of the Pup, was blocking his left hand's path.

The one minute warning squeal seemed to penetrate his aching brain like a red-hot volcanic bomb through a sheet of paper. Soon he would not only be dealing with dehydration, but also oxygen deprivation.

"Come on, Virgil, stay with it…"

Once again he slid his right arm upwards so it was arching around his head. Then, pressing himself into the Pup's floor, he rotated his torso and breathed out to create more room, lifting his left side up and towards his left hand. That arm he squeezed down through the gap he'd created.

Finally, as he heard a mechanical pulse in his ears count down his last 30 seconds of oxygen, his left hand reached the seal. His fingers fumbled at his throat for the tag under the fold of heat-resistant material that would let the soon-to-be-stale air inside the hood mingle with the fresh air within the Pup's capsule.

His fingers couldn't find it.

Virgil realised that the tag was located on the right side of the suit, not the left. How many years had they been using these things and no one had spotted that elementary design flaw?

Almost crying with pain and frustration, he held his breath as the oxygen tank offered him 15 more seconds of life, and reached through the small gap at his neck for the tag on the right side of his throat. His fingers found the flap and he rewarded himself with one small breath.

The oxygen tank rewarded him with the ten second warning.

Feeling up under the flap, stretching his fingers to their fullest extension, Virgil caught the tag between then ends of his middle and ring fingers. Holding his breath now, as much out of desperate hope that he'd finally succeed as a need to keep as much emergency air as possible, he pulled.

The tag didn't slip from his fingers.

Instead he felt a reassuring tug at the material at his neck and a cool breeze waft around his throat.

He'd done it!

Laughing, crying, numb with relief; a multitude of emotions lurched through him as he reflected on what he'd achieved and what he still had to endure.

Virgil finally allowed his body to relax, albeit with his fingers through the seal to ensure that the gap admitting that vital oxygen into his suit remained open.

Now he could think.

How far _had_ he travelled? How far did he still have to go?

Ordering himself into the right frame of mind for the remainder of the trip, Virgil resigned himself to a long wait.

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

Virgil didn't know how many hours he'd been trapped in the burrowing Pup; it seemed like days and his aching brain wasn't in any state to think more rationally.

He hoped that Scott had come to rescue him. After however long he'd been cramped in this tiny box he doubted that a full day under the expert fingers of a massage therapist, a week in a spa, and all of Brains' drugs could get his protesting body moving. Even at his worst day back at base, before he'd realised the damage he was doing to himself, wasn't as bad as this. Flying Thunderbird Two was unthinkable in his present state. He needed liquid, he needed electrolytes, and he needed pain relief. But he doubted he'd be getting any of that any time soon.

What would he do if he didn't make it? Stupid question. What _could_ you do if you were trapped underground without air or water? Die, that's the only thing you could do. Die, until someone in the family found him and then buried him again under six feet of earth.

No, Virgil didn't want to spend eternity, or until Doomsday shattered the planet, buried underground. He'd rather be cremated. Cremated and his ashes scattered over the sea in front of Tracy Island Villa.

He started planning.

Music: Music would play a big part in any funeral of Virgil Tracy's. And none of the top-ten favourite funeral pieces of all time, either. No one would be playing _Countdown_, or singing _My Way_ at Virgil's funeral! No; they had to be pieces that meant something to him personally. Him and his family. Maybe played by a string quartet or his favourite musician.

Virgil liked the sound of that, and he was darn sure that his father could afford the musician's fee.

And nothing dirgey either. Virgil didn't want people sad at his funeral. He'd had a great and fulfilling life (excepting the last seven years), and he wanted to be remembered for what he'd achieved and for all those he helped. He wanted his funeral to be a joyous celebration of his life.

Readings: What readings should be read? Scott should say something. John could compose a poem in his honour and Scott could read it. Gordon could reminisce about their childhood with plenty of jokes… So long as he didn't go playing any pranks on the day.

But the one thing that Virgil was sure of more than any other, was that he wanted his whole family present at his funeral. If that meant chucking his body into the fire now and then having the proper memorial service over his ashes when Alan arrived back from Jupiter, then so be it.

And if, because of the need for International Rescue's secrecy, it was only his family celebrating his life and achievements at his funeral, then Virgil didn't care.

The irony of his musings hit him. Here he was planning the funeral he was anticipating when he failed to return from this mission, but he had no way of letting anyone know what his final wishes were.

No matter. Scott would know, even without being told. That was the kind of bond they had…

"NO!"

Virgil's exclamation was a concentrated effort to try to shake the morbid musings from his mind. He was in no way ready to give up and die. He'd survived situations like this before and he'd survive this one.

Then he'd _really_ plan his funeral and get it all down on paper so that there could be no doubts what kind of a send-off he wanted…

…In about sixty years' time.

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

Heat and dehydration finally took their toll and Virgil lost consciousness at some point on his long journey. When he awoke he was momentarily disorientated by the darkness as he tried to stretch his cramped and numb muscles and wondered why they weren't moving. It was only when he attempted to lift his head and bumped it against the Pup's wall that he remembered his predicament.

He lay there in the dark; wondering how long he'd been out of it, how far he had to travel, and how much air he had left.

Suddenly he realised what it was that had woken him. There'd been a change in the sounds emanating from the Pup all around him.

Not only that, he realised, but they were drilling vertically; making a beeline for the surface…

Or had they already got there?

The vibrations of the canister increased, there was an explosion from beneath his feet, a swaying sensation, and the Pup toppled over, its no-longer-constrained-by-soil hatch flopping open and sending Virgil rolling out onto it.

He lay there for a moment, not quite able to believe that he'd made it, and wondering if he'd dare risk what promised to be a major case of pins and needles to stretch his aching limbs. He took a chance and, wincing slightly with the effort, pushed the hood off his head.

Something burned the sensitive membranes of his nostrils and he cautiously sniffed the air.

Sulphur?

Looking upwards he was unsurprised, but immensely pleased, to see the giant number two underneath Thunderbird Two's nose. He couldn't see to his right because of the Pup.

Looking to his left he saw the source of the smell.

Two hundred and fifty metres away he could see the Mole's original bore hole. Now noxious yellow fumes were issuing from it. As he watched, his mouth dry from more than just thirst, the fumes thickened and he fancied a red glow was colouring them orange.

With a burst of adrenaline a thousand times more effective than all of Brains' medications blended together, Virgil got to his feet and started running. As he ripped off his glove and shouted "Thunderbird Two! Caravaggio!" into his wristwatch telecom he fancied that he heard an almighty roar behind him.

The code, which would have been an obscure reference to anyone who didn't know it, had the desired effect. By the time Virgil had reached her port side, Thunderbird Two had opened the emergency entrance. He tumbled inside, slamming his hand against a button almost flush with the wall.

At that instant several things happened. The door behind him slammed shut. Thunderbird Two, already primed for action by the Caravaggio command, ignited her VTOL rockets and blasted herself off the ground to a height that her sensors told her was above all dangers. Virgil, despite knowing that this was what was about to happen, was thrown to the floor by the sudden vertical acceleration.

He lay in the corridor gasping; as short of breath as he had been when he was trying to discard his hood. His head hurt. His back hurt. His body hurt. His chest hurt from where he'd landed on his fist, punching all the air out of his lungs. Staying put until some of his aches and pains disappeared seemed to be the sensible thing to do, but instead, groaning with the effort, he got to his hands and knees and tried to crawl.

His legs and arms gave out on him.

He wasn't worried about Thunderbird Two. Once her scanners had told her that they were above danger she would have changed her course so that they were retracing the flight path taken to the Dead Sea. Virgil could only hope that by the time they reached the Mariana Islands he would be in a fit state to take control of her again and lift Gordon and Thunderbird Four out of the Pacific Ocean.

Crawling on his belly like a lizard he headed for the lift.

This was one situation that every contingency had been catered for. Near the base of the lift was a button; just at the right height for someone with their hands full tending to an injured victim on a gurney to kick.

Or, for someone without the strength to stand, just the right height to reach with their hand.

The lift door chimed open and Virgil rolled himself inside. Another kick button sent the lift rising upwards towards the centre of Thunderbird Two.

The lift doors opened again and he rolled himself out into a sterile white room.

Finally Virgil paused to give himself a moment to think. He knew that the quickest way to replace the electrolytes he'd sweated away was through an intravenous solution. He also knew that he was not feeling strong or steady enough to self-administer the treatment. Rolling over to a fridge he slid back the door and pulled out an electrolytic drink. His first attempt at drinking it left most of the liquid running down the front of his suit. Holding the second bottle in both hands and resting its base on his knees, he managed to drink most of its contents. The third bottle was an easier proposition to tackle and he was starting to feel more in control of his limbs when he downed the fourth.

His head was still sore and his muscles felt all knotted and hard, but Virgil forced himself to his feet. He undid the wet heat-resistant suit and then, not having the energy to push it down over his hips and pull it off his legs, tied the arms about his waist. Then he helped himself to a fifth bottle from the fridge.

Now he felt strong enough to return to the flight deck. Taking bottles six and seven with him, and after a moment's hesitation tucking bottles eight and nine into his pockets, he made a slow journey to his centre of operations.

Thunderbird Two was still flying serenely towards the Pacific Ocean without any assistance from him. Virgil, glad of the temporary redundancy, collapsed into his seat and helped himself to bottle six.

Glancing at Thunderbird Two's chronometer, Virgil was surprised to realise that he'd been below ground for almost six hours. It had seemed longer. He let his head flop back against the headrest and permitted himself a moment's rest.

That had been close. His family must have been worried about him.

They probably still were. John would have been monitoring Thunderbird Two as she'd lifted off from the Dead Sea. He would have known that Virgil had used the Caravaggio command.

Virgil groaned as he sat up and switched on the microphone. "Thunderbird Two to Thunderbird Five. I'm okay, John. I'm going to check on Gordon's progress and then I'll call back."

Not waiting for a response he changed channel. "Thunderbird Two to Thunderbird Four…"

No response from Gordon.

"This is Thunderbird Two calling Thunderbird Four. Come in, Thunderbird Four."

Nothing.

Now worried Virgil scanned the seas below him. Gordon's mission should have taken four hours; five hours max. It had been six point five hours since Virgil had last made contact.

Maybe Gordon had noted his late arrival and had motored to a nearby island to await Thunderbird Two's arrival?

"Thunderbird Two calling Thunderbird Four. Come in, Thunderbird Four!"

This wasn't right. If Gordon was above the waves he would have heard Virgil's summons. If he was below the waves he still would have heard them…

That was if he wasn't too deep to receive radio communications. How long could he dive for? Virgil tried to remember but his brain failed him.

"Thunderbird Two calling Thunderbird Four! Come in, Thunderbird Four! Answer me, Gordon!"

Silence.

"This is Thunderbird Two calling Thunderbird Five. Am not receiving communications from Thunderbird Four. Have you made contact?"

Keeping the link with Thunderbird Five open, Virgil once again tried to raise his younger brother in the submarine. "Thunderbird Two calling Thunderbird Four. Come in, Thunderbird Four. Gordon! Please! Answer me!"

There was no response.

It was then that Virgil realised that there was no response from Thunderbird Five either…

_To be continued…_


	32. Chapter 32 - Rescue

**Chapter 32: Rescue**

_D-Day_

"Open your eyes, Gordon."

"Aww, Grandma... Do I have to…?"

"Yes you do. You can't lie around with your eyes closed for the rest of eternity."

"No. I guess not… It's great to see you. Death obviously suits you."

"That's my Gordon. Always managing to find a joke in any situation."

"Who's joking? You're looking fantastic!"

"Thank you."

"This room seems familiar… I've been here before, haven't I?"

"Yes, you have. And the last time you were here I thought you were going to leave me forever."

"Well, it looks like you've got me forever this time... I don't like this place, Grandma. I didn't like it last time either. It gives me the shivers."

"No one who passes this way likes it. That's why someone comes to guide you."

"Well, I'm glad it's you."

"I wish I could have done more when you were asking me to help, but there are limits to this existence."

"That's okay. I'm here with you and I'm not in any pain... What more could a guy ask for?"

"What more indeed?"

"What do you do all day?"

"I've kept busy. I've been watching what you've all been getting up to."

"You've been spying on us?"

"I wouldn't call it spying. I've merely wanted to keep in contact with my boys and this existence lets me do that. I've seen all your mistakes and all your triumphs."

"Mistakes?! Okay, Grandma; what _mistakes_ have you seen?"

"I was at your wedding when you married that tramp."

"And there I was thinking that the one good thing about you dying when you did was that you didn't get to see me make the biggest mistake of my life. Sometimes I wished you had been alive when I married her. You were probably the only person who could have made me see sense."

"Even I couldn't have stopped you. Once that hussy had her claws into you, you had no way of escaping. She's the one I blame."

"Thanks for trying to make me feel better, Grandma, but you've got to admit that marrying Marina wasn't one of my better ideas."

"No it wasn't. But even so the rest of the family should have supported you."

"They tried to talk some sense into me. But I refused to listen. I pushed them away… Literally."

"I know. And I know how hard..."

"You saw me hit Scott?"

"I did."

"I hate myself for doing that. I'm sorry if I've disappointed you, Grandma. That's the last thing I'd want to do… Although looking at where we are, maybe it's the last thing I did?"

"You don't have to take all the blame for that little altercation."

"Little? I would hardly call marrying the wrong woman and hitting Scott when he tries to stop me _a little mistake_! If I could take that punch back I would. Even if the trade off was that I'd have to live with Marina for the rest of my life."

"You won't have to do that. She won't bother you anymore."

"No… I suppose there are silver linings to every dark cloud..."

"Don't forget, Honey, none of you are perfect. Sometimes you hurt someone you care about without meaning to…"

"Ow!"

"What's wrong?"

"Do they have vampires here? I think I've just been bitten. Ow! There it is again!"

"Vampires? No. I've never seen anything like that."

"I can't feel it now...

"Like I told you; I blame her, not you. And remember that I've been proud of you all your life, and I'm still proud of you. Even more so now that I'm dead and get to see the little things that you do that you'd never told me about when I was alive."

"Aw, gee, thanks. You make me feel all warm inside."

"I mean it, Gordon. I'm fair bursting with pride at the way you've all worked so hard to restart International Rescue and save the world."

"It'll count for nothing if Brains' theory doesn't pan out."

"I've got faith in Brains."

"So have I; otherwise I would never have attempted that suicide mission…"

-F-A-B-

"Thunderbird Two calling Thunderbird Four!"

The only signal that Virgil received from the submarine was the looped message transmitted by the emergency disc telling him that Four was in trouble. He already had his scanners in action; peering into the water as he hunted for his lost brother.

"Thunderbird Two calling Thunderbird Five!"

Why wasn't John responding? Did that mean that it was impossible to contact home?

"Thunderbird Two to base."

The satellite link appeared to be dead. Something was definitely wrong with the communications feeds.

Virgil stared at the dark forbidding Pacific Ocean. What had happened to his brothers? Why wasn't he getting a response?

His head was still aching and he had a drink to try to alleviate it, but didn't seem to help.

Wait a minute! In their conversation before he'd started drilling, John had said that Scott was heading for home. Knowing their big brother, Scott wouldn't have returned to Tracy Island to accept congratulations from the rest of the team. He would have headed north in search of his siblings. In all probability Scott was well aware that Gordon was in trouble, and Thunderbird One was circling overhead as he kept an eagle eye out for the missing submarine.

Sure that that had to be the case, Virgil opened the radio again. "Thunderbird Two to Thunderbird One!"

The continuing silence was unnerving.

"Come in Thunderbird One!"

Scott didn't answer.

Virgil wiped his sweating forehead on his sleeve. "Come in Thunderbird Four."

By now he wasn't expecting a response from the waters below. It was obvious that at some point, possibly during the explosion that had preceded Thunderbird Two's hurried launch, Two's communications equipment had been damaged. Chances were that even if he couldn't hear them, the rest of International Rescue were listening and just as frustrated that they weren't able to make contact with him.

"This is Thunderbird Two," Virgil announced to his unresponsive listeners. "Am not receiving any communications. Gordon, if you can hear me, am starting search pattern."

Glancing out his cockpit windows, Virgil expected to see Thunderbird One swing into view, but there was nothing outside except for miles of ocean and the summits of a few submarine volcanoes.

He started searching where he'd last seen Thunderbird Four, without luck. "Scott, if you can hear me, I need a fix on Thunderbird Four. Can you help?"

There were no sounds from the radio and no signs of life outside the windows.

Okay. So maybe Scott was at the Dead Sea, looking at the bore hole the Mole had drilled and wondering what had happened to the pod vehicle and its crew. Then Virgil woke up to the fact that Scott would realise that with Thunderbird Two not in attendance, then he, Virgil, was not there either.

Maybe the two Thunderbirds had passed each other and hadn't realised it?

"Thunderbird Two to Thunderbird One. I've lost communications. If you can hear me I need a visual."

Virgil couldn't believe that his eldest brother wasn't out there searching. If he was in the vicinity he would have picked up Thunderbird Four's distress signal too.

_IF_ he was in the vicinity.

Virgil came to the conclusion that he was on his own. There was no one about to help him and no way to contact anyone. It was up to him and him alone to find Gordon and drag him out of the watery depths.

He rubbed his face, gained altitude, broadened his scanners' search area, and started hunting.

He'd been following a longitudinal line when his scanners spotted something that appeared to have achieved neutral buoyancy just below the surface of the Pacific Ocean four kilometres north of Thunderbird Four's last known position. Hovering overhead, Virgil trained a polarised camera on the discovery. What he saw was something flatish and slightly tapered. The wider end seemed to have two darker cylinders jutting out from the body and the narrower end showed signs of damage.

Virgil went cold; not wanting it to be what he knew it was. Then he shook himself into action. He had found Thunderbird Four. Now it was time to find his brother.

Catching the submarine was going to be relatively easy. It was getting her to help that was going to be the tricky bit.

Virgil moved well away from the stricken sub and dropped Pod Four into the water. He didn't worry about the concussive forces of the impact and the pod hit the Pacific with a splash that sent ripples rushing for metres across the ocean.

Then Virgil moved Thunderbird Two forward of Thunderbird Four's bow. Keying in a code, a horseshoe-shaped net descended from under the transporter's nose. The net's leading edge touched the surface of the water and then sank below.

Virgil switched his attention to a monitor. The net's front edge was weighed down by a row of forward facing cameras and individual jet units. By reversing Thunderbird Two he could drag the net under Thunderbird Four, observing all obstacles, and when necessary, raising and lowering the leading edge to avoid them.

At first he couldn't see anything; then a vague shape came into view.

Just as it had been when he'd used the Caravaggio command to escape the volcanic explosion, Virgil felt as if his breath had been punched out of him.

A jagged scar ran up Thunderbird Four: from where the ACG had been launched into the Challenger Deep to the pilot's cabin.

...To where the cabin had used to be. Thunderbird Four's entire front section above her base had disappeared, leaving a gaping hole and some twisted metal.

Virgil told himself to remain calm. He told himself that he couldn't see clearly through the water and that the damage was probably magnified so it looked more horrific than it actually was. He told himself that there was a chance that Gordon had escaped into the rescue sphere. He told himself that Gordon was probably bobbing out there in the ocean somewhere planning his next fiendish practical joke, and deciding that the recipient was going to be Thunderbird Two's pilot for making him wait for so long.

Virgil told himself to get real. If the life raft had escaped and was still intact, it would be sending a location signal like the emergency disc. Even with the communication problems he was experiencing it was unlikely that he'd be able to receive the disc's message, but not the sphere's. Besides, looking at the remains of Thunderbird Four's cabin, it was probable that the sphere had never popped free of the submarine's body.

There was nothing to do but haul Thunderbird Four out of the water and do a thorough search.

"You haven't claimed him yet, Neptune. And if I've got any say in the matter, you won't this time either!"

Dipping the central cameras deeper into the water, Virgil made sure that the net stayed well clear of Thunderbird Four's dorsal stabilising fin. Finally the leading edge cleared its catch and rose back up to the surface. Lowering a series of hooks down from Thunderbird Two's underbelly, Virgil grabbed the net and took up the slack.

Time to get the crippled craft to somewhere safe.

A push of one button had the door to Pod Four swinging open. Another button extended a conveyor belt out and down the door.

"If you can hear me, Gordon, brace yourself. I'm about to pull Thunderbird Four out of the water. I'll try to be as gentle as I can."

Virgil hoped that Gordon heard him and was capable of obeying.

Thunderbird Two rose upwards, the strain of trying to pull the waterlogged sub out of the water greater than Virgil might have imagined. He applied more power, trying to judge how much force he needed to lift Thunderbird Four clear without causing her to pop free and bounce about in her net sling.

Thunderbird Four cleared the Pacific Ocean and slid to the right in the net. Now she was lying on her starboard side, as if she were resting in a hammock, propped up by her stabilising fin. Through the cameras mounted beneath Thunderbird Two Virgil could see the water draining from her interior. The flow seemed to be never ending.

Flying like he'd never flown before; keeping Thunderbird Two's movements slow and steady; he pressed forward on the control yoke and steered his aeroplane towards the waiting pod. Only when the crippled sub was suspended above the conveyor belt did he lose height, gingerly placing his charge down. Then he dropped the net and set the conveyor belt into action.

Thunderbird Four was drawn into her pod, and the door closed on her carcass.

Torn between the need for speed and the necessity to keep any jolting to the minimum, Virgil lowered his aeroplane over its pod and clamped it into place.

Then he did something he'd rarely done in the past. Frowning in concentration as he entered a series of increasingly complex codes into his onboard computer he ceded control of Thunderbird Two to its autopilot. In the past he'd been relaxed about letting Thunderbird Two fly herself from A to B in a straight line. But this time they weren't simply flying A to B. This time leaving A meant gaining altitude until the optimum height had been reached; and then choosing a flight path that avoided major air traffic routes, kept a watch out for any other travellers in the sky, steered clear of them, and found the most efficient, quickest route to B.

B being Tracy Island.

That was why this particular autopilot programme was hidden behind so many codes and passwords. In the wrong hands, Thunderbird Two could deliver a criminal straight to International Rescue's hideout.

But now Virgil didn't need to be worrying about flying his aeroplane. He needed to find his brother.

The lift doors opened and he stepped out into Pod Four. Ahead of him, water still draining into channels in the floor, lay the toppled Thunderbird Four. Automated systems had already dragged the net clear and it lay bunched up around her circumference.

Forgetting his own aches and pains, Virgil grabbed a hover-stretcher, threw an oxygen cylinder and a couple of kits onto it, and ran over to where Thunderbird Four's cabin would have been if it wasn't compressed at the bottom of the deepest part of the world. Dragging the stretcher over the net he found the circular lock to the sphere and tried to turn it.

It didn't move. Putting his shoulder behind it didn't work either. He was going to need help.

Hurdling the net, he found the longest, strongest spanner in the pod's tool kit. Then he retrieved a laser from its watertight cabinet. This would be a last resort. He didn't want to risk the heat of a laser capable of melting cahelium burning Gordon inside the sphere.

He refused to believe that Gordon hadn't made it to the life raft. To convince himself, as much as to reassure his brother, he banged on the bulkhead. "Don't worry, Gordon! I'm coming!" He slid the spanner between the spokes of the hatch's lock and leant on it.

It didn't budge.

Groaning, he tried again. Putting his full weight on the spanner, adrenaline giving him a strength he didn't know he had, he fancied that he felt the lock rotate a few millimetres.

"It's working, Gordon! I'll be there soon!"

Once again he leant on the spanner and felt the wonderful sensation of the lock rotating a few degrees. Another lean and he had the satisfaction of feeling the lock turn a bit more. Throwing the spanner to one side he grabbed the lock with both hands and wrestled it further.

Another ten degrees!

Fifteen...

Twenty five...

It was getting easier to turn now.

The lock passed the ninety degree mark.

"Nearly there, Gordon!"

One hundred and eighty degrees...

Virgil made short work of finishing unlocking the sphere and pulled the hatch open.

His legs were knocked out from underneath him when water gushed out and he found himself lying on his brother's limp body.

Virgil scrambled off the still form. "Gordon! Can you hear me, Gordon?"

Gordon wasn't moving.

"Answer me!" Grabbing a knife out of a kit, Virgil cut Gordon's diving mask away and stared into his brother's unseeing eyes. "Please!"

Gordon's face was cold and blotchy. His flushed skin, a symptom of carbon dioxide poisoning, contrasted with the blue lips and ears of hypothermia. Unusually for so soon after surfacing, he was also showing signs of the dimpled swelling associated with decompression sickness.

Gordon was in a bad way.

"You're gonna be all right, Gordon," Virgil babbled, trying to convince himself as much as his unresponsive brother. "You're gonna be all right." He grabbed the oxygen cylinder's mask and placed it over Gordon's face. Reassuringly a light misting appeared on the clear plastic.

From what he could see, Virgil figured that Gordon was suffering from three potentially life threatening conditions, all of which were competing to be treated first; and all of which, if treatment was delayed too long, could prove fatal. The oxygen deprivation and subsequent hypercapnea were being relieved by the pure oxygen flowing out of the mask. Similarly the gas was offering a temporary reprieve from the continuing development of the bends until Gordon could be moved into the recompression chamber. It was, Virgil decided, the hypothermia that required immediate action.

Gordon needed to warm up, and he needed to warm up fast.

Dropping the hover-stretcher so it was resting on the floor, Virgil grabbed a survival blanket from out of a first aid bag and spread it over his brother, tucking the sides well underneath. Gordon didn't have a lot of heat left to lose and every little bit remaining was precious. Virgil was determined that he wasn't going to waste any of it.

Next he pulled a bag off the hover-stretcher and ripped it open, revealing a selection of odd shaped plastic objects filled with clear gel and small disks. He selected one shaped like a swimming cap. Bending the cap's disk created a chemical reaction, which heated the gel to a warming temperature. While he waited for that to happen Virgil grabbed a towel, cut Gordon's hood free and towelled the wet head as dry as he could. When the gel-pack was warm he placed it on his brother's head and fastened it under his chin.

Then he set to work on the wetsuit. He worked methodically; peeling back the wet thermal blanket, cutting the wetsuit to reveal a bit of his brother's bare skin, getting rid of much of the cooling water, and then covering that body part with a warm gel-pack. He concentrated on where the blood supply was closest to the skin and Gordon's throat was covered before his wetsuit was sliced down to the vicinity of his belly button. A large pack was placed on his chest and then Virgil made a cut down the wetsuit's arms. He placed one warming pack in each armpit, before placing a dry thermal blanket over the top half of his brother's body.

Cutting the swim gear clear off Gordon's hips and slicing it part way down his legs revealed his groin and, after drying, a heat pack was applied to that region before another larger one was placed on his abdomen. Long tubes of warmed gel were placed along his sides before the dry thermal blanket was pulled down to cover the rest of his torso and the top of his legs.

Gordon's major organs might be receiving some much needed warmth, but Virgil wasn't kidding himself that it was nearly enough. He cut the remainder of the wetsuit free and slid full-length gel-pack mittens, one containing sensors to monitor his progress, onto each of Gordon's arms. Two long flat packs were fastened about each of his legs and warming gel-pack socks were pulled onto his feet. Finally a third thermal blanket was tucked about Gordon's body so he was almost completely encased in silver foil.

First stage of treatment completed, Virgil didn't allow himself to take a rest. To do so could lead to him seizing up; and then he would be of no help to his brother.

But he knew that he was going to struggle to shift Gordon onto the hover-stretcher alone.

Virgil opened another thermal blanket and placed it over the stretcher followed by a large gel-pack. Then, kneeling so that he was in line with Gordon's midriff, he rolled his brother towards him until Gordon was propped against his thighs and he was able to dry his brother's back. Finally he dragged the hover-stretcher closer, before lowering Gordon onto it, wrapping the under-blanket about his brother until only the oxygen mask was showing.

Virgil checked the vital signs monitor. He wasn't pleased with what he saw.

At 24ºC, Gordon's core body temperature had dropped so low that he wasn't even shivering. To improve his odds of survival he was going to have to be warmed by more than external heat packs.

There are several methods of warming a body internally, but only one that Virgil had experience in. By inserting an intravenous drip of warmed saline solution Gordon would not only get much needed warmth to his internal organs, it would also help combat the dehydration that the hypothermia had no doubt caused.

Virgil grabbed two bags of saline and wrapped gel-packs around them to warm the solution.

Up till this point he had been working methodically and with purpose. His focus had been on what he was doing, with no thoughts about the state of his own body, or the fact that they were flying around the world in an aeroplane with no pilot.

But now he hesitated.

It was well over eight years since he'd inserted an IV line into anybody. He'd kept his first aid certificate up-to-date, but administering liquids intravenously had never been part of that curriculum. Even when they'd been preparing for this day, no one had thought it necessary to have a refresher course in such an advanced medical practise.

Could he still do it?

Virgil looked down at his hands. They were shaking. Then he looked at his brother.

Gordon was invisible beneath the silver thermal blankets. It was only the oxygen mask attached to the cylinder of life-giving gas that told you that this was a living, breathing, dangerously cold, human being. And not just any human being.

This was Virgil's brother.

Through the mask Virgil could see that Gordon's lips were still blue. Despite his efforts, Gordon had barely warmed at all.

Virgil steeled himself. Donning protective gloves he peeled back the many layers of blanket at Gordon's throat, revealing a gel-pack. Then he ripped the protective covering off the cannula and lifted the gel-pack clear. "I'll try not to hurt you, Gordon."

Gordon didn't even flinch as the cannula was inserted.

Virgil repeated the process on the other side, before taping both needles into place and recovering the area, allowing warm, life-giving saline to flow into his brother's throat. "You're doing well, Gordon. I'm going to put you into the recompression chamber now."

Activating the hover-stretcher caused it to gain height, and, leaning on it, Virgil wished that he was finding it as easy to stand. Fortunately pushing the stretcher wasn't a chore as it floated over the net and debris that lay between them and the recompression chamber.

Keying in a few numbers soon had the machine warm and working, and Gordon, looking like a fish being put into the oven for cooking, was slid inside.

Virgil looked at his watch. They were nearing Tracy Island and he would have to land Thunderbird Two soon. As much as he trusted and respected his aeroplane, there were some things that he needed to do himself. Leaning on the outside of the chamber he looked in through one of the viewports. "I'll be back soon, Gordon," he promised. "I've got to go and get you help. Just hang in there... Okay?"

There was no response.

-F-A-B-

"S-Scott is settled in the hyperbaric chamber, Mr Tracy," Brains announced. He unzipped the front of his pressure suit.

Jeff, his worried frown not lessening, glanced up from his desk. "Good."

"Any word from T-Thunderbird Five?"

"No."

"Any s-sign of Thunderbird Two?"

"No... Hold on..." Jeff stared at the computer screen. "Yes!"

"They are within radio range?"

"Should be. One way to find out... Base to Thunderbird Two..."

Jeff and Brains listened for a response, but there was none.

"Base to Thunderbird Two," Jeff repeated. "Come in, Virgil." Silence reigned the airwaves. "He's not answering."

Brains checked his computer. "I am receiving readings from b-both Virgil's and Gordon's wrist medical scanners."

"And?"

"Virgil's pulse is racing. Gordon's is..." Brains hesitated. "Irregular."

"Irregular!" Jeff's head snapped around to his friend and colleague. "Irregular as in the rhythm, or irregular as in not normal?"

"N-Not normal. It is extremely slow."

"What about Virgil?"

Brains gave a helpless shrug. "Virgil may be suffering from some presently unknown condition. Or it could simply be, ah, concern over Gordon."

"And what concerns could that be?"

"I shouldn't like to speculate, Mr Tracy. The environment that Gordon was working in may be a factor in his condition, or it may have no bearing at all."

Jeff grew tired of all the unanswered questions. "Base to Thunderbird Two! Come in Thunderbird Two!'"

"Why don't you try Thunderbird Four's radio?" Brains suggested. "P-Perhaps something has interfered with Thunderbird Two's, rendering it inoperable."

"Leaving Virgil capable of flying Thunderbird Two, but Gordon injured, while Thunderbird Two's radio's not working but Thunderbird Four's is...?" Jeff decided that he was desperate enough to try the most unlikely scenario. "Base to Thunderbird Four."

Neither man was surprised at the lack of response.

Jeff clenched his fists. "Maybe John's regained communications. Base to Thunderbird Five..."

This time he did receive a response, and, although it was one he was hoping for, it was a surprise.

"This is Thunderbird Two. Have lost communications. Thunderbird Four suffered a breach. Gordon's suffering from hypothermia, hypercapnea, and DS. Will land and reverse into hangar. Be ready for us."

"This is base," Jeff responded. "We need more information, Virgil."

Virgil didn't respond.

"Virgil! I repeat. How bad is Gordon?"

There was no reply from Thunderbird Two.

"Isn't he receiving?" Jeff asked.

Brains was frowning. "I-I'm not sure. It sounded as though he disconnected us." He put his computer on the table. "If Gordon's got decompression sickness he's going to need the hyperbaric chamber."

"But you've only just put Scott in there."

"Scott is receiving the treatment as a precaution. He will be adequately cared for in Thunderbird Two's recompression chamber, which I assume Gordon is presently occupying. If Gordon is as ill as Virgil seems to believe, and my readings show, I will need to treat him while he is in the chamber."

"Virgil sounded stressed. What else did he say was wrong with Gordon?"

"Hypothermia and hypercapnea."

"Hypercapnea?"

"Carbon dioxide poisoning," Brains explained as he zipped up his pressure suit.

Jeff stood. "We'd better go get ready for him."

-F-A-B-

Virgil had transmitted his message, not expecting anyone to hear or understand him, and had then switched off the radio. He needed his focus to be on getting Thunderbird Two landed safely and Gordon into Brains' expert care. He couldn't afford to be distracted by listening out for a radio response that he was almost one hundred percent certain that he'd never receive.

The adrenaline was pumping as Tracy Island came into sight.

A kind of tunnel vision had overcome Virgil. He was so focussed on landing that he didn't notice the grey ash that coated the Tracy Villa complex; or that the island's peak had a different profile; or that the vegetation around the summit was burnt and scarred; or the charred wing lying on the volcano's flanks. And when Thunderbird Two touched down on her runway he couldn't hear or feel the ash crunch beneath his aeroplane's wheels as she reversed into her hangar.

Virgil was out of his seat and heading back to the infirmary before Thunderbird Two's engines had fully shut down. He had Gordon, still in the recompression chamber, at the door before the skybridge that would take them straight to the island's hospital had manoeuvred itself into place. As soon as the latches had snapped home and the opposing doors swished open he was pushing the recompression chamber out of the aeroplane.

He almost didn't realise that Brains was at his side. "Wh-What happened to him, Virgil?"

"Four's holed. Been in sphere. Don't know how long. Sphere couldn't eject. Full of freezing water. Oxygen supply empty."

"What treatment have you given him?"

"Oxygen and gel-packs. Intravenous warmed saline solution. Recompression."

"Good." Brains nodded. "I'll look after him, Virgil."

Taking control of the recompression chamber, Brains pushed it into the treatment room, swinging the machine around so its hatch was facing the doors of the island's larger, easy access, hyperbaric chamber. "Get Scott out of there, Tin-Tin!"

When Brains had realised that this exchange would have to be made he'd prepped Thunderbird One's pilot by ensuring that Scott's IVs were full and that he was breathing a fresh supply of oxygen through a mask. No signs of deterioration over the past hours had convinced him that a short time outside a recompression chamber would have little effect on this patient.

Gordon was another matter. As soon as Scott's bed was clear, and a replacement bed was installed, Thunderbird Two's recompression chamber was moved into the larger hyperbaric chamber and its hatch opened. Gordon's hover-stretcher was pulled out over the new bed and deactivated, Thunderbird Two's chamber was removed, and the larger machine's door was sealed, leaving Gordon and Brains in an atmosphere of one hundred percent oxygen and high pressure.

Brains began unwrapping the thermal blankets that surrounded Gordon. "Increase chamber's temperature, Tin-Tin."

"What to, Brains?"

"45 degrees Celsius. Warm the saline packs to the same temperature."

"F-A-B... Two packs coming in." Two clear IV bags trundled down a conveyor belt inside a large tube within the chamber.

Brains opened the lid to the tube and withdrew the two bags, taking care to seal the lid again so that there was no contamination of the pure oxygen and little chance of a drop in the carefully controlled atmospheric pressure. Then he changed Virgil's two almost spent saline bags.

Gordon's temperature was an alarmingly low 25ºC; more than ten degrees lower than normal. He was going to need more than two warm saline drips and some gel-packs if he was going to survive. "Proceeding with active core rewarming."

"What is that?" Kyrano asked his daughter as together they slid Scott into Two's recompression chamber.

Tin-Tin was looking pale. "I believe that the treatment is to, ah…" she considered the most delicate way of phrasing it. "Fill Gordon's body cavities with warmed fluids."

Kyrano looked shocked. "Oh."

"If it will save Gordon's life it must be done."

"Yes." Kyrano inclined his head. "Of course." Not wishing to observe the procedure he turned to Jeff who was leaning on Scott's chamber, watching his sedated son. "Mr Tracy?"

"I hope all this is worth it," Jeff growled.

"You hope that the risks your sons have undertaken will result in the Earth being saved?"

"Yes." Jeff's hands balled into fists. "We could have been enjoying the Earth's final days together as a family. Why did it have to be my sons who were the ones to put their lives on the line?"

"Because they could not sit by and wait for the Earth to end, Mr Tracy. We must have faith."

"Don't get me wrong, I have faith in Brains, but he'd be the first to admit that we've been working from a plan which had no guarantee of success."

"We do not know if they have failed, just as we do not know if they succeeded."

"We don't even know if Gordon managed to deploy his ACG!" Jeff snapped. He glanced over and saw that Tin-Tin was looking at him. He lowered his voice. "Scott is the only one who we know was successful. And even then we won't know if it's a total success until about the 26th."

"Mister Virgil may have succeeded," Kyrano reminded him. He looked around the room seeing that Virgil wasn't there. "I shall go and ask him."

"And make some coffee," Jeff directed. "I think it's going to be a long night."

"Yes, Mr Tracy." Kyrano gave a little bow. Pushing through the double doors he was surprised to find Virgil standing there. "Mister Virgil?"

Virgil had survived the past few hours on adrenaline alone. Now that the last dregs of it had drained away he was looking tired and battered. He managed a wan smile. "I seem to have my old trouble back, Kyrano."

Kyrano approached the younger man. "Do you wish me to assist you to the spa?"

"No. I got dehydrated earlier. I can't risk it again."

"Then permit me to fly you to a massage therapist tomorrow."

"Thanks, but Scott will probably volunteer to do that." Virgil frowned. "Where is he?"

"Mister Scott is in the infirmary."

"Ah."

Kyrano regarded his young friend. The way Virgil was standing rang alarm bells, as did his apparent misunderstanding of his brother's condition. "Mister Virgil? Are you not well?"

"I can't move," Virgil admitted. "I'll fall over if I try to walk."

"Let me get you a chair…"

"No. I think that if I sit down I'll never get up again."

"I shall get you a wheelchair." Not giving Virgil a chance to protest, Kyrano retrieved one from a nearby cupboard. "Here, Mister Virgil… You may sit." He did his best to assist the younger man as, with a groan, Virgil collapsed into the wheelchair like a broken marionette. "Let me get you further assistance." He took a step away.

"No!" Virgil exclaimed. "You can't disturb Brains! Not while he's looking after Gordon."

"Do not concern yourself," Kyrano soothed. "I will not disturb Mister Brains in his work. I have a tonic which will relax you."

"You do?"

"Yes. I have made it myself out of natural herbs."

"Are you sure that it won't react to Brains' drugs?"

"I believe that if you have my tonic you will not need Mister Brains' medication."

Virgil frowned. "If it's so good, why haven't you offered it to me earlier?"

"Because it would make you sleep. That is not something that you wanted."

Virgil grimaced. "Maybe you should have given it to me without telling me that bit of information. It might have solved a few problems."

"I did not wish to deceive you. Nor did I wish to disrupt your work… Do you wish to try?"

"You won't have to inject me with it? I don't want any more injections."

"No, Mister Virgil. You take it orally."

Virgil sighed. "If I didn't trust you, Kyrano, I wouldn't try it. But since it's you…"

Kyrano nodded. "Do not move."

He left Virgil brooding and wondering if moving was even possible.

The double doors opened and a walker was pushed through.

"Virgil!" Jeff exclaimed, seeing his son in the wheelchair. "Are you all right?"

Virgil attempted a nod and winced. "Yeah…"

Jeff studied the younger man, seeing his reddened cheek and haggard appearance. "You don't look it."

What Virgil did look was miserable. "I've failed, haven't I?"

"Failed? You've bought your brother home alive."

"How is Gordon?"

"Brains is still working on him…" Jeff reversed his walker, lowered the cushion that converted it into a seat, and sat down so he was closer to his son's eye-level. "What do you mean you failed?" He glanced up when Kyrano came back into the room, seeing the bottle and spoon. "What's that for?"

"It is to relax Mister Virgil's muscles. He can-not move."

Jeff switched his attention back to his son. "What happened, Virgil?"

Virgil looked at the proffered spoon warily and then swallowed its contents. He screwed up his face. "That tastes so bad that it's got to work."

"Virgil?" Jeff repeated. "What happened?"

"I was in the Mole," Virgil explained. "We were going well until we ran into magma."

"Magma!?"

"It must be an anomaly like Tracy Island…"

"Is that why you're wearing your heat-resistant suit?"

Virgil looked down as if surprised by the revelation. "Yeah..." He flexed his hand. "Hey, Kyrano! That stuff's working."

Kyrano gave a quiet, pleased smile. "This is good."

"The Mole got bogged in the magma. I couldn't go forward or reverse. So I had to release the ACG where we were. I don't know how far it went. It probably got stuck in the magma too. If I'd released it earlier it might have built up the momentum to get through." Now able to move his neck, Virgil hung his head. "I've failed."

His father put his hand on his shoulder. "We can't know that for sure yet," Jeff said. "How deep were you?"

"One point five kilometres."

Jeff stared at his son. "How deep?!"

"One point five K."

"I didn't know the Mole was capable of going that deep."

"Neither did I. We could have gone deeper if we hadn't run into trouble."

"You said the Mole was trapped. How did you get out of there?"

"The Pup." Virgil covered a yawn with his hand.

"You travelled one and half kilometres in the Pup!" Jeff was aghast. "No wonder you've seized up!"

Virgil yawned again.

Kyrano took up position behind the wheelchair. "You should go to bed, Mister Virgil."

"No. I want to see how Gordon is."

Jeff stood and flipped up the cushion on his walker. "We'll wake you when we have news." He started walking alongside Kyrano who pushed the wheelchair through the complex. "What happened to Gordon?"

"I don't know exactly. I found him in the sphere of Thunderbird Four. The cabin appeared to have imploded." Virgil clenched his fists. "The sphere was full of water. He had his diving gear on, but he'd run out of oxygen. I tried to help him."

"You did. You got him here alive and that's what matters… Do you think he deployed his ACG?"

"Possibly. The breach may have started from the cannon. What's left of Thunderbird Four's in her pod."

Jeff didn't want to think about that now. "Why did you switch your radio off when you were coming in to land?"

"It wasn't working."

"We could hear you. Couldn't you hear us?"

"I wasn't receiving messages from Thunderbird Four, Thunderbird Five, or Thunderbird One, so I assumed that my radio had been damaged."

Jeff squeezed Virgil on the shoulder. "No, Son. I don't think it was…"

-F-A-B-

Brains exited the hyperbaric chamber and removed the hood from his suit. "It is too hot for me in th-there. I, er, need a break." He unzipped the front of his suit before he took a towel and wiped sweat from his face and neck.

Tin-Tin peered through one of the chamber's windows. "How is he, Brains?"

Taking a frozen bottle of liquid from out of a deep freeze Brains pressed it against his forehead, enjoying the cooling temperature. "D-Doing well." The bottle was held against the back of his neck and his eyes closed in relief.

Tin-Tin felt sorry for her friend and colleague. In an attempt to get Gordon as warm as possible as soon as possible, they'd cranked up the hyperbaric chamber's temperature as high as they could. While this was good for Gordon, it had to be extremely uncomfortable for Brains, even in his protective suit.

Brains finally removed the cap from the bottle and drank the little electrolytic liquid that had melted. "He's warmer. Up point five of a degree."

Tin-Tin was silent. Half a degree was nothing.

-F-A-B-

Virgil had been quiet for much of the remainder of the journey to his room, and Jeff wasn't sure if he was deep in thought or simply too tired to talk. He was therefore somewhat surprised when Virgil said one word. "Kyrano?"

"Yes, Mister Virgil?"

"You said Scott was in the infirmary?"

Kyrano glanced at Jeff. "Yes."

"You meant he was waiting for Gordon, didn't you?"

"No. Mister Virgil," Kyrano said in his quiet voice. "I did not mean that."

"But John said he completed his mission! He said he was on his way home! What happened to him?"

"Virgil…" Jeff stopped walking outside Virgil's room, and Kyrano turned the wheelchair so that son was able to look at father. "He's probably all right, but Brains hasn't had the opportunity to properly check him over yet…"

Virgil looked panicked. "What happened to him?" he repeated.

"Do not trouble yourself." Kyrano laid his hand on Virgil's shoulder. "As your father said, Mister Scott is probably not injured."

"Probably?!"

"Calm down," Jeff reassured his son. "Brains has sedated Scott as a precaution."

"Precaution?! What – happened – to – him?" Despite Virgil's increasing exhaustion, the third repetition of the question had an insistence that couldn't be ignored. "What aren't you tellin' me?"

Jeff deliberately kept his voice calm and reassuring. "When you flew in, you must have seen that Tracy Island volcano had erupted?"

"What!?" Virgil looked even more alarmed. "No… I… I had to ge' Gordon home. That was all I was thinkin' about. Gettin' Gordon help."

"The eruption started soon after you all left. We evacuated to Mu'a. Brains had made a neutraliser missile and as soon as Scott had finished his mission he collected it and fired it down the volcano's throat. It worked."

"Wha' happen'd to Scott?"

"I can't say exactly what happened, but the volcano erupted one last time…" Jeff hesitated at the memories. "Thunderbird One got caught up in it… Her wing fell off."

"She crashed?" Virgil barely breathed the words.

"No. Fortunately Scott was gaining altitude, but she went into a spin. You can imagine the g-forces that he was exposed to. John had to take control of her and bring her back to Earth… We only returned to Tracy Island about half an hour before you did, so Brains hasn't had the chance to give him a proper examination. But you know your brother. He's tough. He'll be all right." Jeff saw Virgil yawn again. "Don't worry about Scott. You can check up on him and Gordon when you've had a rest."

"So…" Virgil appeared to be having difficulty focussing. "If Gordon didn' answer me because he was in th' sphere, and Scott didn' answer me because he was here, and you could hear me but I didn' give you a chance to respond… Why couldn' I reach John?"

Jeff wasn't sure that he wanted to give his son the news now. "We don't know."

"You don' know?"

"While he was bringing Thunderbird One back down he reported that Thunderbird Five was experiencing a power drain. We lost contact soon after that."

"How long ago?"

Jeff opened the door to Virgil's room. "Don't let it worry you. The radio on Thunderbird Five has probably automatically shut down to conserve power and John's restoring it as we speak. He'll have reinstated communications by the time you wake up and then he can tell you all about it. Okay?"

It was a measure of how tired Virgil was feeling that he didn't protest the dubious scenario.

Kyrano wheeled the wheelchair close to the bed and put the brakes on.

Virgil tried to get out of it. "I gue' that if Scott' out of action, Kyra'o" he slurred, "I will have to impoz on you t' fly me 'morrow."

Jeff frowned. "Fly you? Where?"

Virgil slumped back in the seat. "Massarj therapis'."

"No."

Surprised, Virgil stopped trying to slide out of the heat suit and stared at his father.

"You're not going anywhere tomorrow."

Virgil looked hurt. "Bu'…"

"But you've been squashed into the Pup for one and a half kilometres. That makes you a candidate for deep vein thrombosis, and I'm not going to compound the risk by letting you fly in a plane until Brains has had a chance to thoroughly check you over."

Virgil tried again. "Bu'..."

"I'm sorry, Virgil, I don't know what the last few hours have been like for you, but I do know what it's like to have a stroke. I'm not willing to take the chance that you'll have one or something worse because you've formed a blood clot and it breaks free during that flight. Do you understand?"

Virgil nodded, but Jeff wasn't sure if was because he agreed or because he didn't have the energy to argue.

"If you still need a massage tomorrow, I'll fly someone in, okay? They can stay as long as necessary."

Virgil nodded again.

"Good…"

Kyrano offered the Tracys a little bow. "Please excuse me one moment." He left the room.

Jeff regarded his son who had almost fallen asleep in the wheelchair. "Let's get you out of that gear and into bed."

He wasn't sure how the younger man managed to stay awake long enough to divest himself of his clothes, but with minimal help Virgil was soon in bed and sound asleep.

Jeff watched his slumbering son and wondered what his story had been. Those bruises spoke of more than a long journey in a confined space…

There was a tap on the door. At Jeff's quiet "come in" Kyrano entered.

He was carrying some books and a portable computer. "I will sit with Mister Virgil," he offered. "You are right to be concerned about the risks to his health. I will watch over him."

"Are you sure?" Jeff queried. "That stuff you gave him looks mighty effective. He could be out for hours."

Kyrano indicated his computer. "I have many friends I have neglected over the past three months," he admitted. "I will email my greetings to them. Plus, I have my books."

Jeff patted him on the shoulder. "I appreciate this, my friend. I'm feeling like I'm torn in all directions at the moment."

"And in which direction will you be heading now?"

Jeff took a firm grip of his walker. "I'm going to see if I can find out what's happened to John and Thunderbird Five..."

_To be continued..._


	33. Chapter 33 - John

**Chapter 33: John**

_D-Day_

A giant map of the world was displayed on the screen on the wall. To the average viewer it would have seemed to be slightly out of alignment, since the centre of the Earth was shown as being somewhere in the South Pacific Ocean. Two dots were moving away from this central point; one roughly northwest, the other southeast.

It was the day that John had been looking forward to, but conversely it was the day that he'd been dreading. He was aware that he felt lighter as the final shackles of commanding a multi-national company slipped free. He was apprehensive that all four of his brothers were going to be scattered, not only around the Earth, but around the solar system. He was excited that they were actually going to attempt to save the world. He was concerned that he wouldn't be able to keep track of the Thunderbirds. He was relieved that all their hard work was finally going to come to fruition. He was scared that he'd fail the team and he'd lose contact with them. He was elated that he was where he should be and, more importantly, where he wanted to be.

He was also terrified that his siblings would never come home.

He reluctantly had to admit to himself that he was in an emotional stew.

But he kept those fears hidden from his family when he transferred Alan's video signal to Tracy Island; boosting it so that his brothers' final conversation before launching wouldn't be dogged by the time lag that was already becoming evident.

Alan had kept his banter upbeat and teasing, but underneath John sensed that his youngest brother was every bit as scared as he was.

As they all were.

John felt redundant as his father checked the radar for intruders and then gave Thunderbirds One and Two permission to launch. There was nothing he could do now, except be there when the team needed him...

He watched as the dots representing Thunderbirds One and Two departed Tracy Island on a line almost 180 degrees opposite each other.

"…We must evacuate the i-island i-immediately!"

_Brains? _John wasn't sure that he'd heard right. Brains was giving an order to his father? An order to desert International Rescue's base when a mission had just been started?

Clearly Jeff had been caught just as off guard. "What?!"

_I can't believe what I'm hearing._ Numb, John listened as Brains explained about the disaster that was waiting to happen underneath the family's feet. "…John, I want you to t-tell Scott to return to Mu'a as soon as he has completed his mission."

_We can't be going to lose our home now... Can we? _John pulled himself together. The potential loss didn't mean that he could let anyone down. "Understood, Brains. But why Mu'a?"

"B-Because that is where I have stored the missiles required to nullify the volcanic activity occurring on this island. It is also where we are evacuating to."

"F-A-B," John acknowledged. Brains was the expert in matters like this and he was just as willing to bow to his authority as Jeff was. "I won't breathe a word to Scott until he's leaving Antarctica. You guys had better get moving. Report to me as soon as you get there."

"F-A-B, John." His father's response was terse.

_What are you thinking, Dad? You love Tracy Island. You've been away for years and you've only just come home, and now you're being forced to leave again. Just remember that we've got Brains' missiles and Scott. Have faith that they won't let us down and that we'll all be able to return home again._

Thinking about Scott dragged John's attention back to the map of the world. His elder brother was already closing in on the Antarctic Circle. An angry grey shadow concealing part of the continent told John that there was also a storm approaching, but a quick calculation reassured him that if Scott held his nerve he had plenty of time to complete his task.

He hoped his eldest brother was as calm about his mission as he'd appeared to be.

A check of the weather systems in the area where Thunderbird Two was heading reassured him that the weather gods were being kind to them today.

"Temporary base to Thunderbird Five."

_That was quick. _"Thunderbird Five. Are you settled already?"

"We can worry about that later," Jeff growled. "I want to know how the boys are doing."

John checked the map again. "Scott's approaching the Bentley Subglacial Trench. The weather's holding, but a storm is approaching from the sou'east."

"And Thunderbird Two?"

John already knew the answer to this one. "Virgil's making good time. He's just passed over the equator."

"What's the weather like in the Philippines?"

"Settled. A slight swell, but nothing that should cause Gordon or Thunderbird Four any problems."

"And at the Dead Sea?" Jeff was clearly determined to reassure himself that nothing could stand in the way of a successful mission.

_Don't stress, Dad. You don't want to give yourself another stroke. _"There's a strong easterly, but nothing that'll upset Thunderbird Two." John smiled, trying to reassure his father. "Looks like we're in the gods' good books."

"Let's hope we don't do anything to upset them," Jeff growled, and John wished that he could do or say something to reassure him.

He decided that the best thing was to try to divert his father's attention away from things which neither of them had any control over. "How are things on Mu'a?"

"No different from the last time we were here. I'd rather be on Tracy Island, but we can't afford to take the risk. We flew over the crater and the eruption looks imminent."

_That is NOT what I want to hear. _John, trying not to show his dismay at the news, gave what he hoped was a light-hearted chuckle. "Well, as much as I'd love to, I'm not about to tell Scott to hurry."

"Good. I don't want you to…"

"_Thunderbird One to Thunderbird Five."_

_Speak of the devil. _"I'll get back to you soon, Dad. He's trying to get through to me." John changed channels. "Thunderbird Five, receiving. Go ahead, Thunderbird One."

"I'm over Marie Byrd Land and the Bentley Subglacial Trench is dead ahead. Any last instructions from base?"

"Negative, Thunderbird One. You're cleared to launch missiles when ready."

_This is it: the first test. If Scott fails, is there any point in Virgil and Gordon carrying on with their missions? And what about Alan? Let's see… Thunderbird Three's been flying through space for two weeks, if he turns back now and picks me up, we could all be together for the Earth's last week. _John stole a glance at the unopened gifts that he'd placed on the table off to one side. _I'd be able to open these in front of everyone and thank them in person…_

_Don't be so negative, John! This is Scott you're worried about. He doesn't know the meaning of failure._

But despite his positive thinking, John felt his jaw clench and his nails dig into his palms as he watched a live video feed from Thunderbird One. The ice was growing closer and closer in what seemed to be a kamikaze run.

_Pull out, Scott! – He knows what he's doing. ... He's too close to the ground! – He's got to be. The missiles won't work otherwise. ... Say something, John! – NO! He needs to concentrate…_

Relief flooded his system when the video showed that Thunderbird One was pulling clear of the ice and snow. Then John's eyes darted to another computer readout, which was awaiting confirmation that the missiles had hit their target. _Come on…_

He heard an exhalant cry over the radio. "Bulls-eye!"

John breathed a sigh of relief. Not only had Scott been successful; he'd held his nerve. He seemed to have rediscovered what made Scott Tracy, Scott Tracy.

He heard the Scott Tracy of old sing out over the radio. "Thunderbird One to Thunderbird Five! Mission accomplished! We are F – A – B!"

_I wish I could celebrate with you, but your mission isn't over. _ "Understood, Thunderbird One. Return to Mu'a immediately."

He heard the concern in Scott's reply. "What's wrong, John?"

"Tracy Island's been evacuated…"

"What!?"

John felt like a killjoy, but there was no way of sugar-coating the news. "It's the volcano, Scott. She's about to blow. Brains didn't want to tell you guys so you wouldn't worry…. Virgil and Gordon don't know, and I'm holding off telling Alan; but Brains has got a plan to stop the eruption and he needs you back at Mu'a straight away."

He had to admire the way that his brother snapped straight back into rescue mode. "Tell him I'm on my way. Patch him through, John. He can brief me while I'm flying there."

John did as he was commanded. He was about to listen in on the conversation, but was interrupted by a signal coming from in the vicinity of the Philippines.

"Thunderbird Two to Thunderbird Five."

"Thunderbird Five. Go ahead, Virgil."

As usual, his younger brother was succinct and to the point. "Thunderbird Four descending into Mariana Trench. I am en route to destination."

"F-A-B," John acknowledged noting that the northernmost dot on the map had split into two. "I'll send Gordon a good luck call before he gets out of range. Let me know when you reach the Dead Sea."

"Will do, John. Thunderbird Two out."

_Thank you for not asking about Scott, Virgil. Here's hoping that Gordon's just as preoccupied…_ "Thunderbird Five to Thunderbird Four."

"Thunderbird Four. Reading you strength five, John."

"How's she performing?"

"Like a dream."

_With the amount of work you put into her I'm not surprised. _"I see you're at 300 metres. Only another 10,600 to go, huh?"

"Yep. I'll be there and back before you can say: Thunderbirds: One, Two, Three, Four. Thunderbird Five? What a bore!"

John laughed for Gordon's sake. "It'd be a long time before I said that." _How long before we lose contact? _He checked the strength of the signal between the space station and the submarine and saw its degradation.

"How's Scott doing?"

_Oh, great. I don't want to get into this discussion._ _Couldn't you concentrate on what you're doing and forget about Scott? _"He's finished."

"He's completed his mission?"

"Er… Yeah." _Don't ask me any more._

"Great! How'd he do?"

_Curse you, Gordon. I don't want to have to lie to you guys. _"He, erm, he was right on the money." _Well, that's the truth._

"You sound surprised." _No. You're the one who's surprised at the way I'm behaving. _"What's he doing now?"

"Ah…" _What do I say? _"He's on his way, er, back…" _Just don't ask me back to where._

"John?"

"The signals I'm receiving from the ACG and the two lead missiles are looking promising."

"That's good. What's Scott doing now?"

_You always were persistent. It's a great quality in the middle of a rescue, but a real pain now._ "Heading back, ah, home." _Well, that is the truth... In a manner of speaking._

"John! Tell me what's wrong now!"

_Our home's about to be blown to smithereens and only Scott can save it!_ "Wrong…? Ah…" _Come on, John, say something intelligent to reassure him!_ "Nothing, Gordon. I'm sorry, but I'm trying to keep watch over four Thunderbirds and I've only got two eyes. We've never spread our resources so thinly before."

"Our signal's fading, so you won't have to watch out for me much longer."

_Great. Now I've made him feel guilty. _"You know that once we lose contact I'll be watching even harder until I hear from you again."

"I know. We're all glad you're up there keeping an eye on us, John... Now receiving you at strength four."

_Strength four and decreasing._ "Virgil will be arriving at the Dead Sea soon. I'd better be ready for when he checks in." _And for any thorny questions he'll have for me. _"Keep safe, Gordon." _How inane can you sound?_

"Thanks, John. Keep your ears open."

_And my eyes and everything else. I won't be happy until I hear your voice again._ "F-A-B."

John lost Gordon's signal. He checked the map and was astounded to see that Thunderbird Two's dot was stationary. _How did I miss your arrival at the Dead Sea?_

"Mole to Thunderbird Five."

_And you're in the Mole already? _"Thunderbird Five. Go ahead, Virgil."

"About to exit pod."

"F-A-B." _Don't ask me about Scott. Don't ask me about Scott. Don't ask me..._

"Any word from Scott?"

_I knew you wouldn't be able to resist._ "He's..." _He's what? Tell the truth, John._ "...successfully launched his ACG. He's left Antarctica." _Virgil's gonna know that something's up._

"Great. One down; two to go."

_Or maybe not… You must be really focussed at the moment._ _If I was Scott you'd know instantly. _"Yeah."

"I only hope that I'll be just as successful."

_What's this; Virgil expressing fear!? No, not fear... Just uncertainty. We're all uncertain whether or not this gamble will pay off. _"I'm sure you will be."

"How's Gordon doing?"

_Now Gordon I can talk about till the cows come home._ "Seems okay. The only issue he's got is the loss of radio signal."

"That might be my problem too..."

_Depends on how deep you drill._

"...About to commence drilling."

"F-A-B. Good luck, Virgil. Call me when you're topside again."

"F-A-B."

_Peace… I can handle being stuck up here alone. I can handle being pulled every which way but loose. I can handle worrying about them all. What I can't handle is being forced to lie to them when I know that they'll want to know what's going on._

John heard his eldest brother's voice. "Thunderbird One: about to launch."

And his father's reply. "F-A-B, Thunderbird One. You are cleared to go."

John gripped the microphone and stood ready. _Here we go…_

"Any air traffic, John?"

"Negative. The International Air Ministry has noted that there's a live volcano in the vicinity and have created a flight exclusion zone."

"Well, that's one thing going in our favour."

"Yep. And the fact that we've got you working for us."

"Thanks for your vote of confidence."

"I mean it. I know you can do this!"

Scott made no comment about the flattery. "Look at the heat down there! It's almost like I'm looking down the volcano's throat into the Earth's core…"

John was staring at a video screen that was showing the images beamed out by Thunderbird One's thermal camera. "I see what you mean."

"Well. Better not waste time… Missile armed."

A light appeared on Thunderbird Five's control panel. "F-A-B, Scott." _You've got to be one of the bravest men I know. Who else would nose-dive onto a glacier and then willingly do the same into an active volcano?_ "Good luck." _We're all relying on you._

"Thanks… Going in…"

_Here we go… Getting close… Keep calm, John… Keep calm? He's diving straight towards a well of molten rock…! He knows what he's doing… Does he? He hasn't practised this at all! It's insane! Fire that missile, Scott, and get the heck out of there…!_

John barely had time to process these thoughts before another eclipsed them all. _Yes!_ _He did it…!_

But then…

The instant that Thunderbird One's wing fell off she sent an automatic mayday message up to her sister ship. Thunderbird Five heard her distress call and responded by making sure that John was well aware that something drastic had happened. Lights exploded everywhere as alarms blared throughout the control room. A schematic drawing of Thunderbird One flashed up on a monitor, with red highlights drawing his eyes to where the starboard wing used to be. Numbers detailing speed, acceleration, direction, altitude and g-forces scrolled across the screen.

John grabbed his microphone; cancelling the alarms so he could concentrate. "Thunderbird One! Report!"

There was no report.

"Can you hear me, Thunderbird One?"

If Thunderbird One heard him, she was not responding.

John gave up on all attempts at secrecy and recognition of protocol. "Answer me, Scott!"

Scott didn't answer.

"Scott!"

_With those g-forces there's no way he could still be conscious. I'm going to have to take control. What's the transfer sequence…?_

"John! Take control of Thunderbird One!"

_One step ahead of you. _"Initiating transfer sequence..." _It's been years since I've practised this…_ "C'mon," _you stupid overgrown firecracker. _"Talk to me." _You're as stubborn as your pilot…_ "That's it..." _Don't let him down now…_ "Nearly there..." _What does Scott see in her?_ "I have command of Thunderbird One!"

But it wasn't time for John to relax. Command did not mean control and Thunderbird One was still spiralling upwards at mach-something-unbelievable towards the ionosphere. Pulling a lever underneath the control panel he released a contraption that resembled Thunderbird One's steering unit. Grasping both side sticks, John pretended he was sitting in a rocket plane. "Igniting port jets to rectify spin."

What happened next nearly caused him to miss his own cue.

_Something's gone wrong! Has One lost her other wing?_

But John wasn't that lucky. Loss of the second wing would have made getting Thunderbird One under control again that much easier. But the alarms that were deafening him weren't in any way connected to the rocket plane out of control above the Pacific Ocean.

It was Thunderbird Five that was letting him know that she was in trouble.

"What the...?!" _Don't do this to me. Not now!_ With a jab at a button John killed the blaring alarms, and did his best to ignore the aggravating lights that continued to flash. "I've got...!" He bit his tongue. _They don't need to know that I've got problems. Concentrate on getting Scott to safety first._

But Thunderbird One didn't seem to be in any hurry to cooperate. "Slow down," John commanded, firing the retros and pushing forward on the port side stick.

Thunderbird One obeyed, slowing her vertical acceleration.

Thunderbird Five dismissed the global map and uploaded a schematic of her own infrastructure. John pretended to disregard it and tried to focus on the aeroplane that was slowly responding to his orders. "Come on, Baby..."

On the schematic the dorsal aerial, the link with Thunderbird Three, disappeared. All communications with Alan were now non-operational.

John didn't want to consider the implications if the ventral aerial's connection with Thunderbird One crashed. "Don't fail me now..."

He worked at gaining control of Thunderbird One while all around him Thunderbird Five was losing control. He didn't even stop to think about what must have been running through the minds of those watching the video link, unaware of the escalating catastrophe that was happening in space.

Finally John felt confident that he could manipulate Thunderbird One at will. "I have control...!"_ At last!_ "Retracting port wing." Through the replica side sticks he felt the vibrations that meant that the wing was sliding back into its housing.

"Any word from Scott?"

John almost jumped at his father's voice. He'd been so wrapped up in his one sided conversation that he'd forgotten that he had an audience. "Negative."

"Can you bring Thunderbird One back to Earth?"

John had a brief appraisal of what systems were still operational on Thunderbird Five. "Negative." _I'll be lucky if I can keep her going!_ "Gaining control was a drain on Thunderbird Five's power resources." _I think... I don't know what's wrong._ "Keeping her airborne is draining her more. I'll set One into hover, but not gonna attempt to land her." _Sorry, Scott, but I can't chance it. Not if I'm going to have any chance of maintaining contact with the rest of the team._

"Understoo', John."

_Don't stress, Dad...! Not yet anyway._

"Bring her dow' as low as you can and we'll thing of a way of getting her to safety."

_Don't take too long._

All power to the astronomical dome was extinguished. Like a human body trying to survive in a hypothermic situation, Thunderbird Five was diverting her life force from non-vital areas to those that ensured her continual survival. John could imagine his new telescope, reliant on electricity to keep its sensitive electronics warm in the coolest part of the satellite, slowly dying. All the data he'd been collecting over the last two weeks could be lost. He tried to remember when he'd last done a backup; hoped that as usual it had happened automatically last night; and then decided that when you looked at the bigger scheme of things it wasn't that important.

The numbers on Thunderbird One's schematics screen told him that she was 50 metres above the ocean. He eased the side sticks back into neutral and stopped the descent.

The entertainment centre disappeared off screen and John knew that he didn't have much time. "Not going lower. Need plan soon."

"We're going to do an air-to-air transfer, John. Hold Thunderbird One steady and open the topmost hatch."

_Tin-Tin?_ "Be quick." _You can't be going to let her do a transfer in her condition!_ _Tell me you're not going to let Tin-Tin do an air-to-air transfer. I'd land Thunderbird One myself before you let her endanger her baby._

The side sticks were trembling under John's hands. He wasn't sure if this was caused by Thunderbird One's attempts to wrest control from his grasp, Thunderbird Five's tenuous hold on the rocket plane, or his own nerves.

Bedroom six blinked off the schematic screen.

Followed by bedroom five.

Bedroom four vanished.

Thunderbird Five was slowly cannibalising herself to ensure the survival of her crew.

John didn't even glance at the display that revealed that these areas had been sealed shut and that breathable air and heating were no longer being supplied there. He knew what was happening.

He knew that soon his own room would disappear off screen and the air would grow cold and icy.

"John, make sure you keep her steady until we're on board."

"Right." _Dad? What do you mean 'we're'?_

"Any response from Scott?"

"No." _ I haven't been trying. I __can't __use anything that isn't vital to keep Thunderbird One airborne or me alive._

John did his best to shut out all external communications from those on Mu'a and concentrated on keeping Thunderbird One on an even keel. He didn't even look at Thunderbird Five's slowly decaying readouts. He didn't want to know how much his life was on a knife edge. All he cared about was getting Scott to safety and the wellbeing of those transferring from one aircraft to the other.

"Thunderbird One to Thunderbird Five. We have control."

Relief didn't even begin to describe John's mood as he responded with an automatic "F-A-B," and released his grip on the side sticks. He would have liked to have taken a moment to gather himself together, but he had more pressing matters. He pushed the side sticks out of the way back under the control panel.

It was then that he received the shock of his life.

At first, with all the flashing lights, he thought he'd literally received an electrical jolt as he found himself being pushed backwards away from his centre of operations. Then his brain kicked into gear as he found himself floating in mid-air.

Thunderbird Five, realising her need to conserve power, had switched off the most power hungry function that had no immediate detrimental effect on her occupants. She had turned off the artificial gravity generator. John's action of pushing the side sticks away had created the equal and opposite reaction which had sent him 'flying'.

Now what could he do? He was literally floating in the middle of the room. There was nothing within reach that he could push against or use to pull himself along. He needed to replicate the action that had got him into this mess in the first place. Taking one of the replacement barrels from the holsters on his belt he tossed it away from the control panel.

It had the desired effect. Just as Newton's third law of motion had said it would, he flew back towards where he started. He grabbed hold of the edge of the console and held tight before shutting off all radio communications. That was another power drain and he reasoned that even if someone needed his help, there was nothing he could do to help them. Besides, both Virgil and Gordon would be beyond radio range for a long time.

Scott, he knew, was definitely unreachable.

First order of business was to get a jetpack so he could manoeuvre around Thunderbird Five without the need to do a slow striptease. Second was to negotiate a more rationalised shutdown to give Thunderbird Five's solar panels a chance to recharge her batteries. Third was...

It was at that moment that he looked at the life-support console and discovered why Thunderbird Five had been taking such drastic action. The oxygen generation unit was failing and nothing Thunderbird Five had done seemed to have stopped its collapse. Even more worrying, the auxiliary generator hadn't come on line to take up the slack.

John knew he wasn't in immediate danger. There was enough oxygen in Thunderbird Five to last him a few days. The problem was that there was no chance that anyone could come to his assistance before that 'few days' was up. Even if Alan had turned Thunderbird Three around he would arrive back in time to find nothing more than a high-tech coffin.

It was up to John to save his own life.

The first thing he did, after retrieving a jetpack from a cupboard, was make sure that he had access to every molecule of oxygen available to him. He floated through Thunderbird Five until he came to the space suit storage bay. From here he removed one space suit and all the oxygen cylinders. He hesitated for a moment and then put on a pair of grav-boots, designed to give him grip on whatever surface he was walking on. The problem with these was that they were not built for walking at speed, but combined with the jetpack he decided that he should be able to handle any situation.

Taking this booty back to the main control room he decided against getting suited up now. They were too bulky to be used in what could be confined spaces and besides, John only wanted to use them as a last resort. He hoped that he wouldn't have to use them at all, thereby saving them in case they were needed in the future.

Now it was time to try to work out what had caused the problem and reverse the damage.

In truth he knew what was at the root of the problem. In the months leading up to the missions they just hadn't spent enough time checking Thunderbird Five. John couldn't, and didn't, blame anyone for this. All trips to the space station meant that at least two people weren't working on the equipment back on Earth and that Thunderbird Three wasn't getting the overhaul that she needed to survive her four month journey. They'd done enough for Thunderbird Five to last a normal tour of duty, but no one had anticipated John having to take control of a wayward, out of control, aeroplane.

So why, of all the equipment on board Thunderbird Five, had it been the oxygen generators that had failed?

And what did John have to do to rectify it?

He jetted over to the life-support console to take stock. Along with the loss of oxygen and gravity, Thunderbird Five was losing air pressure. This bit of news gave John a momentary turn at the thought that his Thunderbird might have been holed. Then he told himself that if she was venting into space, he'd probably be dead now, or at least there would be some evidence that Thunderbird Five was being pushed out of orbit. A quick check reassured him that at least his orbital position was stable.

In all likelihood the loss of pressure was twinned with the loss of gravity, and meant that he was going to be a potential candidate for decompression sickness. The condition had always been a concern for astronauts in a weightless environment. So much so that standard practise was to acclimatise in an airlock chamber before and after working in zero Gs.

_Forget that. You've got more immediate things to worry about._

Like the possibility of carbon dioxide build up.

Now that he knew the parts of the satellite that he was going to be working in, John shut down those areas that weren't going to be needed for the next few hours. One by one the sections that Thunderbird Five hadn't already anesthetised were powered down and sealed, but John didn't drain off their oxygen in case he was going to need it later. Finally the only operational areas he had left were the main control room, the corridors to the life-support module, one of the store rooms, and the area that stored the oxygen generator.

As John floated through his emaciated ship, he tried to envisage all the scenarios he was about to face…

_Let's see… When did Thunderbird Five start screaming…? I was trying to regain control of Thunderbird One and if I remember correctly I'd just fired the jets to stop the spin. Did that cause a major power surge? Am I going to find a fried circuit board or melted chip? Gordon would probably joke that I should try a different take out service. I wonder how he's getting on. I wonder how they're all getting on. I hope they're successful. How's Scott? From what I heard it sounded like Dad did the air-to-air transfer. He wouldn't, would he? Is he capable? I know he's got the mental strength, but what about his body? He wouldn't have gone alone, would he? Someone would have to help him get Scott out of the pilot's seat. No way that Tin-Tin and Dad could do that together. Kyrano? But he can't fly Thunderbird One. Brains? Brains is a good pilot, but has he ever flown One? I don't think he has…_

John arrived at the life-support module with more questions than answers.

But he received one answer almost as soon as he opened the door to the room and the harsh smell of burnt electronics assaulted his nose. He coughed as fire smothering gas spilled out of the room and into the corridor. The fire had been extinguished quickly, but not quickly enough to stop the scorch marks and smoke damage that rose up from a vent in the side of the oxygen generator. A balloon that was attached to a valve on the generator lay like a week old reminder of a children's party on the top of the unit. This collapsed bladder, if all of John's sophisticated electronics had failed him, would have been a simple but effective means of telling him that the generator was dead and that he was in trouble.

But he'd known that already.

John's theory was that when he'd ignited Thunderbird One's stabilising jets, he'd caused a dramatic loss of power throughout Thunderbird Five. Five, trying to correct this anomaly had boosted the power levels to those areas that she had considered vital, just as the power loss corrected itself. This caused a power overload in a few selected areas. Enough to fry the circuitry of the oxygen generator.

A quick trip across to the other side of the satellite proved that the auxiliary oxygen generator was as damaged as the first. It would need to be repaired too, but in the short term he decided to concentrate on the primary unit.

John wondered what else in his ship was a charred mess. _You can check that out later. First we've got to make sure that you can __keep__ breathing._

He jetted back to the main generator and set to work dissecting it, checking each piece for damage before placing it to one side. Each bit was either laid down carefully on static-repelling cloth inside a moisture-free box, or else tossed into a rubbish bin. Those that were discarded were recorded on a check-sheet for future replacement.

It was a tedious, but necessary, job and John soon decided that the jetpack was more of a hindrance than a help. He placed it just inside the door, glued his grav-booted feet to the floor, and set to work.

He knew that he had to conserve his resources for another four months, and that he needed to ensure that he didn't risk using any new parts unnecessarily. Likewise he didn't want to chance reinstating something that was damaged and blowing the whole system again with fatal consequences. He worked for hours, diligently testing each piece to see how badly the smoke or fire had damaged it and then assigning it to its correct canister. The closer he got to the seat of the fire the greater his impression that he was tossing more than he was conserving.

_Don't worry about it_, he told himself_. How many years was Thunderbird Five in action last time? Over seven. Seven years and not once did the oxygen unit blow. What're the chances of it happening again in the next three and a half months? Practically nil. Especially since Scott's not going to be flying and losing control of Thunderbird One again… I hope you're okay, Scott. I wish I knew how you were… Gordon and Virgil should be home by now. I wonder how they __did...__I hope Alan's not stressing too much. Dad neither. They're probably all fretting over me._

_Don't worry about me, Fellas! I'm fine!_

Finally the oxygen generator was broken down into its composite parts. With one final look at the check-sheet to make sure it was a full and correct list, John pointed his jet in the right direction to fly him to the electronics store room. Then, working just as methodically as he had before, he removed every replacement component on his list from its storage box and placed them into another for cartage back to the oxygen generator room.

At least the lack of gravity made transportation easy. All he had to do was start the box moving in the right direction and it trundled along more or less under its own steam.

Replacing every component in the oxygen generator was just as exacting as dismantling it had been and once again he stuck to the task and his feet to the floor.

Many hours later he was finally finished. Relieved, he switched the unit on and waited breathlessly (thankful that this wasn't in a literal sense) as the balloon inflated. As it grew bigger, standing up on its valve, he relaxed. _You've done it, Johnny! You can breathe again! _Air was circulating and soon Thunderbird Five would start reawakening. Once he was sure that she had plenty of power in reserve, he would be able to contact home and Thunderbird Three and reassure them that he was okay.

And then he'd learn Scott's fate.

Now that the panic was over John was able to take stock. Oxygen deprivation or the resultant hypercapnea, were now no longer an issue. John felt fine but he couldn't disregard the possibility that he was in the early stages of decompression sickness. He'd report in, let everyone know that he was alive and well, and then retire to the recompression suit. He released the grav-boots hold on the floor and pushed himself gently backwards towards the jetpack.

There was a horrendous bang.

With no friction to slow him down the explosion flung John backwards out of the room...

And into the corridor wall...

-F-A-B-

Having left Virgil's room, Jeff pushed his walker into the lounge, hoping to find his second eldest son's eyes flashing in his portrait. But John's picture stared down at him like the photograph that it was supposed to be.

Then Jeff noticed something different about one of the other portraits. Alan's eyes had lit up and were glowing steadily. Thunderbird Three had sent a message.

Eager to see if there was any news of Thunderbird Five, Jeff sat at his desk and fired up his computer. There was a text message waiting for him.

_TB3 to base. Lost contact with TB5. What's wrong?_

Despite his worries Jeff smiled at his youngest's initiative. Over the last few days there'd been a noticeable time lag during video communications between Thunderbird Three, Thunderbird Five and Tracy Island. Once Alan had realised that something was wrong with Thunderbird Five he would have known that it would have been pointless to try sending a complicated video signal direct to home. By the time it had reached Earth it would have been a weak meaningless jumble of static and International Rescue's radio tower would have filtered it out as being as insignificant as all the other old TV signals, obscure radio announcements, and inane telephone conversations it was bombarded with each hour.

But Alan had chosen to send a message in text. He'd reasoned that despite the distance between his transmitter and the receiver, a series of letters, converted into binary, had a better chance of reaching their goal. Even if there had been some degradation of the signal International Rescue's computer would have had little difficulty in reassembling all the ones and zeros.

Now Jeff's difficulty was to compose a suitable response.

As clever as Alan's plan had been, it also had its limitations. It wasn't as secure as International Rescue's dedicated frequency and Jeff couldn't risk revealing any of their secrets. But he also knew that he couldn't not give his son a response or else the young man would start worrying unnecessarily.

He probably was already worrying with some justification.

_Base to TB3 _Jeff typed. _All home._

No need to tell Alan that one brother was exhausted, one was marginal, and the other...

No. No need to worry Alan.

_TT good._

Alan would want to know that.

What to say about Thunderbird Five? Jeff had no answers.

Say the truth.

_Trying to regain contact with TB5. Will let you know when we do._

It sounded so impersonal. He imagined Alan all alone, thousands of miles from home, worrying; and typed one more thing.

_LY,D._

He pressed send and the message disappeared into the ether.

Now Jeff had to find some answers. Not only for Alan's sake, but for his own and everyone else's here on Tracy Island.

"Base to Thunderbird Five..."

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

John groaned.

His head hurt and when he attempted to open his eyes he saw more stars than he'd ever seen through his telescope. Not being the type of astronomical phenomenon he was interested in he did his best to block it out.

When he felt that he was going to be able to move without his stomach actively protesting he tried opening his eyes again.

_What happened...? Felt like I was hit by a supernova... Everything looks topsy-turvy... Where am I...? _As his mind cleared he levered himself up onto his elbows and looked about him, realising that something was wrong with the normal orientation of the world. Because of the lack of gravity he hadn't hit the wall and collapsed on the floor; instead he'd been spread-eagled against the side of the corridor like an ungainly wall decoration. _I'm glued to the wall?_ _Why am I up here? "Up" here? Is this up...?_

Wincing, he felt the back of his head and the painful lump that had taken up residence there, and tried to remember the events leading up to him becoming a human meteor._ What happened?_

He rubbed his hand over his face and then looked into the room opposite seeing the oxygen generator. The balloon that had been filled with life giving oxygen lay on the unit like a ragged piece of cloth.

_I can only blame bad timing. The balloon overinflated just as I'd started to push myself clear of the generator and I got hit by the shockwave when it burst. I had gained enough backwards momentum that the expanding oxygen multiplied the effect and thrust me against the wall. If I'd been on Earth, using the grav-boots, or if Thunderbird Five's gravitational generator was working, I would barely have felt the air currents._

That answered one question, but John's more pressing one was whether the oxygen generator had been damaged again.

Swinging himself around on the wall he pressed his feet onto the floor, activating the grav-boots. Then he started his slow walk towards the generator. His first, most basic check, was to hold his hand over the now exposed valve.

He was relieved to feel a cool breeze against his palm. The more technical, but in some ways less physically reassuring gauge agreed with what his senses were telling him.

_Yes!_

John could relax. Thunderbird Five was going to come back to life and he was going to see a few more birthdays. He pulled his necklace out from under his shirt and opened the locket, smiling at the photograph inside. "You're not getting rid of me that easily, Emma Janes. I'll be back early next year and this time I'm going to sweep you off your feet."

Swinging the jetpack onto his back with some care so he wouldn't aggravate his newly acquired bruises, John left the oxygen generator room and jetted back to his control centre. His first stop was to confirm that the life-support console agreed with him that he was going to live. His second was to the main console to check Thunderbird Five's power levels.

They were marginal, but increasing. So, to give them more time to reach safety levels, he went in search of the recompression suit. By the time he returned, fully suited up and finally reassured that he was still in there for the long haul, he felt comfortable about turning the communications console back on.

Almost immediately he picked up a signal from space. A text message in binary.

"_TB3 to base. Still no word from TB5. Not good. L2YA, A."_

John decided to pass the message on in person. "Thunderbird Five to base..."

"John!" His father's face, even while it was a mixture of fatigue, relief, and concern, was a welcome sight. "What happened to you? Why are you in the RC suit?"

_Don't worry about me. _"How's Scott?"

"He'll live," Jeff grunted.

_You're fudging. What are you reluctant to tell me? _"And the others?"

"All home."

_That's a relief. _"You've got a message from Alan." _Get that out of the way and then you can tell me what you need to tell me._

Jeff listened as John dictated the text code. "He's been worried about you. We all have. You'd better get him on line and we can have a debriefing. No point in any of us repeating ourselves."

"F-A-B."

Alan answered the call almost immediately (considering the time lag), looking like he was ready to jump down the video link and give his brother a hug. "Where have you been? And why are you wearing that?"

"It's a long and boring story, Alan. I'll tell you soon, but first I need to hear how the rest of the fellas did."

Jeff detailed what he knew. Brains had done all he could for Gordon, and now his temperature was close to normal. It remained to be seen what long term effect the combination of oxygen deprivation, carbon dioxide poisoning, hypothermia, and decompression sickness would be.

"And Scott?" John pressed.

"Brains is checking him out now. There's been no sign of deterioration…"

_Thank heavens for that._

"…so he's quietly confident that once he wakes up he'll be fine. But Brains is keeping him sedated in the short term to make sure."

Alan, so long without contact, was desperate for information. He was also getting good at predicting when to start talking to minimise the time lag between them. "Is Virgil okay?"

"He travelled one and a half kilometres in the Pup," his father told him, "and he wasn't in the best shape when he got home, but Kyrano's given him some tonic to relax him and he's sleeping now. He should be okay once he wakes up."

Alan frowned. "If he's travelled that far in that small a space, he'll be all knotted up when he wakes…"

"I know."

_I wish I could go and get some sleep and get rid of this headache._

"…Why was he in the Pup?"

"The Mole got trapped by magma."

_You're kidding! He was trapped in the Mole by magma!? And he survived!?_

"You're kidding! What happened to the Mole?"

"He didn't say. I'd assume that it's not retrievable."

_I'd agree with that assumption._

"Were they successful in launching their ACGs?"

"Scott was. We don't know about Gordon and Virgil. Thunderbird Four's a mess and we can't get a reading to see if the launch was successful. Virgil has concerns that his has got trapped with the Mole."

_He'll be devastated if it is. And what will that mean for Brains' hypothesis?_

"When will we know if they were successful?"

"Brains has been too busy to check. Plus, we haven't had a satellite available to receive the ACGs' signals." Jeff gave John a wry look. "Would you care to oblige us?"

John checked Thunderbird Five's power levels. "Sorry, Dad, but not yet. She hasn't got enough power."

"What?! But that power drain you reported happened ten hours ago! What happened!?"

"Not enough power!? _What_ happened?!" Alan echoed a beat after his father.

Keeping it simple and with no embellishments, John told them the full story.

"I don't like the sound of this," Jeff growled. "How are you feeling?"

_Don't worry about me. You've got enough to worry about down on Earth. _"Bit of a headache and a few bruises, but I'm fine."

"Are you sure? I'm going to call Brains."

"I'm fine!" _I hope._ "You don't need to call... Hi, Brains."

"J-John! Alan!" International Rescue's resident medical expert blinked up at the two space-bound Tracys. He looked tired after his battle to save Gordon. "How are you both?"

"Fine." _At least I think I am._

"Glad to be back in contact," Alan added.

"John says he's fine," Jeff corrected, "but I'd like you to confirm it. Tell Brains what happened to you, John."

Brains looked like he'd had had enough to worry about over the last few hours and John considered protesting, but decided against it. He knew that only Brains' reassurance would put to rest his father's and Alan's concerns; not to mention that nagging voice in his own mind. "Well..."

_Tomorrow I'll have to repeat myself to Virgil, Tin-Tin and Kyrano; probably at different times. Then Scott's going to insist on a full debriefing when he wakes up. And Gordon's going to want to know every little detail…_

"...So, I've got an egg on the back of my head." John chuckled. "If I decide I want to have an omelette for breakfast, I'm good... Apart from that I'm fine."

"Did you, ah, lose consciousness?"

"I don't think so. I hit the wall with enough force that I was seeing stars, but I don't think I was out of it for any length of time."

"Good." Brains studied his computer. "Your medical scanner is registering normal." He glanced across at the other portrait. "Yours too, Alan."

"Good. I thought I was going to have heart failure when I couldn't get hold of John. You've got no idea how glad I was to receive your message, Dad."

Jeff Tracy treated his youngest son to a sympathetic look. "Probably as glad as I was to receive yours."

John yawned. "It's been a long day." _And I'm beat._ "I think I'll resurrect the basic living area now and then hit the sack. I can sleep in the recompression suit. I'll bring the rest of Thunderbird Five's systems back on-line tomorrow. She should be fully charged by then."

"Understood, John," Jeff acknowledged. "Have a good rest." He checked his watch. "9th of October. It's a bit late to wish you a happy birthday."

"Doesn't matter. We'll all have a big celebration when we've succeeded and Alan and I are home again. Right, Alan?"

"Right." Alan grinned. "You go get some rest and I'll talk to you tomorrow, John. But leave the link open so I can carry on talking to Earth. I didn't realise how much I'll miss being in contact with you guys."

_Sorry about that, Bro. I didn't have much option. _"F-A-B."

John asked his father to tell Gordon and Scott that he was waiting for a full debriefing from them, said goodbye, and switched off the radio. Then he made his living quarters liveable; only powering up his bedroom, washroom, and the kitchen.

Finally he cut power to those instruments in the control room that he thought he would never use again.

As he jetted out of the room he glanced at his still unopened birthday presents. _I'll look at you tomorrow._

But John Tracy knew that the best presents he could receive would be to be told that his brothers were going to be okay...

And confirmation that the ACGs were on their way deep into the Earth…

_To be continued..._


	34. Chapter 34 - Invites

**Chapter 34: Invites**

_D-Day plus two_

_10 October 2079_

Virgil sat by the bed in the infirmary, watching the sleeping figure.

Waiting for signs of reawakening.

"Mister Virgil?"

Virgil turned in his seat, trying not to wince as his back protested. He'd slept for over 24 hours and then awoken in the early hours of this morning refreshed and, after some light exercise, mobile. All except for his back, which was still complaining about having spent hours bent out of shape by his oxygen cylinder in the Pup. "Hi, Kyrano."

"Would you care for a coffee?" Kyrano enquired. "Perhaps the aroma will be the tonic he needs?"

Virgil gave a quiet chuckle. "You think his stomach will tell him to wake up? You could be right." He accepted the mug of fragrant liquid. "How's Gordon?"

"There is no change." Kyrano looked sombre. "His vital signs are not deteriorating, nor are they improving. Mister Brains makes no comment about this and your father does not ask him for one."

"Brains is probably like all of us: waiting." Virgil sipped his coffee. "Ah, that's good."

Kyrano inclined his head. "Is there any change in Mister Scott's condition?"

Virgil glanced back at his slumbering brother. "No. That sedative Brains gave him sure is effective."

"He did not wish for Mister Scott to be under any stress while he could not examine him for brain injuries."

"I know. But he's given him a full brain scan and didn't find anything wrong. Scott should be waking up by now." Virgil turned back to the bed and caught his breath as his back complained.

"Be patient." Kyrano recommended. "Mister Scott will awaken when he is ready. And then, when you are ready to leave, I will fly you to the mainland."

"I'm all right," Virgil grumbled.

"Mister Scott will insist that you leave."

Virgil knew that Kyrano was right. "Sorry. It just feels odd to be sitting here doing nothing. After three months of working practically non-stop it seems unnatural."

Kyrano inclined his head in understanding. "Would you care for more coffee?"

"No, I'm fine."

"Then I shall go see if your father wishes for some."

"Thanks, Kyrano." Virgil settled back to watch and wait.

He briefly toyed with the idea of calling John up for some company. Some time after he'd fallen asleep two nights ago Jeff had woken him to give him the good news that contact had been regained with Thunderbird Five, but Virgil had been so tired that he'd barely taken it in. When he'd awoken this morning he'd thought it was a dream until Kyrano had confirmed it. Since then he'd heard the condensed version of what John had been through and was keen to hear about it in more detail. Then he decided that it could wait. He didn't want Scott waking up part way through the recitation and worrying about things he had no need to worry about.

It wasn't long before Virgil detected the first signs of life. He leant forward...

Scott stirred. His eyelids fluttered open before he shut them again.

"Time to wake up, Scott," Virgil instructed softly.

Scott's blue eyes opened again, blinked, fixed on Virgil, and frowned. Then the frown cleared. "Oh. Id'z you." He tried to clear his throat against the roughness of his voice. "Didn' recognize you."

Virgil chuckled. "Do you want me to grow the beard again?"

"No." Still groggy with the effects of the sedative, Scott hefted his arm to his face and ran his hand over his eyes. He groaned. "Gettin' tooold for this game."

"I've seen the telemetry readout from Thunderbird One. If you'd been through what you went through when you were 18 I'd guarantee you wouldn't be feeling any better. You're feeling out of sorts because you've been sedated for the last few hours."

Scott had let his arm relax across his face and Virgil thought he'd gone back to sleep. But then his brother spoke. "How'z One?"

Virgil had had a long time to prepare the answers to the questions he knew was coming. As he'd sat by his brother's bed he'd mentally rehearsed the phrasing of each response so that they would be factual, but would leave out those snippets of information that Scott didn't need to concern himself with until he felt stronger. "She's all right. You don't need to worry about her."

"She'ss okay?"

"She was landed by one of the best pilots in the business."

Scott moved his hand as if he were going to pat Virgil's. "Thankz. Knew I could coun' on you."

Virgil suppressed a grin. This wasn't exactly what he was insinuating, but if Scott thought he was one of the best, he wasn't about to complain.

"Where're...?" Scott let his arm fall onto his chest and tried to focus on the room. "Trazy I'land?"

"Yep. You did it. You extinguished the volcano."

"I di'?"

"You did."

The elder frowned. "Wha' 'appened to you?" He made a movement as if he was going to point, but didn't have the energy to do so.

"You mean this?" Virgil indicated his bruised cheek. "Lost my footing in the Mole."

"The Mole…" It was taking time for Scott's drugged brain to pick its way though the myriad of questions that Virgil was sure were waiting to be asked. "'Ow'd you do?"

Virgil had been wondering that himself. "I launched the ACG, but we haven't had the opportunity to check on its progress. Same with the others."

Scott's eyes had closed again and Virgil watched as his breathing settled back into a regular rhythm.

He had to wait for several minutes before the next question was posed. "How'd Gord'n go?"

Now it was getting tricky. Scott would insist on the truth, but Virgil wasn't ready to give it to him yet. All he could do was give the answers he'd prepared and hope that Scott didn't realise that he was fudging. "He had a rough trip, but he made it back. He's with Father and Brains."

Scott made no comment and Virgil relaxed.

"How'sz Al'n?"

"I was talking to him about a couple of hours ago. He told me to tell you to hurry up and wake up."

Scott's lips twitched in a semblance of a grin. "Who'sz 'e thin' he ish orderin' me?"

Virgil laughed. "You're going to have to show him who's boss."

"John did good." Scott's eyes drooped. "Like ol' timesss."

"Yes," Virgil agreed, thinking how 'good' John had done in managing to save this brother's life while battling a life-threatening situation of his own. "He's waiting to give you a full debrief."

Scott snored and Virgil wondered if it was time to leave. He was about to stand when his brother awoke again. "Father 'kay?"

"Yep. He's going to be happy to know that you're finally awake."

"Tin-Tin?"

"She's fine."

"An' baby?"

"Seems fine too."

"Brains?"

"He's having a break. He had a stressful few days wondering if his hypothesis is going to work and looking after you."

Scott's eyes were growing heavy again. "'m 'kay."

"Yeah, I know."

This time when Scott's eyes closed he showed no sign of opening them again. Satisfied with the answers to the questions and his brother's response, Virgil stood and, moving with care, tip-toed out of the room and into the room next door.

Jeff Tracy looked up when his son entered. "How is he?"

"Still groggy. He woke up, took roll call, and went back to sleep again." Virgil heard two chuckles and looked over at the twin video screens on the wall. "Hi, guys."

John's response of "Hi, Virgil," was received a full second before Alan's.

Jeff watched as Virgil took the chair next to him, spun it about on one leg and straddled it so he was able to lean on its back. "Is your back still sore?"

"A little."

"Brains has given you the all clear to fly out. You don't need to stay here."

Virgil turned his attention towards the unconscious figure on the bed. Gordon had been moved out from the hyperbaric chamber while Virgil was asleep, but he was still being supplied oxygen and had been hooked up to a number of intravenous drips and other paraphernalia. To Virgil's mind, he looked way too pale and still to be Gordon. "Yes, I do."

Jeff understood. "We keep telling him to wake up."

"You heard the boss, Gordon." Trying not to twist his back, Virgil turned to his father. "You should go and sit with Scott for a while. If he wakes up and no one's there he's going to try to get out of bed before he's ready. And if he wakes up and thinks that I've been the only one sitting next to him he's going to start worrying."

Jeff considered the suggestion. He didn't want to leave Gordon's side, but he knew that Virgil was right. While his eldest was out of danger, he still deserved the same care and attention that his second youngest was getting.

"Go on, Dad," John encouraged. "We'll keep an eye on Gordon. We'll let you know if there's any change."

Brains bustled into the room, his attention on the tablet computer in his hands. After over 48 hours of stressful activity, and once Gordon had been pronounced out of immediate danger, Jeff had insisted that he get some sleep. Now the little man was looking fresher than he had been in days. He looked up, coming to a dead stop. "Virgil! I-I take it that Scott's awake."

"Briefly. He's gone back to sleep."

"Did he, ah, say how he was feeling?"

"Rough, but I think that's because he's still feeling the effects of the sedative. He could barely keep his eyes open."

Brains nodded. "Th-That is understandable. He was sedated for a long time."

There was a moment's silence as he moved over to Gordon's bed, opposite the two Tracys.

Virgil watched him as he read the medical readouts, hoping that his reaction would give him a clue as to his brother's condition. "How is he, Brains?"

"St-table, Virgil."

"Good. Any idea when he's likely to regain consciousness?"

"C-Could be at any moment, or we may have to wait for days."

Virgil folded his arms on the back of the chair, rested his chin on them, and settled in for the long haul.

"Any reports from the ACGs, Brains?" Alan asked. "Have they started transmitting?"

Brains looked over to the wall, almost seeming to be surprised to hear Alan's voice. "I have just f-finished, ah, checking, Alan. Thunderbird Five has only recently started sending through the devices' telemetry readings."

"That's because she's only just regained full power," John reminded him. "I didn't want to start receiving until I was sure Thunderbird Five could handle it."

"The results are good, in the main," Brains admitted. "The Bentley Subglacial Trench deployment has hit solid rock and is burrowing steadily. The Mariana Trench deployment," he glanced at his unconscious patient, "is also advancing as planned."

Jeff sat forward. "So he launched it before he ran into trouble?"

Brains nodded. "It appears so."

Jeff smiled at the figure on the bed. "Well done, Gordon."

"And mine?" Virgil asked. "Has it gone any deeper, or is it stuck where I launched it?"

Brains appeared unsure of how to answer. "H-H-How deep w-w-were you?"

Virgil frowned, trying to remember the exact depth. "Over 1500 metres. I think the Mole was reading 1537 before she lost power."

"Ah."

"Ah? What do you mean 'Ah'?" Virgil demanded. "What depth is it at!?"

"Th-There are many variables t-to take into consideration, Virgil. The depth of the device, the m-material surrounding it, the viscosity of the m-m-magma field, whether the M-Mole is creating int-terference, the st-st," Brains glanced at John, "the strength of Thunderbird Five's receivers post t-tot-tal shutdown."

Virgil was becoming exasperated by his friends waffling. "We don't care about the factors! What's the reading?!"

"I d-d-don't know," Brains admitted. "Th-Thunderbird Five is not receiving a signal from the Dead Sea acoustic concussion generator."

"Not receiving a signal!?" Virgil was stunned. "It's dead?" He ran his hand through his hair.

"W-We don't know that." Brains didn't sound convinced. "It m-might be a t-technical issue."

"Like it's been fried to a crisp."

John decided to offer some reassurance. "That's unlikely. They're designed to withstand the heat of the Earth's mantle."

"Designed to," Virgil retorted, "but they haven't been tested, have they, Brains? All the tests have been virtual?"

His perception that he was under attack made Brains uncomfortable. "Y-Yes, you are r-right. I-I did not have the t-time for full and rigorous t-testing of the ACGs."

Jeff wasn't prepared to blame anyone yet. "You did your best, Brains, in what time you had," he soothed. "No one's blaming you for any failures. If there are any."

"No. It's my fault," Virgil growled. "I should have launched it earlier. I may as well have not bothered." Annoyed with himself he made an abrupt gesture and immediately regretted it.

His father laid his hand on his shoulder. "You're not to blame yourself either, Virgil. And I'm going to ask Kyrano to take you to the mainland tomorrow. You've got to get that back seen to."

"I don't care about my back!" Virgil snapped. "That won't matter if Doomsday wipes us all out! What matters is that we slaved for months to try to save the world and I've failed!"

"_You_ didn't fail," John reiterated. "You didn't know that you were going to run into a magma field. Wait until after the 29th before you start beating yourself up."

Jeff nodded. "John's right. It's too early to say your mission wasn't a success. We don't know what, if anything, has happened to your ACG."

"Plus you saved Gordon's life," John added. "In my book that means you're a hero, not a failure."

"I'll second that."

Virgil made no comment.

"I'll second that," Alan echoed.

Kyrano walked into the infirmary and Jeff hailed his friend. "Would you be willing to take Virgil to the mainland tomorrow, Kyrano?"

Kyrano had made this offer several times and had usually had it gently rebuffed. It looked like it was going to take a directive from Virgil's father to get him to see sense. "I should be pleased to help."

"Good. Thank you."

"Where's Tin-Tin?" John asked, glad that that issue had been resolved and eager to move the conversation to something less stressful.

Kyrano turned to his video screen. "She is meditating. She has hopes that it will be a calming influence on the baby. She has endured much stress these first months."

"If she'd told us she was pregnant we could have made it easier for them both..."

"There's no chance that his ACG could detonate at a shallower depth than you planned, is there, Brains?" Alan asked, his delayed input into the conversation managing to negate the positive atmosphere that John was trying to achieve. "With the amount of energy those things are designed to output, an early detonation could be almost as disastrous to that region as Doomsday itself."

Brains shook his head. "There is n-no chance of early detonation. The acoustic concussion generators are designed to withstand the temperatures endured underground in the vicinity of the upper mantle and detonate when the centrifugal force of the Earth's rotation exerts a gravitational force on the detonator the equivalent of one point..."

"His hand moved!"

Everyone's first reaction was to look at Alan. Their second was to look back at the bed. But by the time the video signal had reached Thunderbird Three and Alan's exclamation of surprise had completed the round trip back to Earth, any movement that Gordon had made had stilled.

"Son?" Jeff leant forward and placed his hand on Gordon's arm. "Can you hear me, Gordon?"

Gordon's right hand jerked. His thumb twitched. Then it lifted a fraction of an inch as his fingers drew closer to his palm.

His hand relaxed.

The Tracys felt little joy at this reaction. They'd been down this path once before.

It hadn't been an enjoyable trip.

"I hope you're giving us the thumbs up, Gordon," John begged. "Because we need to know you're going to be all right."

This time it was Gordon's left thumb that moved. It pointed upwards for a couple of seconds and then flopped back.

Now the Tracys felt able to relax. "Welcome back, Gordon," Alan grinned.

Gordon's eyes inched open and fixed upon his father's face. He opened his mouth to speak and Jeff lent forward. "What is it, Son?"

"Thun-der-bird Four…?"

Jeff squeezed his son's arm at the whispered query. "You were trapped inside her, so Virgil was able to pull you both out of the water at the same time."

"Yes," Virgil agreed. "She's in her pod in the hangar at the moment."

Gordon's eyes shifted to his older brother. There was a hint of a smile as he repeated his thumbs-up gesture. Then he drifted back to sleep.

The Tracys shared thumbs-up of their own.

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

_Wednesday 11 October 2079_

Lady Penelope accepted Parker's hand and stepped out of the shocking pink Rolls Royce and turned to watch the metallic gold Aston Martin trundle down the driveway.

"Oh, lor," Parker moaned. "'E h-only lives two 'ouses h-away. Couldn't 'e walk?"

Lady Penelope shared his sentiments. Nonetheless she felt obliged to speak up for the family friend. "He may be on his way home from an appointment, Parker," she admonished, and took a step backwards as the Aston threatened to run over her delicately painted toes. Ralph was not known for his driving prowess.

The Aston Martin's driver-side door opened and a dapper-dressed skinny man uncoiled himself from the car. "Penelope!"

Lady Penelope accepted his hug of greeting. "Hello, Ralph."

Ignoring Parker, Ralph Cockburn-Saint-John held her at arms' length so he could admire her. "You're looking stunning as usual."

"Thank you. Would you care to join me inside?"

"No time! No time!" he gushed. "I have much to do… I thought you were off touring the world while it still exists and weren't due home for a few weeks."

"I had a change of plans." The reality, which Lady Penelope would never dream of disclosing to Ralph, was that she'd decided that the Tracys would prefer to be free to concentrate on saving the world without her and Parker underfoot. Once the family had had a few days to regroup and regain their strength she and Parker would join them for the moment when the ACGs did their work…

Or not.

She'd been relieved that she'd made that decision when Jeff had told her of the evacuation from Tracy Island.

"I am so glad," Ralph gushed. "It means that I can personally extend my invitation to you."

Lady Penelope accepted the envelope. "An invitation? To what?"

Ralph made an expansive gesture with his hands. "A Chaos party."

"I beg your pardon?" Lady Penelope accepted Parker's quiet offer to open the metallic gold envelope. A task he completed with a swift, efficient slice along the end with his pocket knife.

"A Chaos party," Ralph repeated. "It's something those ancient Greek chaps believed." He gave a dismissive wave. "Total nonsense of course."

"Er… Yes…" Lady Penelope agreed, accepting the return of the invitation with thanks.

"But when those International Rescue chaps have done their magic I propose to have a party on November first to celebrate the planet's rebirth! We will see in the new dawn! We will celebrate the world being released from Chaos!" Ralph's crescendo reached its climax. "Released from Doomsday!"

Parker's private thoughts were that Ralph's sole reason for such a theme was so that he could enjoy the sight of Lady Penelope wearing something short and revealing.

Lady Penelope could almost feel Parker's disapproval of Ralph's histrionics. "And if International Rescue are not successful?"

"Then we will return to Chaos and can enter oblivion oblivious. Either way it's a new beginning for us all. For the catering I have obtained the services of Kerwin Cousins."

Lady Penelope had to admit that this was a coup. Kerwin Cousins were highly acclaimed, much sort-after caters, and were usually booked years in advance. For Ralph to have scored their services at such short notice he would have pulled quite a few strings – or else, in light of fears of Doomsday, they had received numerous cancellations. "What time does it begin?" she enquired.

"Midnight."

"Midnight?"

"I propose that we shall all greet the dawning of a new Doomsday-free era together!"

"I must check my calendar, Ralph. But if I am free I should be delighted to attend."

"Wonderful!" Ralph gushed. "I'm not forgetting your boys either." His eyes darted to Parker and then, as if they didn't want to be blinded by the sight of hired help, back to Lady Penelope. "I've set aside the home farm for the servants. It will be a night of celebrations for all! Jeeves will be along shortly with… ah…" Forgetting Lady Penelope's butler's name he snapped his fingers in Parker's general direction, "your invitation."

Parker steamed. 'Jeeves' name was actually Dion Braun, but Ralph seemed to think that that wasn't suitable for his butler; an elderly man who'd been employed by the family in various roles since near the beginning of the century. Not only was Ralph Cockburn-Saint-John arrogant enough to think that he had the right to rename his employees, Parker had learnt from his late night chats over a beer at the local pub with Dion, that the aristocrat was not a generous employer. For this reason the turnover rate of staff at Ralph's manor house was higher than many others. Because of the low wages and high working hours, most of those employed were inexperienced kids straight from formal training, who used Templar Manor as a kind of finishing school under Dion's tutelage until they were able to move on to bigger and better things. Ralph, believing his staff to be so far below him as to be at the depth of International Rescue's ACGs, never even noticed the rapid turnover of personnel.

Ralph Cockburn-Saint-John, having deigned to give Parker an example of his generosity, had focused back on her ladyship. "I shall provide transport so no one will have concerns about driving," he was saying, his eyes not leaving Lady Penelope's. "It will be a night for us all to celebrate!" He grasped her hands. "Do say that you will come, Penelope."

Giving herself time to think, Lady Penelope extracted herself from his sweaty grasp and removed her digital diary from her handbag. The date was free and, she conceded, Kerwin Cousins could always be counted on to create a memorable evening, or even morning. She smiled at her companion. "I should be delighted to attend, Ralph."

Parker ground his teeth together in exasperation.

"Wonderful!" Ralph clapped his hands together in rapture. "You will not regret this." He heard the crunch of footsteps on the driveway behind him. "Ah, Jeeves. There you are! Give…" he snapped his fingers in Parker's direction again, "him his invitation."

Puffing slightly, Dion gave a little bow and extended the envelope to Parker, who accepted it with a warm thank you for his friend and less-than charitable thoughts for the man who'd made the elderly butler walk.

"And now that my most valuable guest has agreed to attend I must return home to make my plans in earnest." Ralph swept Lady Penelope's hand up in his own for a gallant kiss. "I bid your ladyship a fond adieu." He folded himself back into his Aston Martin, and with a wave, a cheery blast on his horn, and a scattering of pebbles over Lady Penelope's Rolls Royce, sped off down the driveway.

Dion watched him go and then, with no trace of emotion, gave Lady Penelope another little bow. "If you will excuse me, m'Lady, I will return to Templar Manor."

"In a moment, er…"

"Dion," Parker supplied.

"Yes. Dion," she responded. "How long did it take you to walk here?"

"Twenty minutes, ma'am."

"Parker, would it be possible for you and Dion to prepare and enjoy a cup of tea within twenty minutes?"

Parker grinned. "H-I'm sure we could, m'Lady."

"Good. Then you can drive Dion home in the Rolls Royce. I," Lady Penelope delicately fanned herself with Ralph's invitation, "have a costume to prepare."

Parker knew that Lady Penelope's idea of preparing a fancy dress costume was to get on the phone and call up her costumier. Still, he appreciated her generosity towards his friend and gave a bow of his own. "Yes, m'Lady."

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

_Wednesday 11 October 2079_

Virgil, his back hurting him more than he was willing to admit, had barely slept during the night and had appeared at breakfast the following morning in an irritable mood. Eventually exasperated by his behaviour Jeff had banished him to the mainland for treatment; along with many apologies to Kyrano for inflicting his bad-tempered son onto him.

Not that Virgil's absence had eased the tension in the Tracy household. Scott had discharged himself from his hospital bed and had spent the day fretting about Thunderbird One being exposed to prying eyes, despite reassurances that she was adequately camouflaged and there were no aircraft in the area. He begged to be allowed to take Thunderbird Two to retrieve her, and Jeff was sorely tempted to agree just for some peace and quiet. But he'd seen a couple of yawns escape from his eldest and had put his foot down, unwilling to take the risk that something could still be affecting Scott's reactions. He was also well aware that there could be another small scale eruption should Virgil discover that someone else, even if it were Scott, had taken control of Thunderbird Two without his knowledge.

Gordon, miserable and fractious, hadn't made Jeff's life any easier. The younger man had never been one to be happy to be lying around, even when he was too weak to move. Exacerbating his foul mood was a slight temperature increase and he spent the little time that he wasn't dozing grumbling about being confined to the infirmary, complaining that no one was visiting him, and then moaning that people wouldn't leave him alone. Jeff's attempts to sidetrack Scott's concerns about Thunderbird One with suggestions that he should keep his invalid brother company, wound up with Scott storming out of the room saying that he was fed up with hospitals and that if Gordon wanted company then he'd better be civil.

John and Alan had done their best to keep Gordon engaged, but John rapidly came to the conclusion that it was next to impossible for a man with a love of the stars to entertain someone who lived for the ocean depths. Alan did his best but the time delay in their conversations only irritated Gordon more.

The bad vibes that seemed to infuse the entire house had affected everyone. When he wasn't keeping watch over Gordon's recovery Brains had wandered about, clutching his computer, and muttering various formulae. He was so absent-minded that at lunch he drank out of the milk jug and poured his coffee on his sandwich. This state of affairs continued until late afternoon when he'd uttered a strange exclamation and dashed to his laboratory where he'd remained for the rest of the day.

Tin-Tin had kept herself to herself in quiet meditation until Brains had briefly emerged from the lab and dragged her out of her room and back to the lab to assist.

It had been a long day and Jeff was glad when reinforcements, in the form of Kyrano, returned, bringing with him fresh provisions. He was even more pleased to hear that after one course of treatment and a sleep on the way home, Virgil had returned in better humour.

That evening after everyone else had retired to their rooms to find their own space, Jeff and his friend had stood on the balcony together and watched as the setting sun had bathed the ocean an orange hue.

Finally able to relax, Jeff had let out a pent up breath. "I know it was nothing compared to some of the days you've endured over the last few months, my friend, but today was the worst day I can remember! I don't know what's got into those boys!"

"Your sons, Mister Brains, and my Tin-Tin feel powerless," Kyrano had replied. "Over the last months they have worked with little rest to save the world. Now there is nothing more that they can do; yet their quest is unfulfilled. They too feel unfulfilled and find themselves with little purpose in their lives."

Jeff gave a slow, thoughtful nod. "That's a reasonable theory."

"The theory is not mine. Mister Virgil said to me yesterday after many months of intensive work it feels unnatural for him to do nothing."

"Then we'd better get our thinking caps on and get them something to do!" Jeff demanded. "Soon. Before we all go crazy..."

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

_Thursday 12 October 2079_

Refreshed after a good night's sleep and his back feeling better, Virgil felt ready to tackle anything. He'd made a start by promising Scott that he'd help him get Thunderbird One back under cover and was biding his time until his elder brother appeared by clearing out Thunderbird Four.

At least that had been his plan until he'd picked up Gordon's spent oxygen cylinder. He was in deep thought and still holding it when Tin-Tin found him. "Virgil? What are you doing?"

"Huh?" Virgil seemed to awake from his reverie. "Trying to bring order from chaos."

She looked at the mess that was Thunderbird Four's cabin. "You seem to be doing it very slowly," she suggested.

He gave an abashed grin. "I got thinking."

Tin-Tin giggled. "I thought peering into mechanical mysteries was your form of meditation."

"No, thanks," Virgil made a face. "I'll leave meditating to you."

"Then what were you thinking about, Virgil?"

"This," he indicated the cylinder, "was the one Gordon was wearing when I found him." He showed her the gauge. "It's empty."

"He was lucky you found him when you did."

"Lucky isn't the word." Virgil pointed at another cylinder that he'd propped against the wall. "That was also in the sphere with him. It's full. Hypothermia or something else must have got the better of him before he could change it. I've checked Thunderbird Four's data and he survived an ascent of nearly nine and a half thousand metres with only the air the Sphere was carrying and one tank of oxygen. "

"I know it's counterintuitive, but the hypothermia probably saved him," Tin-Tin suggested. "It slowed down his body's processes so he did not need so much oxygen."

"Probably. I don't think I was much help, because I wasn't firing on all cylinders myself. I've been trying to remember what I did and I can't. The whole thing's a blur."

She slipped her arm through his. "You did enough and that's what matters."

Virgil shrugged. "What brings you down here?"

"Brains interrupted a meditation session to get me to find you. He said he is going to need your help later and would like to make sure you do not go flying off anywhere."

Virgil frowned. "I'm going to go with Scott to get Thunderbird One soon and then I was planning on working on Thunderbird Four. What's he got planned for me?"

"He hasn't said. He had me checking Braman last night, but never explained why."

"Oh, well," Virgil sighed. "Brains never does anything without a good reason and I suppose I'll find out what his plans are soon enough. Tell him to give me a yell when he's ready."

She smiled. "Thank you."

"Tin-Tin..." Virgil placed the cylinder on the floor. "Can I ask? Is everything all right with you and the baby?"

She gave him a bright smile. "Everything is fine."

"It's just that I've never known you to spend so much time meditating."

"You do not need to worry, Virgil. I am trying to alleviate the stress in my life. Stress can be a contributing factor in pre-term births and low birth weight babies and may have longer term affects on the wellbeing of the child, and so I am trying to do what is best for my baby." She patted her tummy and for the first time Virgil noticed the slightest of bulges.

"If that's the case would you'd rather that we told Brains to leave you alone...?"

"No, don't do that," she said hastily. "Sitting back while the rest of you were working would be even more stressful for me."

"Well," Virgil sounded doubtful. "If you're sure... Don't be afraid to say something if you need something. We want to help."

Tin-Tin smiled at him again. "I know."

"I wish Alan could be here…" Virgil snapped his fingers. "We should get a photo of you in profile everyday and then we can play them back in quick succession. He'll be able to watch the baby grow!"

Tin-Tin laughed.

"Virgil!"

"In here, Scott!"

Full of energy, Scott bounded up the ramp and into the pod. "Hiya, Tin-Tin."

"Are you going to get Thunderbird One now?"

Scott grinned, eager to get going. "That's the plan."

This time he was the one treated to her smile. "That is good. But do not go joyriding, Scott. Brains will need your help later."

"He will? Why?"

"I do not know. He just said to warn you to be ready... Now, if you don't require my assistance, I am going to meditate." Taking the safer, but more circuitous route, Tin-Tin made her way out of the pod.

Scott rubbed his hands together. "Are you ready?"

"Yeah..." Virgil had picked up a bit of Thunderbird Four's outer shell that had somehow managed to avoid sinking to the bottom of the Pacific Ocean. "Do you think we could weld some of these pieces back into place?"

"Why?"

"So she doesn't look too bad when Gordon sees her."

"Gordon knows that the cabin was wiped out."

"Yeah, but it'll also mean that when he's ready he won't have to do so much to repair her." Virgil crouched down and started analysing the debris.

"Repairing her?" Scott stared at the back of his brother's head. "We only reinstated her for one mission and she's completed that. What's the point of repairing her?"

Virgil stood and stretched his back. "Will you want a hand to replace Thunderbird One's wing later?"

"Of course I will. I…" Scott saw Virgil's knowing smile. "Ah…" He gave a sheepish grin of his own. "Point taken. How about once we've finished helping Brains with whatever he wants us to do, you and I make a start here?"

"That's a great idea!" Virgil clapped his brother on his back. "Let's get going!"

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

Gordon's temperature, along with his temper, had reverted back to normal overnight and today he was able to lie back in his hospital bed and enjoy the 'company' of his two space-bound brothers.

"How're you feeling now, Gordon?" Alan asked.

His invalid brother grinned. "Great! I've been washed inside and out. I'm as clean, bright, and sparkling as one of your cars."

John chuckled. "You mean one that he spends more time shining than driving? One that he won't even let anyone else sit in?"

Gordon laughed. "You've got it."

John's attention wavered. "'Scuse me a moment… Scott and Virgil are just leaving to get Thunderbird One." He disappeared off screen, returning a moment later.

"Did they say how they're going to do the retrieval?"

"Pick her up and carry her. The flight exclusion zone's still operational around the island so there's no chance any rogue plane will see them."

"Scott must be a gibbering mess at the idea of his precious plane being carried over four and a half thousand metres of salt water."

"Last time I was talking to him he was quite ca..."

"I let you guys get into them!" Alan complained. "I just insisted that you take your shoes off first."

"Uh..." The abrupt reversal in their conversation confused Gordon and John for a moment.

"I remember one time you made me walk home rather than let me into your precious automobile," Gordon recollected.

"Be fair," John rebuked. "You had just fallen into a sludge pond and you stunk! I wouldn't have let you into my old jalopy in that state!"

"I wouldn't have got into that heap of junk in any state!"

"You were glad of the ride plenty of times before you got your license..."

"How are they going to bring her home?"

Alan's interruption threw his brothers again. "Ah. Thunderbird Two's going to use the standard retrieval system," John explained.

"Imagine Virgil's reaction if Dad had let Scott fly Two solo yesterday," Gordon chuckled.

John laughed. "I think that's what stopped him. Self preservation."

"Did they say how long they think it'll take?"

"If the winds don't increase Virgil reckons it'll take just over an hour."

"What? No one point one seven hours from him? He's slipping."

"He's factoring in the Scott Tracy variable."

"Ah." Gordon nodded wisely. "What's the weather like?" He yawned.

"Not bad," John admitted. "At the moment it's a five knot breeze, but there's a storm brewing further out."

"How long before they withdraw the warning…?"

"Erm..." Gordon and John looked at each other, trying to remember which part of their conversation Alan was trying to participate in.

"…Scott must hate the idea of Thunderbird One being suspended over the ocean," their younger brother continued.

"He seemed pretty calm over it," John noted. "Of course we don't know what it's like for Virgil in Two's cabin at the moment."

Gordon yawned. "Should be okay until they reach Mu'a." He yawned again.

"Are you tired, Gordon? Do you want us to leave you alone?"

"Yes and not really."

"This is ridiculous," Alan grumbled. "I'm at least one topic behind you guys…"

"Two," Gordon offered.

"…All I'm doing is confusing the three of us..."

"Situation normal," Gordon yawned.

"I'm going to give up on video conferencing until I'm on my way home again."

"Alan! NO!" Gordon sat up. "Don't stop callin…" But his younger brother had disconnected the video link at least three seconds earlier. "John! Get him back on line! We can't lose him!" Exhausted, he flopped back onto his pillows.

"We won't," John soothed. "I won't let him stop video calls until we can no longer see him or hear him, and then we can carry on with text messages until he reaches the magnetosphere and we lose all communications with Thunderbird Three."

"Then call him and tell him that!"

John checked something on the control panel. "Not yet, Gordon. He's having a visitation, but I'm sure once that's over then he'll be calling me. Three way conversations are hopeless, but duologues are just about bearable, so I'll patch him through to you so the pair of you can chat without my interference." He saw Gordon yawn. "That's if you can stay awake long enough."

"I'm all right." Gordon's eyelids were growing heavy.

"Are you sure?"

Gordon's eyes were closed. "Yeah. Tell 'im to wake me up when he's ready."

\- F-A-B-

Alan turned away from the video screen. That system was useless now. For the first time he was feeling abandoned and alone and he wrapped his arms about him to offer himself some much needed human contact…

"Alan…"

Alan stiffened. He was hearing things. That sounded like Tin-Tin's voice, but there had been none of the electronic handshaking that went on before Thunderbird Three accepted communications from Earth. Just a never before heard chime.

He turned to see what was wrong with his controls and froze; his knees turning to jelly.

There, standing in his control room against a backdrop of beach, ocean, and swaying palm trees, was Tin-Tin.

Alan blinked and rubbed his eyes. Then he blinked again.

The vision was still standing there.

This was it. The thing he'd most feared about this mission. He was starting to lose grip with reality…

"You are not going mad," 'Tin-Tin' told him, as if she'd read his thoughts. "I am a hologram, Alan."

"What!?" Alan told his knees to fall into step and wobbled his way around his desk.

'Tin-Tin' continued to stare straight ahead. "If you are seeing me now it means that communications are becoming fractured…"

Amazed at the clarity of the hologram, Alan circled the image of his wife. He reached out to her and his hand passed through her shoulder. Disappointed he completed his circuit so he was standing in front of her; looking her in the eye.

"We have all created these little messages and they will appear at random," 'Tin-Tin' was saying. "I do not know what the others have planned…"

Alan was quite looking forward to finding out.

"…It was John's idea. He was worried about you spending months alone, so he created a holographic system that will help you remember us…"

Alan decided that first thing he'd do once Tin-Tin had finished her message was call John up to thank him.

"…If you look on the computer you will find an icon which will allow you to replay any of these messages at any time…"

Right after he'd had a repeat screening.

"…Do not worry that you will miss seeing any of us; the system is programmed to operate only when you are on the flight deck and Thunderbird Three is cruising without interference…"

Which was most of the time at the moment, Alan reflected. That was why things were so boring.

"…So long as Thunderbird Three remains in contact with Thunderbird Five we will continue to send you these recordings. Thunderbird Three will store and hide many of them from you, until you are alone and unable to receive communications…"

Alan decided that John definitely deserved a big thank you.

"…And we will keep our messages secret from one another so that only you will know what we are saying… And what I want to say, Alan, darling, is that I love you and I miss you. I missed you from the moment that Thunderbird Three left Earth. But I am also proud of you. I am proud that you are willing to make this sacrifice. I am proud that you are strong enough to put the wellbeing of the world ahead of your own. And I am proud that you chose me to marry you and be the mother of your child…"

Alan felt that pride. He felt it filling him so much that he thought he might burst.

"…I love you, Alan. And I shall be waiting for you until the day that we are reunited and the three of us can be one happy family…" 'Tin-Tin' put her hand to her lips and blew a kiss.

Alan closed his eyes and imagined the feather-light touch of the kiss landing on his mouth. He reached out to where the apparition had been, as if he expected to be able to feel something tangible, but his fingers closed on thin air. He opened his eyes again he was disappointed to see that the hologram had disappeared.

He smiled at the memory and the warm feelings that filled him. "I love you, Tin-Tin."

-F-A-B-

Down on Earth, Tin-Tin sat cross-legged on her bed, her eyes closed and her hands neatly folded in her lap as she meditated.

She smiled…

"I love you too, Alan."

_To be continued…_


	35. Chapter 35 - Just a Chat

**Chapter 35: Just a chat**

_D-Day plus four_

_12 October 2079_

Standing at the window of Thunderbird Two's cockpit, Scott Tracy looked down on Mu'a Island, seeing nothing but golden sands, rocky outcrops, palm trees and other foliage. "I've got to admit that they did a good job camouflaging her."

"I know," Virgil agreed as he brought Thunderbird Two in low and circled the helicopter pad. "Kyrano flew past here yesterday so I could see what I couldn't see."

Scott returned to his seat and did up his safety harness. "Of course, the big question is how good a job the old man did in bringing her down."

"Well, if you consider the fact that you, he, and Brains are still alive, I think he did a pretty good job."

"I hate to say it of the man who taught us how to fly, but he's the last person that I would have expected to land her."

VTOLs blasting, Virgil brought Thunderbird Two down. "That's why I didn't tell you right away."

Scott watched as the terrain outside the cockpit windows changed. "There were a lot of things you didn't tell me, Virgil."

"I didn't want you worrying unnecessarily." Virgil shut down the engines, undid his safety harness, and stood. "Let's go and check her out."

Their first task was to remove the protective camouflage that had hidden Thunderbird One from a nosey world. The second was to disengage the giant airbag from beneath her nosecone, taking care not to let it deflate. The third was to check for damage.

"Satisfied?" Virgil asked after his brother had given the rocket plane a through going over.

"Yep." Scott grinned. "Stroke or no stroke, Father's still got it."

"He'll be glad to hear that you think so." Virgil fell into step next to his brother as they returned to Thunderbird Two. "John's still got it too. That was an amazing bit of piloting he must have done to get Thunderbird One under control while Thunderbird Five was going crazy around him."

"Yeah."

Virgil kicked the button on the lift that was to take them up to the flight deck. "That has got to be one of the best inventions that Brains has ever thought of."

The doors slid open and Scott stepped inside. "Was it that bad?"

"Bad enough that I spent part of the time in the Pup planning my own funeral."

Scott stared at him. "That's bad!"

Virgil chuckled. "Until I realised that it was a pointless exercise since I had no way of telling anyone my final wishes. Then I decided that I'd just trust you to do me right."

"I hope you never put me in that situation."

"I've still got the bruise on my chest from where I landed on my fist when Two took off," Virgil admitted. "I've never known her to output so many Gs on a launch. Even if I'd felt one hundred percent, I doubt I'd have been able to stand."

Scott watched as the indicator counted down the various levels. "It's hard to believe that a couple of months ago Father could barely stand, let alone pilot a plane."

"Has he told you what the mystery procedure was?"

"No. He's going to keep his promise to keep us in the dark until Alan gets home." The lift pinged and the doors to the cockpit slid open.

Virgil reclaimed his pilot's seat. "Ready for stage two?"

"Ready."

Smoke billowed up past the windows as Thunderbird Two lifted off the ground, scattering sand all over the surrounding countryside and creating pockets of glass from the fire of her jets. She swung around until she was hovering over her sister ship; nose to nose, tail to mid-section.

When Thunderbirds One and Two had been planned, the team had taken into consideration the fact that there could be times when the smaller craft would need to be airlifted from any part of the globe. Operating the controls from Thunderbird Two's flight deck, Scott lowered the cables that were designed to latch onto connection points hidden behind plates on the rocket plane's hull. It was a completely automated system, and he watched as four lights appeared on his console. "All points green. Lift away."

"F-A-B." Virgil pulled back on the control yoke. But instead of returning to Tracy Island, Thunderbird Two only rose a few metres, before moving forward until Thunderbird One's tail was over the airbag.

Scott was following the procedure on a monitor. "We're in position. Lowering rear unit two metres." He pushed forward on a lever.

The most aerodynamically efficient way of getting Thunderbird One home would have been to simply pick her up off the ground and fly. But she'd been a security risk for too long and they wanted to get her under cover as soon as they returned to Tracy Island. She also needed to undergo major repairs and it had been deemed that the best place to do this was in her hangar. This meant carrying Thunderbird One in such a way that she could slot through the swimming pool and onto her launch cradle.

The cables at the rear of both Thunderbirds lengthened until Thunderbird One's tail fins were resting on the airbag and her nose was pointing skyward at an angle. "Okay, Virgil," Scott instructed. "Back her up slowly."

Thunderbird Two started reversing and the nose cables retracted as Thunderbird One rocked upright, her jet units protected by the cushioning airbag until she was standing tall as if ready to launch... If that hadn't meant a catastrophic crash into Thunderbird Two's fuselage.

Scott checked his console again and, satisfied with what he saw, gave Virgil the all clear to move.

Thunderbird Two gained height and started flying back to Tracy Island, her cargo suspended below her...

-F-A-B-

Holding a mug and flask, Kyrano approached the little machine that had been driving up and down the long strip of tarmac. "Would you care for a coffee, Mr Tracy?" he asked when the engine noise had settled into a low drone.

"I would. Thank you." Jeff turned off the ride-on vacuum cleaner, removed his dust mask, and wiped his face. "This is dusty work, and I'm parched." He watched Kyrano fill the mug and realised that the corners of his friend's mouth were twitching in a distinctive manner. "What are you laughing at?"

The twitch became a smile. "I am wondering what the popular press would say if they could see you."

Jeff chuckled. "You mean tomorrow there'd be a headline like _Eccentric billionaire sweeps own runway_?"

Kyrano nodded, his lips twitching again. "That is what I mean."

"The volcanic ash looks harmless, but it's harder than steel. It's like sandpaper on the fuselage and clogs the jet units. Besides…" Jeff indicated the side sticks that he was using for steering. "…this is good physical therapy for me. And it's something productive I can do while the boys are getting Thunderbird One."

"We are fortunate that the ash has not interfered with the opening mechanism of the swimming pool." Kyrano looked back up to the house. "However the filter is blocked. Perhaps it is good that Mister Gordon is not yet well enough to swim."

"We'll have to get the pool cleaned before he tries to dive in. Some of the ash floating in it has set like concrete." Jeff took a sip of coffee and screwed up his face. "It gets everywhere!"

"Mr Tracy..." Kyrano looked troubled. "Mister Brains has been monopolising Tin-Tin this morning. Has he spoken to you about his latest project?"

"No, he hasn't, but it seems mighty important to him." Jeff attempted another sip before deciding the drink was indigestible. "I'll have a word with him when we go back up."

"Thank you." Kyrano took the mug from Jeff. "Would you care for some more?"

"No, not at the moment… I've done enough for the short term, so think I'll put this away, " Jeff patted the cleaner, "and get back up to the house."

-F-A-B-

"H-If you don' mind me askin', m'Lady," Parker placed the delicate china tea service on the table at his mistress' elbow, "why are you goin' to Lord Raif's party? H-I thought you'd rather be celebrating the h-end of Doomsday with the Tracys."

"Because that is one family whom I do not believe will be celebrating International Rescue's heroics until well into the new year."

"When Mister Alan and Mister John come 'ome," Parker conceded. He poured a cup of Earl Grey. "'Ave you got your costume sorted?"

"I have indeed, Parker." Lady Penelope accepted her cup. "I am confident that once again Madame Griechisch will create a costume that will have heads turning."

"H-I 'ave no doubt about that," Parker grinned. "She's never let you down h-in the past. Person-hally H-I think the reason why Lord Raif chose that theme is 'cos 'e wants to get an eyeful of you h-in h-a toga."

"The ancient Greeks wore chiton," she corrected. "Togas were the provenance of the Romans."

"H-I thought chiton was h-a kind of seashell. H-I remember me granddad showin' me some at Hove."

"They do have the same spelling." Lady Penelope took a sip of tea.

"What was this Kay-os thing 'e was on about? H-I h-always thought h-it either meant a right mess, which h-it shouldn't be h-if Kerwin Cousins are doin' it; or h-else h-it's the name of the bad guys h-in a h-old TV show."

Lady Penelope had no idea of which television show the butler was referring to. "Chaos: The mythological dark abyss that was the birthplace of the world," she quoted. "Human beings have always felt a need to believe that the universe has emerged from something, and the ancient Greeks called their version of this primeval state Chaos."

"Ah." Parker nodded wisely. "Bet 'is lordship don't know that."

Lady Penelope made no comment.

"'E probably came up with the Kayos plan," Parker continued, "so' 'e could 'ave a good gander h-at your legs, m'Lady."

"Chiton were traditionally worn down to the ankles, Parker."

He snickered. "Then 'e's lucked h-out, ain't 'e. But you mark my words, 'e's 'opin' that you won't be tyin' yours h-up too secure-like."

Lady Penelope gave a refined sigh; her patience growing thin. She was prepared to give Parker more leeway than most people in his position could expect, but there were limits and he was rapidly approaching that boundary. "I'm quite capable of looking after myself."

"Don't H-I know it," he grinned. "H-I 'ope that one day you'll show 'im just 'ow capable you are! Give 'im the ol' one-two right in the..."

"Parker! I know that Ralph has many failings, but his family has been a friend of my family for many centuries. He is also a member of the aristocracy and you will show him the respect that he deserves."

Parker bowed his head in contrition. "Yes, m'Lady. H-I'm sorry, h-it won't 'appen again." Trying to hide his embarrassment he felt the teapot, decided that it was too cold, and hurried away to get a replacement.

-F-A-B-

John, fully uniformed out of respect for Alan and a knowledge that he was still technically on duty, was staring out of the window down to his home planet. There were times when he felt that the Earth was so close that all he had to do was reach out and he'd be able to grab a handful of soil. Other times, like now, it felt like he'd never set foot on it again.

The sound of a ringing phone broke him out of his reverie. He dashed across the control room to the monitor that acted like a standard videophone and stared at the screen. A name was staring back at him.

Emma Janes.

_Emma!_ His locket with her photograph felt heavy on his chest. What did she want? Why was she calling? Should he answer? Of course he should answer. She'd think it odd if he didn't. She might even think that he didn't care about her. But he couldn't answer in here. Not when there was a chance she could see something that would alert her to where and who he was. Then where? His bedroom, of course! That was the only other videophone on the satellite.

John ran to his sleeping quarters.

Good, she hadn't hung up. How did his room look? Was it tidy? Would she see anything she shouldn't?

No, it looked fine. No window to show an incriminating view of the stars or planet Earth.

What about him? How did he look?

John checked his image in the mirror. He, like Alan, had practically had his head shaved before they'd left so that they wouldn't have to deal with long woolly locks before Thunderbird Three's mission had finished. John had quite enjoyed not having to worry about caring for his hair; but now he felt a desperate need to ensure every strand was in place. He ran a comb across his head and hoped he didn't look too bad.

He was about to turn back to the videophone when he realised that he'd almost made a major blunder. Whipping off his sash, he threw it onto his bed and then, trying to look casual and unflustered, accepted the call. "Emma! What a lovely surprise."

She was more beautiful than he remembered and he supposed that the old _absence makes the heart grow fonder_ adage had more than a grain of truth to it. Then he realised that she was slightly flushed and wondered if she was ill. "How are you?"

Emma beamed at him. "I am well, thank you, John. And you?"

_Fine! Great! Wonderful! Over the moon after seeing you!_ "I'm good."

"How's Jeff?"

"He's doing great. He's moved back to the island. It wasn't that long ago that he wouldn't even contemplate visiting there for a day and now he's getting about on his own."

"His operation has done wonders for him."

"Yeah. Not that he's actually told us what that operation entailed." John looked at Emma hopefully. "You're not able to enlighten me, are you?"

"I am bound by patient and company confidentiality," she responded, and smiled when he laughed. "Nice shirt. I like the colour."

"Um," John looked down at his uniform top. "Thanks."

"What have you been doing with yourself?"

"Oh," he prevaricated. "A bit of this and that."

"So you're keeping busy?"

_Not since the guys got back from their missions and Thunderbird Five stopped trying to save my life._ "I've kept a casual eye on the company fortunes."

"I thought you were on leave."

"Ah…" John thought frantically. Emma was the last person he wanted to lie to. "I've been reading the papers... I've spent most of my time, erm, stargazing."

Emma blinked in surprise. "Jeff said you were interested in astronomy as a child, but I didn't realise you carried that through to adulthood."

John chuckled. "There's a lot you don't know about me, Emma."

"That's what Jeff said. Right after he told me you'd been an astronaut too. That's not true is it?"

_Not only before, but right at this very moment, Honey._ "Maybe you'd better check out my online biographies. Some of what they say is actually true."

She appeared even more surprised. "Do you know that in all the years I've known you, I never once thought of doing that?"

"Not even when you applied for the job?"

"No. I looked up your father because he's, well," Emma flushed again, "famous."

"And I'm not? Believe me; I prefer it that way... And what have you been doing since you were set free from the clutches of Tracy Industries?"

"Would you believe getting bored out of my mind? It was all right for the first few days when I was travelling around catching up with old friends and family, but now I've got nothing to do. Maybe I should take a leaf out of your book and take up astronomy again."

John's ears pricked up. "Again? How serious were you?"

Emma laughed and John felt his heart sing along with her. "Oh, I was strictly in the league of the enthusiastic amateur. I could never afford the really good equipment and lived in the centre of town. You know what a killjoy light pollution can be."

"Tell me about it. You'll have to visit our island and use my observatory," John enthused, and then wished he hadn't. They couldn't afford outsiders intruding while International Rescue was in effect in the middle of a mission. Besides, he wouldn't be there to show her around. Trying to cover his mistake he quickly added. "What can I do for you? Why have you rung?"

The light that had seemed to have been glowing out of her face dimmed. "I wanted to ask your advice. It's about Tracy Industries."

_It would be. Nothing to do with you and me. That's only a dream. _ "What about it?"

"When will you be coming back to work at the office?"

_That is the million dollar question. I've still got nearly four months stuck up here away from you._ "Not for a long time yet. Why? Is it something about Dad?"

"Oh, no!" she said quickly, eager to reassure him. "I haven't spoken to him in weeks... Which is terrible of me. I've been meaning to call him."

"Don't worry about it," John soothed. "He's been too busy to think about work. But once International Rescue has finished whatever it is that they're doing to save the world, he'll be back in the saddle and wanting our favourite secretary back at his side."

Emma giggled. "I'm looking forward to it."

_She's blushing again. She hasn't fallen for Dad, has she? He's old enough to be her father!_ "Was that all you called for?"

"No." Emma suddenly appeared uncomfortable. "Like I said, I wanted your advice."

"How can I help?"

"There's this man..."

_Man? What kind of man? Friend? Relative? Stranger? Lover? _"Yes...?"

"I've got no evidence of it, but I get the feeling that he's following me."

John went cold. "Following you? Emma! Phone the police! Now!"

"No, I can't do that," she protested.

"If you don't I will!"

"But I don't have any evidence that he's spying on me."

"But you think he is?"

"I'm out shopping, or going to a friend's, or just having a totally random walk in the park, and there he is."

"Has he approached you?"

Now she was looking really uncomfortable. "Yes... He asks about you."

"Me!?" If John was cold before, he was frozen now. _Why does he want to know about me? Is it to do with work? Or is it to do with International Rescue? And why does this guy connect me with Emma? _"What does he say?"

"He asks about if you're back at work, how long I think you'll be away, and..."

"And?"

"And if I know how to contact you."

"Have you said anything to him?"

"I tell him I don't know! Honest, John! I don't tell him anything!"

"I know that you wouldn't do that, Emma. That's why you are such an asset to the firm."

"Except…" She hesitated. "Maybe…"

"Yes?"

"I may have said that I wasn't expecting you back at work until after Doomsday."

"That's a harmless piece of information." _I hope..._ John thought. "How long has this been going on?"

"Since just after you left."

"Do you think this guy's someone I know?"

"I-I..." Now he could see how badly this intrusion into her life had shaken her. _I wish I could materialise right next to you, Emma, and wrap my arms about you to comfort you. _"I don't know. Somehow I don't think so."

"Can you describe him?"

"He's always wearing dark clothing. A-A big black coat; so big that it's like he's trying to hide in it. A black hat with the brim pulled down low..."

_Probably so security cameras in the area can't see his face._

"And dark glasses. But he takes them off when he's talking to me. I can see his eyes." She shivered.

"What's his face like?"

"It seems... Well, he has these really bushy eyebrows and his head seems to be too big for his body. And his eyes...! They're horrible. It's like they stare right through me."

"What colour is his hair?"

"I don't... Oh, what does it matter, John?! What can you do about it?"

"I'm trying to get you to clarify what you've seen in your mind so that when you go to the police..."

"No, John, please don't make me go to the police. He's never actually done anything and I'm sure he's harmless."

"I'm not willing to take that chance, Emma."

"He probably is only trying to headhunt you now that Jeff's been seen as having regained control of Tracy Industries," Emma hypothesised. "After all, you did manage to build up the company again after his stroke."

Trying to be reassuring, John smiled at her. "I'm sure you're right." _And I'm sure the moon's made out of green cheese._ "But just to make sure, will you let me get you some protection?"

Now Emma looked startled. "Protection!? What kind of protection?"

"A bodyguard or something."

"A bodyguard!? I don't want a big ugly man hanging around me all day!"

_I wonder if Penny's free. _"It probably won't come to that. Security firms are very discreet. Leave it to me."

"But, John..."

"And I'm going to tell Dad too."

"No! Please don't!" Emma looked like she was about to burst into tears. "I don't want to worry him. I wouldn't have told you if I'd known you were going to get Jeff involved."

"Please, let me do this. I won't be able to sleep now that I know what you've told me. And believe me, the name Jeff Tracy pulls a lot more strings than the name John Tracy ever could." _And it'll be easier for him to arrange from Earth than for me from Thunderbird Five. _"Dad would want to help. You know he would. And if all this is simply because someone wants to headhunt me, then out of respect he should be told."

Emma sniffed. "Yes. I know."

"So I can tell him? And we can get you some security? You won't have to worry about paying for anything. If what we surmise is true, that he's only after me for my work skills, it's my problem, not yours."

She sniffed again and then nodded.

"Good." John breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you."

She gave a timorous smile. "Thank you for listening to me and not telling me I was imagining things. I feel much better now."

"That's me," John laughed, trying to boost her mood. "A rescuer of businesses and damsels in distress."

Emma giggled. "I've never thought of myself as a damsel. I'm sure I must be too old."

"You're not old." _You're just the right age for me._

His comment seemed to fluster her. "I'd better go. I suppose you want to get the ball rolling?"

_Ball? Oh, you mean the security team. _"Yes, I need to know you're safe... And I'm sure Dad will want to call you soon to talk about it. Would you mind?" _She's blushing again?_

"No, I don't mind."

"Good. Keep safe, Emma."

"You too, John."

Much to his disappointment, the videophone screen went dead. Needing to see her again John pulled his locket out from under his uniform top and flipped it open.

Emma smiled up at him.

John, his stomach knotted up with worry, was unable to smile back. He opened a link with home…

-F-A-B-

The megalithic aeroplane, rocket plane dangling beneath, cruised into view.

Unaware of his second eldest's conversation with their secretary and protected by the blast-proof patio doors, Jeff Tracy sat with a grandstand view over the open swimming pool. "Here they come."

Behind him he heard Tin-Tin say, "I will ask him to call you, John."

"Thanks, Tin-Tin. Tell him to make it soon, okay? It's company business."

"Company business?" Jeff twisted on his seat as Tin-Tin approached him. "What's he doing worrying about company business?"

"Maybe he's bored and he's trying to keep busy?" she suggested. "He was looking forward to furthering his astronomical studies, but he cannot do that now that his telescope's been damaged."

Hovering over the swimming pool, Thunderbird Two rotated until Thunderbird One was facing the right direction.

"I wish we could do something about that," Jeff growled. "The question is what?"

Kyrano offered his seat to his daughter and collected another chair, placing it next to his friend. "Perhaps Mister Brains has created a method of supplying Mister John some replacement parts for his telescope and that is why he wishes to see everyone?"

"I'll give him a bonus if he has..."

"Communications open," they heard Virgil say. His statement not only heard by the audience in the lounge and Scott standing next to him, but those in the hospital wing, on Thunderbird Five, and after a marked delay, Thunderbird Three. "Laser guidance operational…" he announced. "Orientation good… Entry clear… Are you ready, Scott?"

"F-A-B."

This was going to be a delicate operation. Thunderbird Two couldn't come in too low, partly because her size made the Tracy villa an obstacle, and partly because even though the immediate environs were Thunderbird One-blast-proof, the transporter's greater surface area meant there was a risk that her VTOL jets could set fire to something; and there was already enough ash and charcoal lying about. Therefore Thunderbird One was going to be lowered from above the roof of the villa through a gap that from that altitude looked as big as a hole on a golf course.

Their problems didn't end there. Once Thunderbird One, swaying on the end of the cables, had passed through the swimming pool, she had to be perfectly lined up so the clamps attached to the trolley could lock her into place before transporting her back up into her hangar for repairs.

Jeff settled back to watch the action. If anyone could complete this task, he decided, it was these two.

Scott, staring at his monitor, pressed a button and released Thunderbird One's rear cables, which snaked back up into Thunderbird Two. Then he eased forward on a lever and the rocket plane descended towards her launch bay, just as she had hundreds of times before.

"Stop!" Virgil commanded. "Wind gust."

Scott, insulated from the sudden increase in wind speed by the stability offered by Thunderbird Two's bulk, hadn't been aware of the change until he heard his brother's shout. He released the lever and Thunderbird One stopped descending, swaying slightly in the fickle breeze. "How strong?"

Virgil checked the anemometer. "Varying between five and ten and from the sou'west. It's easing off."

"That's still within accepted margins. I'll continue."

"F-A-B."

Their conversation, and the video that was being simultaneously broadcast, was being followed as closely as the commentary of any football match.

"The wind's not going to increase before they get her under cover, is it, Brains?" Gordon asked.

Brains shook his head. "No. As Scott said, it is within acceptable limits and I, er expect it to remain so."

"I know you guys would have done a good job of camouflaging her, and that the area's off limits to all flights, but I'm still going to be glad when she's back under cover," Alan admitted.

"And Scott'll be glad that he'll able to start work on her." Itching to be able to do something other than lie in bed, Gordon plucked at his sheets. "He must have found it frustrating that he couldn't get over to Mu'a to see the damage."

"A-Apart from the lost wing, which we must retrieve, th-the damage was minimal..." Brains reminded him, "Th-Thanks to your father's smooth landing."

"And John's flying," Gordon grinned. "Right, John?"

"Huh?" John Tracy appeared to be figuratively as well as literally miles away. "What's that?"

Gordon had noticed his brother's preoccupation. "We were just saying that it's gonna take those palm trees some time to recover."

John frowned. "Palm trees?"

"Yeah. The ones Virgil decapitated with Thunderbird Two."

"What!? He did? Which trees?" John hit the button to rewind his recording of the video. "When did this happen?"

"Nothing happened, John. You haven't been paying attention. What's with you?!"

"Nothing!"

"Sure?"

"I... uh... It's E-a work problem," John stammered. "I'm going to have to talk to Dad about it once Thunderbird One's safely packed away." He forced his attention to the screen. "Which is going to be any moment..."

Thunderbird One was passing cleanly through the swimming pool. Another wind gust sent her rocking, but a deft touch from Scott soon had her below ground.

Jeff, Tin-Tin, and Kyrano turned in their seats so they could see the pictures on the wall of the lounge, which had switched over to the cameras in the launch bay; one showing an overview of Thunderbird One descending towards her destination; the other a close-up of the clamps that would snap into place when she'd reached her goal.

Virgil was holding Thunderbird Two as steady as a rock as Thunderbird One approached touchdown. "Laser guidance says you're on target."

Scott was concentrating on ensuring that his aeroplane had a feather-light landing. Through the monitor he could see the pinpoint markers that the apex of the tail fins had to line up with to ensure that Thunderbird One would sit square on her launch platform.

So far, he knew, he _was_ on target.

Thunderbird One inched downwards.

Everyone held their breath.

Down some more.

Thunderbird One's jet units came into view on the close-up screen. A legend appeared on screen detailing how far she still had to descend.

500 millimetres.

200 millimetres.

100 millimetres. The height of the coffee mug that Kyrano had offered Jeff earlier.

50 millimetres. The mug would have been a shattered mess of china, coffee, and ash.

25mm – one inch.

There was a breathless moment of pure tension before the clamps slammed shut, locking Thunderbird One into position.

Scott let go of the lever he'd been easing forward and released the cables so they could retract back into Thunderbird Two. Then he let his body relax; slumping over the console as he allowed the tension to drain away. Then he shared a grin with Virgil. "We did it."

Virgil gave him a high five. "Of course we did. Never any doubts. Right?"

"Right... Come on, let's get back to Mu'a."

The swimming pool slid shut, its ash-filled waters sloshing gently.

Jeff stood and stretched. "Well, that's the entertainment over for the day. I'm going..." John's portrait's eyes flashed. "He's impatient. I was just going to head into the study and call him... Go ahead, John."

The portrait came to life. "Can I have a word with you about the company?"

Jeff pushed his walker closer to the picture, noting his son's worried expression. "Of course. What is it?"

John's eyes flicked across to Kyrano and Tin-Tin then returned to his father. "It's confidential."

"All right. I'm heading into the study. Give me a couple of minutes and I'll call you back."

"Thanks, Dad."

-F-A-B-

Scott and Virgil had returned to Mu'a Island to retrieve the airbag and Thunderbird One's camouflage, alighting on the sands next to the equipment. They released the valve that was designed to deflate the airbag and left it to do its work. Then they folded up the camouflaging material, storing it in Thunderbird Two's hold. By the time that chore was finished the airbag was a limp version of its former self and they folded and stored it away in quick time.

"Right," Virgil slapped his hands together in satisfaction. "That's that done. Let's get back and see what Brains wants." He looked around, seeing no sign of his brother. "Scott?" Following the most recent footprints in the sand he circled his aeroplane. "Scott? What are you doing?"

Scott was leaning against Thunderbird Two's hull. He indicated the azure blue ocean that lapped against the golden sands and disappeared into the paler sky blue of the horizon. "Admiring the view."

"You can do that at home." Virgil turned to head back. "Let's go."

"What's your rush? Do you think the world's about to end?" Scott chuckled. "Let's chat." He sat down, using the aeroplane as a backrest, and closed his eyes against the sun.

Virgil remained standing. "Chat?"

"Yes. When was the last time you and I took some time out and just chatted?"

"Erm..." _Never_ would have been Virgil's immediate answer. Certainly they'd had conversations, but they'd never 'chatted' just for the sake of having a 'chat'. "Must be years."

"Exactly. We've worked hard for months and we deserve a rest."

"But Brains wants our help."

"I'm sure Brains can wait ten minutes. Sit down, Virgil." Scott jabbed his thumb at the patch of sand next to him. "We've just completed a tricky manoeuvre and we need a break."

Virgil hesitated. Short of knocking Scott out somehow and carrying him into Thunderbird Two, it didn't look like his big brother was about to move any time soon.

And Virgil had had enough of carrying unconscious brothers over the last week. He sat down. "Okay. What do you want to chat about?"

Scott shrugged, enjoying the warmth of the sun against his face. "This is nice."

"Ah... Yeah?"

"You and I haven't had many opportunities to get together and chat, just the two of us, over the last few years."

"Ah... No?"

Scott steeled himself. "Virg, I…"

"You called me Virg!"

Confused by the unexpected interruption, Scott lost his train of thought. "What?"

He was even more bewildered when he saw his brother's almost elated expression. "You called me Virg!" Virgil repeated.

"Huh?" Scott frowned. "But I always call you Virg."

"No." Virgil gave an emphatic shake of his head. "You haven't in years."

"I haven't?"

"No."

"Oh."

"Sorry," Virgil apologised. "I interrupted you. Go on."

Scott tried to get his thoughts back on track. "Erm… We haven't exactly been close these past few years, have we?"

"No."

"You've been busy with your glamorous life..."

"What?!" Virgil spluttered a laugh. "Glamorous?! My life!?"

"It wasn't?"

"Of course not! Most of the time I was alone with a paintbrush in my hand trying to find inspiration from the most un-inspirational life imaginable."

"But I imagined you'd be attending parties, rubbing shoulders with the movers and shakers of the art world; being introduced to the rich and famous..."

"And that was the most boring part of a boring existence. Trust me; my life wasn't very glamorous... You had it better."

"I did?!"

"Yeah! You were living your dream; helping to design state-of-the-art planes and then flying them. You were creating something that had a use and wasn't just going to sit on someone's wall gathering dust!"

"Trust me, Virgil, that wasn't my dream life. I wasn't allowed to be 'me'. I was always being reminded that I was the eldest son of Jeff Tracy, and that people expected me to behave in the way that they believed the eldest son of Jeff Tracy should behave. Don't get me wrong. I'm not ashamed to be his son; it's just that I never knew who my friends were, and who was simply using me. I had to be careful that I didn't do anything that could be twisted against me or Father. I didn't want to be responsible for bringing dishonour on the family name. Sometimes it felt that the only people that I could trust, and relax and be myself with, were Stewie and..." He looked away.

_And Farrah_, Virgil thought. _And she betrayed you._ "You could have called me."

"I thought you were too busy hobnobbing with the stars like that make-up couple..."

"Opal and Garret?"

"Yeah. I thought you wouldn't want to spend time with me."

"I'd rather spend time with you than any of them; even the Bowmounts. True, I trusted them enough to let them know all about me… Well, everything except for this." Virgil rapped Thunderbird Two's hull. "But they aren't as important to me as you are."

"At least you didn't have the spectre of who you were hanging over you. You were allowed to be yourself."

"Scott!" Virgil was astounded. "You're talking to the guy who spent most of his time trying to be some other guy that he didn't particularly like! I would rather have spent time with you than with 'me'."

"Then why didn't you call me?"

"Because…" Virgil shrugged. "I don't know. Because I didn't want you to see what a mistake I'd made. Because you were busy being big brother to Stewie and I thought you were too busy to be my big brother as well."

Now it was Scott's turn to be amazed. "You were jealous of Stewie?"

"No. I wasn't jealous of him. But I could see how much fun the pair of you had together and how important you were to him. He needed a male role model in his life and you were it. I've still got a father and three other brothers, but he had only had you. I didn't want to get in the way… And…"

"And?"

"You needed someone you could be big brother to. I thought I was too old."

"And I thought you were so caught up in your new life that you didn't need me anymore."

The brothers were silent for a moment, mulling over what they'd shared.

Virgil sighed. "We should have chatted years ago."

"Yeah." Scott nodded. "Definitely." He picked up a handful of sand and let it trickle through his fingers. "Can I ask you something? This is idle curiosity, not a big brother hang-up; and I promise I won't overreact, or hold it against you, or tell anyone else."

"Oh-kay..." Virgil said slowly, wary of what that question was going to be. "What?"

"I believe you when you say that you've never taken drugs. But were you ever tempted to try once? Just to see what it was like? Just to fit in?" Scott waited, confident that he knew what the response was going to be, and was surprised when Virgil appeared to have to consider the question.

Finally the younger Tracy spoke. "Do you remember my favourite painting? The one that I had hanging above my bed when we last lived here?"

"Ah... No," Scott admitted.

"It was a landscape by Adam Archer. His interpretation of his subject and use of light was amazing. I often thought that if I could be half as good as him I'd be happy. Especially once I tried to go professional."

Scott couldn't see any relevance to his question. "And?"

"And, my first agent offered to introduce me to him."

"Let me guess; it didn't go well?"

"No."

"They say it doesn't pay to meet your heroes."

"They are probably right… That picture was painted a short time before we started International Rescue, so a lot of years had passed by the time I met him." Virgil frowned as he remembered that day. "Archer was a mess."

"He was doing drugs?"

"Yep. He looked terrible. But it was his art that had really suffered. He offered me his autograph and he couldn't even sign his name, let alone attempt to paint a picture. I don't know why he first started taking drugs; whether it was through experimentation or a desire to be with the in crowd, but I do know that a brilliant man had suffocated his talent and ruined his life and all because he'd chosen that path."

"What happened to him?"

"He died of an overdose a couple of years ago… So, in answer to your question, Scott; not once was I tempted to try anything. If my own ethics hadn't stopped me, then knowing what had happened to one of the greatest artists of our time would have."

"Oh." Scott nodded his understanding. "I see." He lapsed into thought.

Virgil relaxed his head against Thunderbird Two and allowed the sun to warm his face. "You're right. This is nice."

"Virg…"

Virgil grinned, his eyes still closed against the sun. "Yes."

"It's good to have you back in my life."

Surprised by the statement, Virgil opened his eyes again to look at his brother. "I've never been anywhere, Scott."

"I know."

"I know I didn't give that impression, but you only had to call and I would have been there faster than if I was in this girl." Virgil rapped Thunderbird Two's hull again.

"I wish I'd remembered. If I had, my life would have been so much easier." As Virgil watched his brother in consternation, Scott allowed more sand to drift through his fingers. He took a deep breath. "Virg..."

"Yes?"

"I have something I have to tell you…"

_To be continued…_


	36. Chapter 36 - The Future

**Chapter 36: ****The ****Future**

_Thursday 12 October 2079_

Thunderbird Two returned to Tracy Island and Scott and Virgil, having discussed the past and made plans for the future, decided to leave offloading Thunderbird One's airbag and camouflage until after they'd had lunch.

Not that they were given this opportunity when Brains pounced on them, grabbing Virgil's arm and dragging him out of the kitchen. "Wh-Where have you been?"

"Getting Thunderbird One." Virgil tried to release himself from what was a surprisingly strong grip.

"Didn't Tin-Tin tell you I wanted to see you?"

"She did, but we were hoping for a bite to eat first."

"That can wait."

"Brains?" Intrigued, Scott followed the pair down the hall. "Why are you kidnapping Virgil?"

"I need him in the H-Hospital."

"Hospital?!" Virgil finally managed to tear himself free. He stopped walking, digging his heels in when Brains tried to drag him away again. "Why?"

He got a shock when Brains bellowed: "They're back!"

Jeff pushed his walker out of his study. "Good. We were wondering where you'd both got to."

"What's going on?" Scott queried as Virgil, caught off guard, was abducted again.

"We don't know. Brains has got a bee in his bonnet about something."

"So I see. He said he wanted Virgil in the hospital."

"I think that's because Gordon's in there," Jeff reassured him. "Brains has been setting something up for the last few hours and Gordon's been getting very frustrated because he won't tell him what's going on."

Scott grinned. "I can imagine."

Virgil was dragged into the room where Gordon was recuperating and finally released. He stood there massaging his arm and watching Brains with a wary eye.

His invalid brother grinned at his unorthodox entrance. "Was this a surprise visit?"

"Yes," Virgil growled. "Only I'm the one who's surprised to be here."

Brains shoved a tablet PC into his hands. "You'll n-need this."

"I will?" Virgil looked around seeing boxes and crates. "This place looks like a workroom, not a medical facility."

"My feelings exactly," Gordon pouted. "I wish you'd released me from here before you turned this into one of your storerooms, Brains."

Brains, in the process of getting John and Alan on line, wasn't listening. "J-John, have you managed to set up the auto-transcriber?"

"At this distance it's not perfect," John warned, "but it should be enough for Alan to be on the same page as everyone else."

_Hey I can see your words scrolling across the button of the screen _scrolled across the bottom of Alan's delayed video feed. _what page_

"It's a voice recognition system that'll hopefully transcribe what we all say and relay it between Earth and Thunderbird Three in near real-time," John explained.

Gordon beamed at him, overjoyed at the prospect of some real-time conversations with Alan. "This is fantastic!"

_Fantastic_

"Don't expect one hundred percent accuracy." John typed something into his control panel. "But it should be adequate."

"I-I want everyone to understand my plans, Alan," Brains told the Jupiter-bound brother. "And it's just as important for you to have some input into this."

_Okay_

John continued fiddling with the controls. "How are you reading it, Alan?"

"Hey! I can see your words scrolling across the bottom of the screen!" Alan exclaimed. "What page?" _It's fairly a curate although you get the occasional glish_

"So I see." John made another alteration. "Sorry, Alan, but I'm going to turn your sound down. I'd advise you to do the same or else we're all going to get confused."

_Will do_ "Fantas...!" _Just make shore someone's watching my screen to sea what I'm saying_

"It'll buzz us whenever a message comes through," John promised. "And I'll try to improve the system later."

_Thanks_

"Where's Tin-Tin?" Brains muttered. "Is she meditating again? Would someone go and get her?!"

"Take it easy, Brains," Scott advised. "She is pregnant."

"Pregnancy is not an illness, Scott."

"I know that. But she's worked hard when she should have been allowed to take it easy. We owe it to her and the baby not to tax her now."

_Thanks Scott_

Tin-Tin and her father entered the room. Her face lit up when she saw the video image of her husband. "Hello, Alan."

_High ja honey_

Tin-Tin looked confused as the words on the bottom of the screen combined with the out-of-synch picture to create the effect of a poorly subtitled foreign language movie.

"Sorry, it's not the best yet, Tin-Tin," John apologised. "I'll try and improve it lat..."

"Will you all be quiet?!" Surprised by Brains' uncharacteristic rudeness, everyone stared at him.

"All right, Brains," Jeff said calmly. "We're all here. What is it you want to show us?"

Brains took a deep breath. "Doomsday." He looked around the group; an almost fanatical gleam in his eyes. "I have always been concerned that we were spreading our attack too thinly and would not have the impact that we hoped. I chose ACG launch locations that I felt were going to be the most efficacious and easiest to reach with the equipment we could make ready in the time available to us. I had hoped that it would be enough to combat the threat, but now that I've had a chance to think about it I believe we can do more, and, as there is always a possibility that, ah, at least one of the ACGs may fail," he managed to refrain from looking at anyone in particular, "I think we should."

"Great!" Virgil enthused. "I'll do anything to help."

Brains looked at him from over his glasses. "Do not be t-too hasty, Virgil. You will have to consider what I am going to suggest. You may, er, feel that the consequences could outweigh the benefits."

Jeff, his elbows resting on the grips of his walker as he sat on the seat, steepled his fingers. "And this plan is?"

"A-Actually I have two plans. The first is to make use of a hole that, at 12,262 metres into the Earth's crust, is even deeper than the Challenger Deep."

"What!" Gordon stared at him. "But that's not possible! There's nowhere known deeper than the Mariana Trench."

"This is a borehole, more specifically the Kola Superdeep Borehole on the Kola Peninsula in Russia. I didn't consider this at first because the diameter of the hole is only a fraction over 200mm. When we were manufacturing the acoustic concussion generators I didn't believe that we could develop the technology and then make one that small in the space of three months, so I made the decision to concentrate on building three identical ACGs. But now that we have been through the development s-stage I am confident that, within a seven day period, we can build one capable of traversing the borehole."

Scott considered this. "Russia's a big area. Where's the Kola Peninsula?"

"Roughly 69° north; 30° east; er, the territory of Murmansk Oblast, close to the b-border with Norway."

"And do you think the Russians would have any objections to International Rescue dropping what is effectively a bomb down their borehole?"

"The Russians, or more correctly the Soviets as the project commenced in 1970, drilled with the intention of reaching the Earth's mantle. L-Lack of funding and the increasing temperatures at the drill bit closed the project in 2005, and the site was abandoned in 2008. Now all that remains are some buildings, including the t-tower that encased the drill."

Jeff gave a cautious nod. "This sounds promising."

"There are d-deeper man-made boreholes around the planet," Brains admitted, "but as they are all underwater and as we do not at present have the equipment capable of reaching them," there was a quick glance towards Gordon, "I d-do not consider them to be viable options. I also prefer the Kola Superdeep Borehole because it is part of the Eurasian Plate, which covers a greater land area than the Arabian Plate, while being on a similar longitude."

"Which means that if the Dead Sea ACG fails we've still got that part of the world covered," Virgil clarified.

There was a buzzing noise.

"Plate tectonics do not quite work that way, but yes, I am hopeful that reducing the seismic stresses in that region will have a flow-on effect."

"Alan's said something," John announced; but the words had already vanished when the family turned to read the screen, so he offered a translation. "He said that he thinks he remembers reading something about the Kola Superdeep Borehole. _Isn't that the place where they drilled so deep that workers reported herring..._ no..._ hearing air... _ah_... eerie sounds emanating from the ground_?"

Alan, reading his words being read back at him, felt a fool for introducing something so trivial into the conversation.

But Gordon snapped his fingers. "That's right. They said it sounded human. Some people said it was the screams of sinners in hell."

"There was that rumour." Brains gave a sniff that showed what he thought of those who believed urban myths over scientific facts. "T-Total nonsense, of course."

"Apart from the possibility of the Devil emerging from the depths to buy our souls in exchange for saving the planet, I can't see anything too controversial in this plan," John commented.

"There isn't," Brains admitted. "I believe that Thunderbird Two can deposit me, with an assistant, at the borehole and that we will be able to deploy a fourth acoustic concussion generator at this site without too many issues... It is my s-second plan that I have r-reservations about." He hesitated.

Everyone waited while he fiddled with the papers before him.

"Let's hear it," Jeff prompted. "We can't make the decision whether or not to proceed until we've got all the facts."

"Yes, Sir," Brains nodded.

He shuffled his papers again.

"If it's too complex to explain right away, just give us an overview," John suggested.

"Overview... Right..." For the first time Brains seemed unsure about how to explain himself. "What y-you need to be aware of... is th-that, wh-what I am… er… planning… no… um… s-suggesting c-c-could... potentially... be regarded as… er… as a s-s-s…" He took a deep breath. "S-s-s-s-s…" He stopped, tried to get his tongue back under control, and then started again. "A s-s-s-s…" He lapsed into frustrated silence.

"Brains?" Jeff touched the engineer on the arm. Brains' stutter was not something that the family commented on. They accepted that it was part of what made him the person he was and were quite happy to live with it. But this time he appeared to be having genuine difficulty in getting the words out. "Take a deep breath and try again, Son. Regarded as a what?"

Brains took the deep breath as he was instructed. "S-S-Suicide mission."

Virgil blanched, but made no comment.

Scott, however, went on the offensive. "No!" He exploded. "No way, Brains! We've already been through enough! We could have lost Virgil, or John…!"

"Or you," Gordon interrupted.

"We nearly lost Gordon! I'm not going to let you ask a member of _my_ family to give up his life no matter how important the result is!"

Astounded and cowed by the outburst, Brains took a step back. "N-N-No, Scott! That would be m-m-murder! I-I-I d-did not m-mean that. I-I-I could not live with being directly r-responsible for one of your d-deaths!"

"We are aware of that, Brains," Jeff said; his voice quiet and even. "But who do you think would be willing to undertake a suicide mission?"

Brains swallowed. He removed his spectacles and polished them, concentrating on the action. Then he walked over to a crate that was propped up in the corner on its end. He pulled open its lid revealing its burnished copper contents.

Braman.

The family were stunned.

Brains' robot had been a part of his world for well over a decade. He'd built him from scratch, spending his spare time refining and improving him until the robot's artificial intelligence was close to his own. Since Braman's computations had saved Scott, Alan, and Tin-Tin's lives during the Sun Probe mission, the Tracys and the Kyranos all felt a degree of affection for the automaton. But that was nothing compared to Brains' affinity to his creation; often compared to the relationship between father and son.

Ashamed at his over-reaction, Scott shoved his hands into his pockets. "I'm sorry, Brains. I should have realised."

Brains shut the lid of Braman's crate as if he didn't want him to hear what was being discussed.

"You said I had to consider the consequences of this plan." Virgil wasn't sure whether to feel relief or concern. "Why do I get the impression that this is going to involve more than Braman?"

"This plan involves us all; directly and indirectly," Brains corrected. "We must all consider the c-consequences."

"All right," Jeff nodded. "What is it you're going to ask Braman to do?"

"W-When I was planning our original strategy I considered a number of sites that had potential for aiding the successful launch of an ACG. F-For instance there are several mines around the globe that are deeper than both the Dead Sea and the Bentley Subglacial Trench."

There was a buzzing noise. _There are_

Brains hesitated, not sure whether that was a question or a statement. "Yes, Alan. For instance the TauTona open cast mine in South Africa is deeper than four kilometres…"

Virgil whistled. "And I thought the Mole was doing well digging 1.5 K."

"But it was not a suitable candidate because the African plate isn't showing strain from the, er, Doomsday pressures. Other sites I discarded because they were too inaccessible; or they may have been in a highly populated area. All my plans up to that point involved detonating ACGs close to 50 kilometres beneath the Earth's surface so that Doomsday's seismic energy would be dissipated deep within the crust."

Scott nodded. "We understood that."

"But now that you have completed our first deployment I have had the time to reconsider my hypothesis. At the time I thought that if we detonated an ACG at less than 50 kilometres then the resulting seismic energy release could be as c-catastrophic to the surrounding area as Doomsday threatens to be on a global scale. It was only recently that I remembered a part of the planet that, not only will give us an opportunity to release the energy building in a tectonic plate we have not yet touched, but is also almost devoid of all life. This ACG could be detonated within seconds of release with no fears of it causing death or destruction… Except to the, ah, 'person' who lays it." Brains' eyes darted towards Braman's crate.

"Why can't we just airlift Braman, or anyone else for that matter, out of the area once the ACG's laid?" Gordon asked.

"Because there is a reason why this area is desolate. It is also an area well known to International Rescue. I am, er, speaking of Yelcho."

"Ah…" They all remembered Yelcho in Chile, where a volcano had erupted beneath a Cobaltium 5 nuclear plant. International Rescue had tried to shut down the reactor before magma reached it, but had to retreat before the operation had turned into a suicide mission itself. The greatest explosion the planet had seen in millennia had deposited a radioactive layer across hundreds of square kilometres, wiping out all life and rendering the region inhospitable and uninhabitable. It was so radioactive that the area had been declared a permanent no-fly zone; something that even International Rescue had rigorously adhered to.

While the team had saved a good many lives that day, none of them considered that rescue to be a success.

"So far we have not found a way to release the energy building up in the South American Plate, and I believe that th-the Yelcho rift is deep enough for an acoustic concussion generator to be effective without the need to spend time drilling further. Also, the area's desolation means that a shallow earthquake will have little impact on the surrounding countryside. But, as you know, Yelcho is highly radioactive. Even International Rescue's equipment could not stave off radiation poisoning; hence the need to send…" Brains cast a guilty look towards the crate. "…Braman."

_Is it two radio active for us to give him sum kind of protective shell and then retrieve him afterwards_ Alan's subtitles asked.

"Y-Yes. The radiation will destroy his systems. He will not, ah, 'live' for long once he is exposed."

Tin-Tin felt her heart go out to her friend. "Are you sure about this, Brains? We all know what Braman means to you."

Brains nodded, his eyes not able to meet anyone else's. "I can save all of Braman's software on the computer and can install it on a second robot. He'll be better than the first."

"Can't you make a Braman the second now and send him instead?" John suggested.

_Year there are plenty of Roberts out their get someone elses and program it to do the job_

It looked like this was Brains' preferred option, but he shook his head. "Braman's artificial intelligence is the most advanced in the world. His programming is specifically designed to accommodate his servos, linkages and, ah, other systems. Also he is more m-mobile than most. It would t-take too long to re-programme another robot, even using Braman's software."

Jeff felt that Brains would prefer to concentrate on upcoming events and try to forget his emotional attachments. "When do you anticipate we undertake this mission?"

"As soon as possible. He would need to d-detonate his ACG a matter of hours before the Mariana explosion."

Gordon frowned. "Why?"

"I'm s-sure you all remember what happened when the Cobaltium 5 exploded."

They remembered all right. The explosion had set off a chain reaction, causing a rift which had travelled under the Pacific Ocean and would have annihilated parts of New Zealand before it hit Sydney in Australia. It had only been through hard work and tenacity that International Rescue had managed to stop the potential disaster. They also had vivid recollections of the subterranean volcanic energy forcing itself to the surface at weak points along the way. One of those weak points on the rift had threatened to be Tracy Island.

"So you're concerned that we might ignite the volcano again," Jeff clarified.

"We've already extinguished it once this week," John exclaimed. "Could we do it twice?"

Scott clenched his fists. "We won't have Thunderbird One to work with this time."

"Or Thunderbird Four," Gordon added.

_Ad least Thunderbird toos okay._

"But she's not manoeuvrable enough," Scott reminded Alan. "I only just managed to climb out of the crater last time… Before the blast took Thunderbird One's wing off."

Virgil was doing some computations. "How long would we have in the danger zone before the radioactivity levels became dangerous? What if we were to fly in and out at maximum speed...?"

Brains was shaking his head. "We're talking seconds exposure, not minutes. And, as Scott said, Thunderbird Two's not manoeuvrable enough to fly in, make the necessary alignment adjustments, and then fly out again." He straightened his papers. "My plan is that Thunderbird Two will fly above the radiation zone in Yelcho. B-Braman, in a protective capsule, will be parachuted into the rift. Then Braman will exit the capsule and plant the ACG."

"But why can't Thunderbird Two fire an ACG into the Yelcho Rift from above the radioactive zone?" John did a geographic search on Thunderbird Five's computer. "It's not like she'll be flying into an active crater. That volcano's..."

"Already blown itself to smithereens," Gordon offered.

"I was going to say dormant, if not extinct; but that's more accurate."

But Brains was shaking his head. "The radioactivity levels in the Yelcho Rift are so high that Thunderbird Two would not be able to get close enough to, ah, fire the ACG with any accuracy. Also, the acoustic concussion generator that I have planned will need to be placed in such a way that the maximum energy will be released downwards. This will require some degree of, ah, intelligent reasoning."

"And I suppose that level of radiation would render a remotely controlled vehicle ineffective," Virgil added.

"Yes."

"When will you think you'll be ready, Brains?" Jeff asked.

"We _must_ be ready before the Mariana explosion, which, on present estimates will occur late on the 18th."

Kyrano gave a gentle frown. "Why do you insist on this, Mister Brains?"

"Th-The seismic energy released following the Cobaltium 5 explosion was strong enough that it, ah, passed out of the South American Plate, through the Nazca Plate, into the Pacific Plate, and would have continued through the Indo-Australian Plate..."

Up in Thunderbird Three, Alan rolled his eyes as he read Brains' words. _We remember_

"I am, er, afraid that the same reaction could happen again. U-Unfortunately I am working from, er, yet another hypothesis, but I hope that the release of energy of the Pacific Plate from the Mariana detonation will counteract any energy transfer from the South American Plate."

_You think that Gordon' will cause the specific plate to scrimmage the Nascar plate and in turn push the south American plate back into place_

"Erm..." Brains took a moment to analyse what Alan had said. "You mean the Pacific Plate would, ah, push back against the Nazca Plate and the South American Plate?"

_Yes._

"That is my hypothesis."

"Brains?" Tin-Tin's pretty face was creased by a thoughtful frown. "Is there a possibility that the reaction caused by the Cobaltium 5 explosion could replicate itself, but move in another direction?"

"Yeah." Gordon tried to sit up higher in his bed. "Could it do something like bisect South America?"

"Th-That is unlikely. Any such reaction would take the path of least resistance, which would entail following the original path of the rift. Of course..." Brains bit his lip, "I was wrong about the possibility of a large scale event last time."

"We all underestimated the effects of the Yelcho explosion, Brains," Jeff reassured him. "But remember that we've always trusted you and we have no reason to doubt you now."

There were murmurings of agreement from the rest of the group.

"Th-Thank you," Brains stammered. "Th-Those are my suggestions. Do we proceed with them?"

"I think we definitely need to do the Kola Superdeep Borehole deployment," Scott stated. "Yelcho...? What does everyone else think?"

There was an awkward silence.

Jeff decided that as International Rescue's overall commander he'd have to take the lead. "It goes without saying that I'd rather we didn't have to sacrifice Braman," he admitted. "But I've had my concerns that we hadn't done enough. Unless anyone else has a better plan I believe that we have no choice but to proceed with it... I'm sorry, Brains."

Brains, his eyes downcast, nodded. "I will require your assistance, Virgil."

Virgil straightened. "Anything."

"I n-need you to make the capsule that will cocoon Braman from what will be a hard landing."

Virgil nodded, already formulating ideas. "To save time I'll start with some of our existing equipment."

"Good." Brains spread his hands. "D-Does anyone have any questions?"

No one did.

"In that case, I shall make a start on the ACGs. Will you help me, Tin-Tin?"

She gave him a hug. "Of course I will."

Everyone filed out of the room, leaving a still bedridden Gordon alone with Virgil; who tactfully waited until Brains had left before he started his first task.

He opened the crate and looked at the contents. "I'm sorry, Braman," he apologised and, using a laser incorporated into the tablet, started taking the robot's dimensions. "I feel like I'm measuring him for his coffin."

Gordon watched as Braman's height was recorded. "The way Brains was carrying on I thought he already had you measured up for yours."

Virgil, checking that the laser had correctly recorded Braman's chest dimensions on the tablet, cast a wry grin over his shoulder. "I've got to admit; so did I."

"For a moment there I wondered if I should vacate this bed so you could lie down."

"While I was contemplating resurrecting Gustav from the dead, grabbing a plane to get out of here, and disappearing into obscurity."

Gordon chuckled. "Hypothetically, what would you have done if Brains had said that the only way to save the world was for you to be on that suicide mission?"

Virgil stopped working to consider the question. "Hypothetically…? I'd like to say that as it was only my life against the lives of potentially billions I would have done it, but…" He made a helpless gesture. "I honestly don't know." He turned back to measure Braman's right arm.

"I suppose, hypothetically, that since you saved my life, then the honourable thing would be for me to say that I should go in your place." Gordon grinned at Virgil's surprised expression. "And then I'd hitch a ride with you in that plane and see if your makeup friends can disguise red hair and dashingly handsome looks."

The brothers laughed, but it was laughter without humour. It was one thing to fly into an almost suicidal situation with adrenaline pumping and knowing that they were someone's only hope of survival. It was another to leave family and friends and coolly fly towards certain death with no guarantees that the death would have meaning.

Neither of them knew for sure that they could have made the ultimate sacrifice, and both of them hoped they'd never be put into that position.

There was a pinging noise and a giant chessboard appeared on a screen. "Must be your move," Virgil commented, deciding their present subject was too morbid. "Who's winning?"

Chess was an activity that the entire family enjoyed and it was Scott who'd come up with the idea of each of them participating in a long-range competition against Alan. The board game's tendency to be made up of long periods of thought and followed by brief bursts of activity had made it ideal for a situation where there was always going to be a long delay between moves. And so Alan was engaged in a competitive struggle with his four brothers and father.

"I'd say we're about level." Gordon stared at the screen, trying to decide whether to move his bishop or a knight. "What do you think I should do?"

Virgil stared at the screen. "It wouldn't really be fair if I helped, would it? Alan's got no one to help him."

"White queen to Bish-op four. Check."

Startled by sudden intrusion of an electronic voice, Virgil and Gordon stared at the crate. Teaching Braman to play chess had been one of Brains' first successes with him, and in the course of his measuring Virgil had accidently switched him on. The robot's illuminated, but seemingly blind face, was turned towards the computer screen, analysing every move and counter-move.

"Out of respect to you, Braman, I'll follow your lead." Gordon made the move and sent the chess board back out into space

-F-A-B-

Scott was seated at his computer in his bedroom. "Hi, John."

His younger brother smiled back at him. "Hi, Scott. What do you think of Brains' latest plans?"

"I think the Kola Borehole idea is a winner," Scott admitted. "As for the other… I know he's only a robot, but I don't like the idea of sending Braman into oblivion."

"Better Braman than someone else," John reminded him. "And that mini-explosion of yours made it pretty clear that using one of us was a no-go… Especially if it was Virgil who was going to be involved."

"You thought he had Virgil lined up for the mission too, did you?"

"I think we all did. Brains was calling me up every ten minutes to try and find where he was, so I knew he must have wanted him to do something pretty big. And when he said that it was going to be suicide I figured you couldn't get much bigger."

Scott grimaced. "I should have known that Brains would never suggest something fatal."

"I would have said that it was unlikely, but not impossible. The size, scale, and severity of Doomsday might well have meant that he'd feel that the only solution was for one of us to sacrifice our lives for the greater good…" John regarded his brother. "Anyway, is this a social call, or were you hoping to do some brainstorming to see if we can come up with a better solution?"

"No, it's kind of a social call, unless you have some useful ideas."

"None."

"No, me neither."

"Okay, so since this is a social call, what do you want to talk about?"

"I've been chatting with Virg… That's why we took so long to pack away Thunderbird One's camouflage."

"Chatting?"

"I've told him about the plane crash."

"Ah…" John was surprised and pleased. "Good."

"I've told him everything. About Howard; about how I lied to everyone because I was too ashamed to admit that it gave me a heck of a fright; about how you knew all about it all along; about how you took me to see the O'Neils; and about how the whole thing had me so screwed up that I should have seen a Shrink months ago."

"I wouldn't say 'screwed up'," John corrected. "It was a blow to your confidence, that's all. And you've made huge gains in getting it back." He smiled at his brother. "I'm glad, Scott. Really I am. Not only because talking about it is going to help you, but because it means the two of you have finally resurrected that special relationship you always had. We all know how important you and Virgil are to each other, and we're all happy that you're finally realising it too. ."

Scott grunted. That was why he'd yelled at Brains earlier. He was only just letting Virgil back into his life and he wasn't ready to lose him again…

Even if it meant choosing between that and saving the world.

Unaware of his elder brother's thoughts; or perhaps because he knew exactly what was going through Scott's mind; John steered the conversation onto a different course. "You can tell him that if he wants to hear about things from my, or Tracy Aviation's, point of view, then he's welcome to give me a call."

"I will," Scott promised. "He's been great. I've told him that I'm going to see a therapist and he's offered to sit in on the first session and hold my hand. We were planning on flying out tomorrow."

"But what about Brains' plans? How can you justify leaving the island when Virgil's still got this capsule thing to build?"

"I haven't had the chance to talk it over with him since the meeting…" Scott ran his hand through his hair. "I guess it'll depend on how long it'll take to make the capsule. But we're not telling anyone else yet," he warned. "We were going to use the excuse that Virgil's back's still bothering him and he needs to get another massage. Which, between you and me, I think has more than a grain of truth to it. Not that you'll get him to admit it."

"No, of course not." John chuckled. This was situation normal for any of the Tracys. "Are you going to tell anyone else about the crash?"

"I've agreed to tell everyone once the therapist has given her verdict. Then I'll also be able to tell them how long I'm likely to be in therapy."

"For my money, Scott, unless she's after your money, it won't be very long. I've been able watch you regain your confidence. If I'd been away since before the crash and had only just returned, I wouldn't even know that something had been amiss. You probably don't even need to see a therapist."

"You mean that talking to you is enough therapy?"

John laughed. "I'd like to think that, between Virgil and I, we've got you fixed, but, if you feel you need it, it wouldn't hurt to get a professional's opinion."

"That's what I've been thinking. That I need to prove to myself that I'm okay."

"You mean that having the mental fortitude to fly a plane into the crater of an active volcano isn't proof enough?"

Scott chuckled. "Most sane people would say that that's a good reason to get psychiatric help." John laughed. "But that's where it's going to be tricky. Explaining where I've been going wrong these last few months without letting International Rescue out of the bag."

"You'll do it, Scott." John smiled at his brother. "You've never let anything beat you yet, and I'm sure this won't be any different..."

-F-A-B-

Virgil was already hard at work at his drafting desk in the workroom off Thunderbird Two's hangar, making sketches and plans for the protective capsule that would cocoon Braman when he hit the dirt at Yelcho.

He was surprised when he heard a sudden noise from out in the hangar. Curious as to what had caused what sounded like tools hitting the ground, he went sleuthing.

He didn't have to go far to find the culprit. "Gordon! What are you doing dow…?" He made a dash for his brother, managing to catch him before the barefoot, pyjama-clad invalid hit the concrete floor. "You should be in bed!"

"I'm fed up… with… being stuck… in bed… all day," Gordon gasped, as he allowed himself to be propped against the workbench that had a few moments earlier held a hammer, a few spanners, and a screwdriver. He took a deep breath to try to get some replenishing air into his lungs.

"I'm sure you are, but look at you! You can barely stand!"

"Just give me a few minutes… and I'll be all right… Brains said I'll probably… be able to move back to… my room tomorrow."

"That's your room down the corridor, _not_ Thunderbird Two's hangar! And I'm sure he intends for you to stay in your bed. That's if he lets you loose now. You've probably undone all the gains you've made over the last few days!" Concerned that Gordon might slip to the ground again, Virgil took his brother's arm. "Let me help you get back up to the house."

"No."

"Yes."

"I don't want to… go back to bed," Gordon grumbled.

"What you want to do, and what's best for you are two different things."

"I think I'm the best judge of what's best for me."

"Gordon!" Virgil exclaimed in exasperation. "There were at least three different ways that you could have died the other day! I didn't pull you out of the Sphere just so that you can go and make yourself sick again."

"I won't."

"You will!"

Gordon pulled his arm free. He stood, not quite steady, and contemplated taking a step forwards. "I want to see Thunderbird Four."

"No, you don't," Virgil contradicted, aware of what was waiting in the pod.

"Yes, I do."

"No, you don't."

"Yes, I do."

What had been a minor tit-for-tat discussion was threatening to turn into a major argument when Scott arrived. "Gordon! What are you doing down here?!"

"I want to see Thunderbird Four."

"He wants to see Thunderbird Four."

"You want to see Thunderbird Four?" Scott turned to Virgil. "I can't believe you let him come down here just to see a submarine!"

"I didn't! He came down here under his own steam!" Virgil folded his arms and faced Gordon. "And he's nearly run out of it."

"No, I haven't." Gordon stuck out his lower lip. "I want to see Thunderbird Four," he pouted. Then he withdrew the lip and put on his most beseeching expression. "Please, Fellas…"

"No!"

The combined shout was enough for Gordon to take an involuntary step back against the workbench.

Scott, arms folded in a solid impersonation of a brick wall, towered over his younger brother, who seemed to have shrunk over the last few days. "You are not well enough to see Thunderbird Four."

"Not seeing her isn't making me any better. I've been lying there imagining the worst. I need to see for myself how bad she is."

Scott relaxed his posture. "If we're honest, Gordon, we wanted to save you from that. Virgil and I were going to start making repairs."

"I appreciate the offer, but he's got to do that capsule thing for Braman." Gordon jerked his thumb in Virgil's direction and nearly overbalanced. Both of his brothers made a grab for him.

"The capsule's not going to take me that long," Virgil said. "I'm going to modify one of the inflatable life-raft pods. It's already the right shape, size, and with a few minor modifications will be strong enough. I'll have most of it done by this evening and then I'll only have to worry about the incidentals." He glanced at Scott, who understood his hidden meaning.

"Okay, so you've got Braman's casket done, but," Gordon looked up at Scott, "you'll want to make a start on replacing Thunderbird One's wing."

He knew he'd struck a nerve when Scott hesitated. "There's no hurry to do that. She's not going to be needed for the next two missions."

"Not unless my ACG fails and we need you to extinguish the volcano again."

"I don't think that's going to be an option," Scott admitted. "Brains only had time to make one thermal missile and he's going to be too busy making two more ACGs to think about making a second." He took Gordon's arm. "Come on; let's get you back to bed."

"No!" Desperate not to be shifted against his will, Gordon pulled free and collapsed so he was sitting cross-legged on the cold concrete floor. "If I'm going anywhere it's in that direction." He pointed towards the pod bay.

"Get off the floor!" Scott demanded. "You'll make yourself sicker than you are!"

"No!" Gordon snapped. "I need to see Thunderbird Four."

"We'll take photos of her for you," Virgil promised. "Get up, Gordon."

"Not good enough." Gordon folded his arms tightly and glared into the middle distance.

Scott looked at Virgil. Then, without warning, both brothers grabbed their obstinate sibling by his arms and legs and picked him off the ground, dumping him on the workbench.

"Hey!" Disgruntled, Gordon let his legs dangle over the side of the bench. "Two against one. That's not fair."

Virgil stretched his back. "Neither's expecting the rest of us to do more lifting than should be necessary."

"Sorry, Virgil, but if the two of you hadn't wasted all this time protesting, I would have seen what I needed to see and could be back in bed by now."

Virgil sighed and then looked at Scott. "He has a point."

"I know," Scott growled. He pointed into the workroom. "Bring your chair out here," he ordered.

Wheeling the draftsman stool on its castors, Virgil complied.

Scott pointed at his auburn-haired brother. "You." His finger moved to the stool. "Sit."

"Woof. Woof." But Gordon didn't offer a complaint as he allowed his siblings to assist him down off the workbench. "You are going to take me to see Thunderbird Four, aren't you?" he asked as he made himself comfortable. "This isn't a bluff?"

"Yes, Gordon, we are going to take you to see Thunderbird Four," Scott sighed. "And then we're taking you back to bed. Understood?!"

"Understood." Gordon grinned.

It wasn't the easiest of journeys as the castors seemed to take on a life of their own and acquired a desire to travel in any direction except for that in which they were being pushed. "How's your back, Virg?" Scott asked as they wormed their way closer to Pod Four.

"Holding up," Virgil grunted.

"I can walk from here," Gordon offered. "It's not that far."

They ignored him, only stopping when they reached the door to the pod. There Gordon attempted to stand, but was restrained by his brothers, who held him in his seat until they reached their destination.

Finally Gordon was able to see the remains of his beloved submarine.

Scott and Virgil made no complaint as he stood and walked the two paces towards Thunderbird Four's jet units, reaching out to touch them as if to reassure himself that they were still attached. Then, leaning on her hull for support, he traced her outline as he moved towards her bow.

Virgil was about to chase after him when he was held back by Scott. "Is your back okay?"

Virgil winked.

Gordon stopped, shivering, when he came to the remains of her cabin. His brothers, concerned that he was overdoing it, carried the chair up and placed it behind him.

Gordon sagged, rather than sat, down. "She's not too bad, is she?" he asked; a plaintive request for some reassurance that the devastation wasn't as complete as it seemed.

"She stayed strong enough to save your life," Virgil reminded him.

"Ready to go back to bed?" Scott asked.

Gordon sighed. Then he nodded, trying to pretend that he wasn't overcome by fatigue and the sight of his sub.

He didn't say anything as they embarked on what seemed to be even more of a marathon; wheeling the wayward chair across the hangar floor.

"Why didn't we get a wheelchair out of Thunderbird Two?" Virgil moaned.

"I thought this was going to be a quicker option," Scott grunted, as the chair threatened to spin out. "Can't be right all the time."

"Hold it!" Gordon pointed into the shadows. "What's that?!"

"Something I picked up on my travels," Virgil told him, and prepared to try to regain control of the out of control stool. "You can look at it later."

"I want to see what it is now." Gordon was off the chair and lurching towards the mystery object before his exasperated brothers had a chance to react. He hadn't gone very far when, exhausted, he stumbled to a stop. "What is it?"

Scott ran his hand through his hair and decided that it definitely wasn't in the Tracy genetic makeup to admit to any weakness. "We'll show you later, Gordon." He carried the stool so it was directly behind his brother and, with a gentle hand on his shoulder, forced him to sit down. "You need to get to bed now."

Gordon ignored him as he peered at the tall, cylindrical object. It was as tall and broad as a shed, with a ridged peak narrowing to a blunt point. It also appeared to have been compressed vertically by a giant hand. Puzzled he scratched his head. "It looks like Alan's first homemade rocket after its maiden flight."

Virgil appraised the object. "I can see the similarities."

"Have you given up on painting and started sculpting?"

"Nope. I can't take the credit for that. Not all of it, anyway." Virgil rotated his torso as he tried to unknot a kink in his back.

"But what is it?!"

"Can't you tell? You've seen it often enough."

"I have?"

"And used it," Scott added.

"Used it?!" Aghast, Gordon stared at the object, which, made as it was of melted, scorched metal, seemed to have no form or function. "What on Earth would you use that thing for?"

"Let's see if you can guess." Scott pushed the chair around the side of the mysterious object. "Now what is it?"

Gordon thought that the thing looked just as indefinable from this angle as it did the other. "I don't kno… Wait a minute…." He shuffled forward on the chair. "It is… It _was_ painted International Rescue orange, isn't it?"

"Yes," Scott confirmed.

"And that says…" Gordon craned his neck and twisted his head so he could read the barely legible word close to the object's peak. He sat back in shock. "It's the Mole ! But I thought it was a mile underground!"

"That's where I left it," Virgil agreed. "But I remember that there was an almighty explosion from the borehole as I was running for my life back to Thunderbird Two. I think all the volcanic pressures building up behind it caused it to pop out of the ground like a cork. It landed several kilometres away and John received a call from the local authorities yesterday to say that, as it had appeared out of nowhere and we'd told them that we were going to be working in the vicinity, they thought that it might be ours. They said that if we wanted to claim it before any undesirables realised what it was and who it belonged to, then to come and get it. So I flew out in Thunderbird Two last night and collected it," he gave the Mole an affectionate pat on its flank, "its tractor unit, and the Pup."

"The Pup?" Now that he was able to take his eyes off the remains of the once proud vehicle, Gordon noticed the smaller version off to one side. Even with its lid ajar and a spattering of solidified lava, it seemed in better shape than its parent. He looked back at the Mole. "I think you had the right idea escaping when you did."

"Yeah," Virgil agreed, and leant against the Mole's side as he looked up at its name. "I just wish I knew whether or not the sacrifice was worth it."

"Still no word from your ACG?" Gordon asked.

"No. John said he'd buzz me as soon he received a signal, but there's been nothing."

"There's no point stressing over it, Virg," Scott reminded him. "Each of our deployments are a gamble and none of us know for sure whether or not they'll succeed. We might be still receiving signals from Gordon's and my ACGs, but they could fail at the last minute. At least with the Kola Superdeep Borehole and Yelcho we've been given another chance to fight Doomsday."

"I guess so," Virgil pushed himself away from the Mole. "And talking Yelcho, I'd better get back to work. I don't want to let Brains down."

Gordon finally allowed his brothers to push him over to the lift.

Scott was just about to reach out and push the button to summon the car, when the doors pinged open. Jeff Tracy was standing there and he did not look happy.

All three of his sons were now adults. All three had been living their separate lives away from home for the last seven years. But it still took one look from their father to make all three of them feel like naughty schoolboys caught red-handed.

"What do you think you're doing?" Jeff snapped. "Everyone's been looking for you everywhere, Gordon."

"Sorry..."

"We've been worried about you!"

"I snuck out 'cos I needed to see Thunderbird Four." Gordon hung his head; fatigue, combining with shame, making it a pitiful gesture. "Scott and Virgil tol' me to go back to bed…" he added in a futile attempt to deflect their father's wrath away from his elder brothers. "They're takin' me back."

"On a draftsman's chair?"

"Didn' wanna wheelchair..."

"We suggested the chair as a compromise," Scott offered.

"I see…" Jeff let go of the handles of his walker and folded his arms. Glaring at his sons. "You nearly died four days ago, Gordon."

"I know."

"The family's under enough stress as it is without you disappearing or making yourself sicker!"

Exhaustion was clearly catching up with Gordon. "Had t' see Thunderbird Four."

"And have you seen her?"

"Yeah…" Gordon cringed. His father wasn't stupid. He'd know that he wasn't strong enough to make it all the way to the pod bay on his own. He'd know that he would have had to have help. And it wouldn't have taken an investigator of Lady Penelope's calibre to work out where that support had come from.

"He was stressing over Thunderbird Four," Scott explained, not willing to pile all the blame onto the AWOL invalid. "It seemed to be less hassle and less stressful to let him see her, rather than insist that he go back to bed."

"And with the two of us pushing," Virgil corroborated, "we were able to take him there and back much quicker."

"Then Virg'l was gonna go back t' work on Braman's cask't, erm, capsule."

Jeff reversed his walker further into the lift, leaving them room to move. "Get yourselves in here," he ordered. Then, as they sheepishly (and with some difficulty when the castors jammed on the lift's edge) wheeled Gordon inside, he spoke into his wristwatch telecom. "I've found him... He wasn't alone."

Everyone heard the relief in Brains' voice when he responded with: "That's g-good, Mr Tracy. Is he all r-right?"

"He's too 'all right' for his own good," Jeff growled. "But he needs a proper wheelchair. Can someone bring one to hangar two's elevator?"

"F-A-B."

Jeff lowered his wrist. "We'll look after Gordon. You can go back to work, Virgil."

Unwilling to leave his brothers to an unknown fate, Virgil hesitated.

"Go," Gordon told him. "I shoulda listened t' you in th' first place."

"And you don't want to put any more strain on your back pushing this thing." Scott indicated the chair.

"My back's fine," Virgil protested, but he stepped out of the car. "Ah… I'll need my chair back though."

"It will be returned to you as soon as Gordon has been transferred to a proper form of transport," his father told him. "Go back to work, Virgil."

"Yes, Sir." The lift doors closed in Virgil's face. Knowing that he'd got off lightly he stretched his back and grimaced when a muscle twanged in protest. Pushing Gordon about in that chair had definitely been a bad idea.

_To be continued..._

"_Cobaltium 5 reactor" and the events surrounding the Yelcho rescue are from "Thunderbirds: Ring of Fire" by John Theydon – published by Armada Paperbacks in 1966. One of the best professionally published Thunderbirds stories you could hope to read._


	37. Chapter 37 - Therapy

**Chapter 37: Therapy**

_Friday, 13 October 2079_

"Zdravstvujtye_, _Premier, thank you for taking the time to talk to me." John spoke in Russian; the microphone distorting his voice so he still sounded like a normal human being, but so that no one, or nothing, could distinguish his real voice.

"The pleasure is all mine." The Russian Premier sounded a little overawed to be speaking to a member of the heroic organisation. "International Rescue has done many great things in the past and the world hopes that you will do so again."

"We're hoping that too," John admitted. "As you know we have already deployed three devices to release the seismic energy building up inside the Earth."

"I know this. I also know of the asteroid that you are hoping to deflect from our planet. The World President, she has informed the leaders of all nations of this courageous thing that your people do."

_Person, not people_, John thought. _My little brother._ "You are well aware how globally Doomsday will impact the world, and my team are concerned that just three deployments will not be enough. We have decided that we need to expand our area of attack."

"And one of those places? It is in Russia?" The Premier sounded almost excited that his country was going to help International Rescue save the world.

"It is. We need to get our device deep into the ground, but our resources have been stretched beyond their limits by the first three deployments."

"I heard that your drilling device the… er… Mole…?"

"Yes."

"It was damaged when there was an eruption at the Dead Sea?"

"That is true. That means that we don't have the tools to give the device the head start it needs to drill into the ground. But we believe that, if you will permit us to deploy a device down the Kola Superdeep Borehole, we can improve our odds of saving the planet."

"The people of Russia," for the first time the Premier sounded hesitant, "are very proud of the Kola Superdeep Borehole."

"They have reason to be. And if you let International Rescue use the borehole to extend the life of the planet, then the people of the world will be very proud of the people of Russia."

"To drill so deep, it was a very great achievement." John figured the Premier was giving himself time to think.

"Which is why it is considered by our scientific team," _of one,_ "to be the ideal place to deploy an explosive device. Russia's scientists and technicians have achieved what International Rescue can no longer do."

The Premier laughed. "You flatter me and the people of Russia."

"Only because it is justified. It was a miraculous feat one hundred years ago and with any luck it will help International Rescue pull off another miracle."

"This explosive device?" The Premier queried, still unsure. "What form does it take? Nuclear?"

"No," John reassured him. "It is an acoustic explosive whereby we hope that the force of the sound waves will generate an earthquake about 50 kilometres below the Earth's surface. If our theories are correct, this deep earthquake will reduce or, with any luck, eliminate the seismic energy that Doomsday is threatening to release at much shallower, more catastrophic, depths."

"Will there be any danger to my people?"

"I can't categorically say no. There will more than likely be earthquakes felt on the surface, just not as bad as if we allow Doomsday to proceed unchecked. You will have to take precautions to protect your people in case those earthquakes do cause damage."

"I shall have to order the evacuation of those who live close by?"

"It would be a wise move. The actual deployment is almost completely harmless. We'll just drop our device down the borehole and let gravity and a laser do their work. By the time we've finished, Russia will have a deeper borehole than those found elsewhere in the world."

He could almost hear the Russian Premier rub his hands together in glee. The Cold War may have ended nearly a century ago, but the peoples of Russia and the United States still enjoyed a little friendly rivalry. "I shall have to consult with my advisors. When do you wish this deployment to take place?"

"On Sunday 15th October."

"Two days?" The Premier sounded surprised at the little time available to him and International Rescue. "That does not give me much time to make a decision."

"It isn't giving us much time to prepare the device, but we've got to give it enough time to drill down to the 50 kilometre mark."

"Then I shall call an emergency meeting now. How will I contact you with our decision?"

"Just call for International Rescue on any frequency. I'll answer."

"Thank you, my Friend.

"Thank you, Sir. Do svidaniya."

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

The nameplate on the door leading from the waiting room was simple and understated.

Virgil regarded his brother, who looked uncomfortable. "Second thoughts, Scott?"

"No!" Scott sat up straight. "Of course not. We're only going to be talking... Aren't we?"

The nameplate swung away from them as the door was opened revealing a middle-aged woman with a relaxed smile. "Hello."

Scott was on his feet in a flash. "Doctor Brett? I'm Scott Tracy."

Her smile broadened. "Nice to meet you, Scott, but please, call me Julie."

"Okay… Julie..." Scott indicated Virgil who'd taken longer to stand. "This is my brother, Virgil. Would it be all right if he were to sit in on this session?"

"Of course it is." Julie Brett stood to one side and indicated that both men should enter her office. "Hello, Virgil."

"I'm not here to get in the way. I've already told Scott that if he, or you, wants me to leave at any time, then let me know and I'll go."

Julie gave a gracious nod. "Thank you for being so accommodating. It's always pleasing to know that my clients have the support of their family… Take a seat, Gentlemen…" She chose a comfortable chair opposite Scott's, while Virgil selected one; unobtrusively off to one side, but within Scott's field of view. "Now… Scott… I've read your notes that you've sent through, including Tracy Aviation's psychological assessments from before and after the crash… Why do you feel the need to have therapy now, eleven months after the event?"

"Because…" Scott wished that he was anywhere else than here. Did he really need therapy? He knew that he should have been talking about his problems months ago, but since then he'd talked with John and Virgil, and he would tell everyone else. He was fine. Right...? "Because…"

"It's all right. I realise that acknowledging that you may have a problem is big step for anyone. Take your time."

"Because…" Scott found it easier to look at the floor than anyone else. He'd never thought that talking to a total stranger could be so difficult. It was easier to deal with shocked and bereft victims than acknowledging this calm, understanding woman opposite. "Because it took me that long… to admit that I had a problem… To myself or anyone else… My boss at Tracy Aviation knew… He was keeping me from flying because… he knew… I wasn't capable of doing my job…"

Julie consulted the information that he'd emailed her earlier. "You're a test pilot?"

"Yes… I, ah, deluded myself that he'd grounded me because… he didn't want the company's owner's eldest son risking his life… So many things were going wrong in my life at that point… that I was losing control… I couldn't handle it."

Julie made a couple of notes. "And how did you come to the realisation that you needed help?"

Scott had his answer prepared; one that, while it wasn't a lie, omitted certain facts. "A month and a half ago... I'd… been involved in the preparation of another aircraft… It's one that I used to love flying, but had been in storage for roughly a decade… I'd been working on her for about a month… You know, bringing her back up to flight standard… But when the day came to fly her for the first time… It... It scared me." He couldn't face Virgil as he made that admission. "I tried to pretend that I wasn't scared… I didn't want anyone to know… Especially my family…" This time there was a glance his brother's way, and was rewarded with an understanding nod. "I'm a test pilot after all. Flying planes is my job and… like I said… I used to love flying this one…"

"So what did you do?"

"I flew her... No one else knew about the crash… I thought… And I didn't want them to know... I didn't want them to worry about me."

"And how did you feel when you flew her?"

"Quiet panic." Scott managed at chuckle that didn't ring true. "That was until there was a major malfunction and we nearly crashed…"

"How did you cope when you nearly crashed?"

"I just… kinda switched into automatic pilot… It was my instinctive reactions that saved me, nothing else."

"So you didn't crash this plane?"

"No. I brought her back under control just in time."

"And landed her safely?"

"Yes."

"And how did you feel after you were safely back on land?"

"I… I blamed myself for the malfunction… I thought that it had to be my fault as I was the one who'd been working on her… I had to be the reason why something went wrong…"

"And was it your fault?"

"No… Something had got caught in the fuselage on takeoff… But I didn't wait to ascertain the cause of the malfunction… I just blamed myself… It was when Alan, he's our youngest brother… commented that if I couldn't trust myself it wasn't a surprise that I couldn't trust anyone else… That was when I started to realise that that was the truth…"

"That's an interesting statement. What did he mean that you 'couldn't trust anyone else'?"

"Virg'll tell you…" Scott hadn't really wanted to get into this side of their lives. "Ah… Because we thought the planet was doomed… We, that's the family… thought we'd like to spend our last days together…"

"I'm sorry to interrupt, Scott, but, just so that I've got a full understanding of your circumstances, who're we?"

Scott was determined that there was no way that Julie Brett would ever get a full understanding of his circumstances, but there were some things that could be revealed. "If you've read the gossip magazines or business publications lately you've possibly read about the Tracys."

"I try not to read gossip magazines in case I read something that tells me that I've failed with one of my patients." Julie gave a wry smile. "As for business publications… Well, there's a reason why I have an accountant and a lawyer."

Scott chuckled. "Okay…" This was one part of his life that he was comfortable to reveal. "Our family unit is basically made up of our father, us five brothers, Virgil, John, Gordon, Alan, and me, Alan's wife, and some friends who are as close to the family as it's possible to be without blood ties… When our father had a stroke and needed long-term medical care, the rest of us decided that it was time for a change of direction and took the opportunity to try to do our own thing away from the family group. Most of us moved to different parts of the country, and, I've got to admit, we kinda lost touch with each other... Didn't we, Virg?"

"Yes."

"The irony is that it took the world threatening to pull itself apart to pull us together… Well… Like I said… Because of Doomsday we decided that we wanted to get together again… Relive the life we used to have…" Scott clenched his hands together; his knuckles white. "It used to be that if Father wasn't there I was usually the one in charge… because I'm the eldest… Virg'll tell you that I'm a bit of a control freak…"

"No, you're not."

Surprised by the interruption, Scott looked at his brother. "You guys keep saying I am."

"I know we tease you that you are, but that's all it is…" Virgil sat forward. "Scott does need to feel in control, Julie, and I think that's where his problems have arisen, when things have happened beyond his control; like losing control of a plane and it injuring a child. But by saying that he needs to be in control I don't mean that he's controlling… I mean that so long as he knows what's going on and that everything's under control he's happy, even if it means ceding control to someone else who he knows has the skills or authority to take control… Erm…" Virgil stopped a moment to try to evaluate what he'd just said. "Am I making sense?"

Julie chuckled. "I think so."

"Let me simplify it. I've always been interested in painting, and Scott's always encouraged me. I suppose that way he's been in control, because when I was a kid and in his care he's known where I was and what I was up to. But he would never tell me what to put in that painting. He might suggest something, but it's never bothered him if I didn't take his advice."

"I understand. Thank you, Virgil."

Hoping that he hadn't said the wrong thing, Virgil sat back.

"Do you agree with Virgil's description of you, Scott?"

"What I could understand of it." Scott managed to grin at his brother. "I have always tried to let the others play to their strengths. I believe that that's what makes the team stronger… But this time I couldn't relax and trust them to do what they did best. I felt that I had to keep checking on them. And they knew it. I don't know how they managed to put up with me."

Virgil decided against saying: _we didn't always._

"It was after that, ultimately minor, disaster, that John told me that he'd always known about the initial crash."

"John is one of your brothers?"

"Yes. At the time of the crash he was the managing director of Tracy Industries."

"If he'd always known, why hadn't he said anything to you?"

"That _was_ my fault, because I didn't discuss it with him. I worked for Tracy Aviation, which is an autonomous subsidiary. This meant that he was technically my boss, but because I was employed by Tracy Aviation, he had no input into my activities in the company. Because of the structure of the two companies he would have been informed that there'd been a crash, but taken no further action; and if I'd been any other employee he probably wouldn't even have known I existed. It was only because he was my brother that he was told who was piloting the aircraft. He wasn't supposed to know a thing, either as the head of Tracy Industries or because he was my brother; and yet, because it was me, he knew every minute detail."

"How did you feel when you learnt that you weren't the only one who knew your secret?"

Scott evaluated his response. "Fear: that someone knew that I wasn't an invincible, perfect 'Superman'... Shame: that someone in my family knew that I'd made a major mistake. We didn't have the final accident report at that stage... Relief: that I didn't have to bear the burden of carrying my secret alone anymore..." Virgil shifted in his seat and Scott could almost hear him thinking: _I would have helped if you'd told me earlier. _"I know, Virg. I wish I'd confided in you too."

"What did John say?"

"He asked me to go with him to meet the family of the boy who'd been injured… I didn't want to go… the idea scared me… but I knew I had to go… So we told the rest of the family that we had to do Tracy Aviation business and we went."

"Did you meet the boy...?" Julie consulted her notes. "Howard?"

"Yes." Scott smiled. "He was up and walking, which was a huge relief."

"How did you feel meeting him?"

"Shocked… I'd got so wound up in guilt over what I'd thought I'd done to him, that I'd convinced myself that I saw him as I was ejecting to safety; leaving him to his fate… Not only that, I imagined that he looked like Alan… by the time John took me in hand I'd practically convinced myself that it was my brother as a kid that I'd maimed."

"Your youngest brother."

"Yes."

"Did Howard look like Alan?"

"No. Nothing like him. And he'd been hiding in the barn so I hadn't seen him… It wasn't until a fire-fighter found him that I knew that anyone else had been in the vicinity when I crashed."

"How did Howard and his family treat you when they met you?"

"John didn't tell them that I was the pilot, until I kinda blurted it out. Then they were... gracious. They weren't prepared to blame me until they knew that I was the one to blame... Unlike me who'd convinced myself I was a monster for inflicting all this pain onto them. Even Howard was fairly relaxed about it."

"How did you feel then?"

"Awful. They had all these problems that were my fault and they weren't blaming me for it... It was then that John pulled out the final accident report and told us all the investigators' conclusions."

"Which were?"

"That it was a manufacturing fault and that the pilot..."

"You."

"Yeah, me; had done all that he... I mean, I could to prevent the plane from crashing. The report said there was nothing more that I could have done, even if I'd known that Howard was in the barn."

"How did you feel then?"

"Relief... Shock... Surprise... A bit annoyed because John had known for days and not told me… Grateful that he'd told me and the O'Neils simultaneously because they deserved to know at the same time that I did. As John said, we were all victims of the crash; me included."

"Did you feel that this knowledge helped you?"

"I think it was one of the first rungs back up the ladder to normality."

"And how far do you think you're up the ladder now?"

Scott answered instantly. "One rung from the top."

"And what would take you up that final step?"

"Official confirmation that I'm not deluding myself that I'm fine." Scott waved his hand at the papers that sat on Julie's knee. "I've got this document that says that I'm not all right. I want… I need something concrete to counteract Tracy Aviation's psyche analysis so that when I tell my family what's happened to me, I can prove to them that I'm okay now and they won't need to worry about me."

"And if I'm not willing to provide you with that proof?"

"First thing I'll do is admit to my family that I'm a few blades short of a propeller."

Julie managed to hide her smile at his simile. "How will they take the news?"

"I know they'll support me." Scott straightened as Virgil nodded. "I'll do whatever's necessary, Julie, for however long it takes, until I'm at the stage that you believe you can honestly sign that piece of paper."

"Why haven't you told your family what happened to you before now?"

"Because... As I said... After Father's stroke and we moved away from each other, our relationships changed… And over the last couple of months that we've been back together again... I haven't wanted them to worry about me... I didn't want them to think that I was anything but... the person I'd been years ago."

Julie nodded and read her notes. "You said that at the time of your crash _so many things were going wrong in your life_. Do you think these had a bearing on your loss of confidence?"

"Ah... Yeah..."

"Can you tell me what they were?"

Scott hesitated. "I was in a relationship with a woman... I thought we were serious... I... I thought I loved her and I thought she loved me."

"What happened?"

"She was already married." Virgil heard that bitterness in Scott's voice that was only vocalised when he spoke of Farrah. "I didn't know... Until her husband confronted me at work. I wasn't in a good head space the week after the crash and... he came raging into my office... Finding out that she'd betrayed me didn't help."

"Have you seen her since then?"

Scott shook his head. "I like to think that I have principles. Dating a married woman goes against them."

"So you haven't tried to contact her."

"No... But she's emailed me... She lied to me to try to restart our relationship. She told me that her husband had committed suicide after Doomsday was announced."

"What was your reaction?"

"Mixed. I didn't want anything to do with her... I don't trust her any more... But she and I had had good times together. I wanted to relive them again."

"How do you know it was a lie?"

"Because Virgil found media reports about the husband from a couple of weeks earlier that showed he was still alive."

"So Virgil knew about her betrayal?"

"Uh... No... Not until a couple of months ago."

"I know that it can be hard for a man to be honest to himself, but why do you think she tried to reinstate your relationship."

Scott gave a grim grin. "Vanity would say it was because I'm a great guy and she can't live without me... But... if I'm honest... I'd say that the real reason was money."

Julie nodded. "Were there any other events that put you in a 'bad head space'?"

"A couple..."

"Would you be willing to tell me what they were?"

"Erm... Changes in the family dynamic. John was my boss as well as my younger brother. Alan had married Tin-Tin and gone motor racing. Tin-Tin's always been a part of the family, so she was welcomed by all of us. Right, Virg?"

"Right."

"Then Gordon married Marina…" Scott's jaw muscles tightened. "Well… Let's say she didn't fit the Tracy mould…"

"Scott wasn't the only one who thought that," Virgil interjected. "We all did. And things that we've found out about her since the marriage have shown that we were right."

Scott looked down at his interlocked fingers. "That was one point of friction… There were others…" He glanced towards his brother.

"It's all right, Scott," Virgil reassured him. "You can tell her."

Scott, suddenly even more uncomfortable than before, hesitated.

"He means, Julie," Virgil explained, "that he and I grew apart. We became, in effect, strangers."

"How do you mean strangers?" This question was directed towards the younger Tracy.

"I'm a trained engineer. I've spent most of my life taking things apart and putting them back together again; but by the time of Father's stroke I was burnt out. I needed a change. I decided to become a full time artist, which entailed totally reinventing myself. Different name, different clothing, dyed hair and a beard, false piercings and tattoos... Different personality. You would have had a field day with me a few months ago."

Julie regarded his clean shaven, neat appearance. "Do you still take on this alter ego?"

"Nope. He died when Doomsday was announced. I wanted to get out of that world and back with my family. I wanted things to be the way they were again. I wanted Scott to see me as me again."

"He didn't when you were an artist?" Julie turned back to her patient. "Is what Virgil is saying correct, Scott?"

"Ah..." Scott was studying the floor again. "Yeah... He had this new life and I wasn't part of it. I couldn't even begin to fit in. We used to be that close..." he held up his crossed his fingers. "And then… I'm not proud of this… I accused Virgil of doing drugs. I should have trusted him because I know he'd never do that, but it was like I couldn't see past his alter ego…" He faced his brother. "I'm really sorry, Virg."

"I know you are, and it's okay. We're F-A-B again."

"We're...?" Suddenly Scott smiled a big, relaxed, genuine smile, and Julie saw the self-confident man that he'd always been. "Yes. We're F-A-B."

Julie allowed him a moment to bask in the warm glow Virgil's comment had afforded him. "What caused both of you to regain your relationship?"

"It..." Scott thought. "I suppose it happened gradually... But there was one event that not only reminded me of the person that Virgil is, but it helped me regain my confidence in all my family."

"Will you tell me about it?"

"You probably already know... It was the same day that John and I went to see the O'Neils..." Scott hesitated. They'd been desperate to avoid the media, but Julie was bound by patient confidentiality. He'd be more than disappointed if she betrayed him. "You say that you don't follow gossip or business news, but how about regular news items?"

"Regular news about what's going on in the world? I try to follow the important bulletins. Why?"

"Do you remember, just over a month ago, a fire at Coche Del Olor racetrack?"

Julie frowned. "Vaguely."

"There were a young family trapped at the top of the stand. They escaped by sliding down a jerry-built zip line."

Julie's face cleared. "Oh! I remember. One of their rescuers jumped to safety into a blanket or something."

"Yeah." Scott's face twisted into a wry grimace. "If having to jump, almost literally, into the arms of your brothers doesn't go some way towards restoring your confidence in them, then nothing will."

Julie stared at him. "That was you?!" She glanced at Virgil for confirmation.

The latter chuckled. "He ain't heavy. He's my brother," he sang.

Scott laughed along with him. "You need your piano."

"Sorry."

Julie turned back to her patient. "But people regard you as heroes! Why the secrecy?"

"Because we've always preferred to stay out of the limelight. Our father's had enough publicity throughout the years to make us realise that it's not all it's cracked up to be."

"Please excuse my ignorance, but your father is...?"

"Jeff Tracy. He owns your building."

"Oh... _That_ Tracy... I thought your name was familiar." Julie dragged herself back to business. "How would you describe your relationship with your family now, Scott?"

"As it always used to be."

"Yes," Virgil confirmed.

Julie made some notes. "Do you think losing control of a plane and hurting a child who you told yourself was your youngest brother, the betrayal of your girlfriend, and your changing relationship with Virgil were the only catalysts for your deteriorating relationships with your family and loss of confidence in yourself?"

"I'll leave."

"Virg...?" Surprised, Scott looked up at his brother, who'd got to his feet. "You don't have to go."

"Yes, I do. You'll want to discuss what happened between you and Gordon. I don't know what went on and it's not fair I should hear when Gordon doesn't have the opportunity to put his side of the story. You'll both tell me when you're both ready to tell me."

"Oh," Scott said, nonplussed. "Yeah. Thanks."

"That's very perceptive of you, Virgil," Julie complemented.

He shrugged. "That's the kind of relationship we have." He took a step towards the door, but then stopped. "Can I tell you something about Scott before I go? Something that may give you an insight into whatever it is he's going to tell you about Gordon?"

Julie inclined her head. "Very well."

"Our mother died when we were young and because he's the eldest of the five of us, Scott's sometimes been a kind of _in loco parentis_. It's a role that he's accepted; probably even encouraged. If we needed something, or wanted to know something, and we didn't want to approach Father or Grandma, then it would be Scott that we'd turn to, because we knew he was always there with an answer. We tease him by calling him a mother hen, but we'd miss him clucking over us. That's why he's got the mindset that he's supposed to be the one in control; because we _expected_ him to be in control. And I think that whatever happened between him and Gordon kind of flipped that expectation on its head. And just in case you think Scott can only blame his own attitude, I'm almost one hundred percent sure that Gordon regrets whatever it was he did and wished it had never happened… And, like I said before, the relationship that every member of the family, including Gordon, had before we went our separate ways, is exactly the same relationship that we have now. It's like nothing happened."

"Thank you," Julie said, in a way that implied that she wasn't quite ready to commit to a verdict.

"And," Virgil continued. "I don't believe that there's anything wrong with Scott."

Scott regarded him after his speech. "Thanks, Virg."

"No worries." Virgil placed his hand on his brother's shoulder. "You know I'll always be there for you."

"I know. I wish I hadn't forgotten."

"I'll be out in the car making a few phone calls if you want me."

Scott twisted in his seat so he could see Virgil better. "A few phone calls? Virg, your back..."

Virgil chuckled. "See, Julie. Mother hen. You don't need to worry about my back, Scott. Just prove to Julie that you're A1. I'll meet you out in the car."

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

Lady Penelope wandered through the vast array of corridors and corners in the well kept, well lit apartment block; musing that, although the Creighton-Ward manor was every bit as much a warren, it was all hers and she was glad that she had no fear of disturbing the neighbours by speaking above a whisper.

She came to the apartment she was searching for and pressed the doorbell. There was a discreet chime before the door was pulled open.

"Oh!" Emma exclaimed, surprised to see her visitor. "Lady Penelope. Uh…? Please come in?"

"Thank you, Ms Janes." Lady Penelope stepped into the neat, comfortable room. "What a lovely apartment."

"Oh… Thank you…" Emma blushed. "It's nothing fancy and it's not very big, but its mine." She looked about as if she were seeing it for the first time. "I suppose it's quite quaint compared to your home."

"It doesn't have the scale of the manor," Lady Penelope admitted, "but, I will concede that you have the advantage of lower heating costs." She pulled her jacket tighter about her as a demonstration of how cold it could get. "Winter is definitely upon us."

"Would you like a seat?" Emma indicated a soft chair. "I'm afraid that I can't offer you tea, but would you like a cup of coffee?"

"That sounds delightfully warming, thank you."

"What brings you…?" There was a knock on the door. "Oh, dear. I wonder if that's Mrs Davies...?" Returning to her front door, Emma opened it. "Hello, Mrs Davies."

"Hello, Ms Janes." Using a walking stick for support, and talking ninety-to-the-dozen, a little old lady hobbled into the room. "I'm so sorry to bother you, my dear, but I heard noises and I hoped that it was… Oh!" She spied Lady Penelope. "I am so sorry." Embarrassed, she turned back to Emma. "I've done it again, haven't I, and intruded when you had visitors? I was so hoping that I'd heard Tiddles in your apartment."

"I'm sorry, Mrs Davies, but I haven't seen Tiddles. There's been no sign of her?"

"None." The old lady sniffed. "I do miss her." She searched her pockets, before sniffing again. "Drat it. And I've come out without my handkerchief."

Emma was about to offer a tissue from a handily placed box when Lady Penelope reached into her handbag and withdrew a small packet. "Here. Please. Take one."

"Oh, thank you," Mrs Davies sniffed. "You are too kind." One of Lady Penelope's tissues was applied to elderly eyes.

"Is Tiddles your cat?"

Mrs Davies used the tissue to delicately blow her nose, before tucking it up her right sleeve. "Yes. I only moved into the apartment next door a few days ago and those stupid, _stupid_, removal men left the door open. Tiddles ran away and I haven't seen her since."

"If I see her, I'll be sure to let you know," Emma promised.

"You are a good girl," Mrs Davies gushed. "And I'm so sorry I've interrupted you. I'm so sorry," she added to Lady Penelope. "I'll leave you both alone now. Good afternoon, Ms Janes."

"Goodbye, Mrs Davies." Emma closed the door behind the elderly lady's shuffling walk. "Poor old thing," she said as she returned to the lounge. "She is really missing that cat. I hope it turns up safely."

"What does it look like?"

"I've only seen a photo. It was black with white paws and white whiskers. I'm wondering if it's trying to find its way back to its old home."

"That is quite possible," Lady Penelope agreed.

-F-A-B-

Out in the hallway "Mrs Davies" twisted the decorative metal band in her walking stick, disarming the cylinder that threatened to release its knock-out gas. Should the stick be dropped to the floor, almost instantly every person who entered the confines of that room would have been rendered unconscious for a good ten minutes… Or until backup arrived.

She opened the door to her apartment and slipped inside.

Then, slipping her nail into a groove in the knob on the top of the cane, she flipped it open, revealing a tiny microphone. "Agent Six-Two to Agent One-One-Five. Stand down."

"This is Agent One-One-Five. Confirm false alarm."

"Confirmed. Target has a visitor…" Agent 62 paused for effect. "It is Agent One."

"Oh, ho!" Agent 115 chortled. "Is the boss checking up on you?"

"Lady Penelope knows she has no need to do that," 62 said indignantly. "She told me so."

"Offered you her tissues, did she?"

"Yes, and I was able to reassure her that I had seen nothing to worry about."

"Including 'Tiddles'."

"Don't you mock my cover, young man, the plan is working very well. The target doesn't suspect a thing."

"Except that maybe her elderly neighbour has lost her marbles as well as her cat… And by the way; congratulations on gaining a role so suited to you and your talents."

"Cheek! Come here and say that to my face," 62 challenged. "Next time anyone saw you you'd be fertiliser in the rose garden out front!"

"Don't I know it," 115 laughed. "That's why I'm in a car and putting some distance between the pair of us. "

Somewhat mollified, 62 flipped a switch on the wall. The amber light emanating from her standard lamp reverted back to a soft white glow. "While Lady Penelope's there I'm going to take the opportunity to have a break."

"Going to have a nana nap, are you? Enjoy your snooze. 115 out."

62 chuckled, spun the cane about her fingers, and tossed it into its stand. Then, just because she could, she jogged into her kitchen to make herself a drink.

-F-A-B-

Moving into the kitchenette, Emma started making the coffee. "Mrs Davies must have ears like a hawk. She seems to know when I've got visitors before I do and is invariably over here hoping that it's her beloved Tiddles trying to find her way back to her… Anyway…" the switch was pressed down on the kettle. "While we're waiting for that to boil, what can I do for you?"

"John and Jeff told me about this suspicious man that has been hanging about."

"Oh, that…" Trying to pretend to be unconcerned, and forgetting about the gauge on the side, Emma popped open the lid of the kettle and checked the water level. "I'm sure that's nothing."

"John appears to be concerned."

"He is?" Cheeks flushing, Emma looked up sharply. "Oh… I mean… Of course he is. He's loyal to his father and doesn't want to leave Tracy Industries." The water level was checked again.

"Do you believe that's the reason why this man's been following you?"

"He's been asking about John; so what other reason could there be?"

_What indeed?_ Lady Penelope mused.

"John doesn't need to worry," Emma continued, taking an inordinate amount of care to make sure that that coffee was made to the manufacturer's exact specification. "That security company he hired has been in and had a look around. Though, between you and me, they didn't do much. Just checked that all my locks were okay."

Lady Penelope said nothing about this statement. She knew that the 'security company' had done more than just check the locks. At every potential ingress point they'd left a tiny sensor able to detect the identity of any person or feline – mythological or otherwise – entering the apartment. The lamp in Six Two's apartment would light up as soon as any person who wasn't Emma entered the dwelling. "There is a reason why Jeff contacted me about your little problem."

Emma brought in the two cups of coffee. "Yes?"

"There are some disadvantages to being an heiress to a small fortune. You became a target to those who would prefer that your father's money was in their pocket."

Wide-eyed Emma took a sip of coffee.

"And so, throughout my teenage years, I had to submit to having a bodyguard follow me night and day." Lady Penelope gave a light laugh. "Believe me, it, er, cramps your style when you have your eye on the eligible bachelors during the debutante season."

This was a whole different world to the one that Emma knew. She gave a polite smile.

"Deciding to, er, take things into my own hands I learnt a number of defensive skills, along with quite a few offensive ones… And had much more success with those eligible young men..."

Emma giggled.

"Eventually I told Papa that I was going to protect myself and that he could dismiss the bodyguard. I subsequently came to the realisation that there were other women in a similar situation to myself who needed protection, but didn't want to ask the advice of a man or have a tame millstone weighing down their social lives. And so, offering security advice became a little sideline for me. Therefore, Ms Janes, I am here to offer you my services… as a favour to the Tracys."

"Thank you, Lady Penelope, but I'm sure I don't need your services. This guy only wants to know how to contact John. And the security firm didn't seem to think that I was in any danger."

"But what do you think? Are you comfortable with your personal protection?" Lady Penelope queried. "I can offer you assistance." She detailed several options available to Emma. "Please consider my offer." A pink business card was slid across the coffee table. "I know that both Jeff and John would sleep easier knowing that you are safe."

Emma picked up the card. "Thank you, Lady Penelope. I will consider it."

"Good." Lady Penelope nodded as if they'd just signed a contract. "Now, the second reason why I am here is because John has arranged a little excursion for you. I do hope you are free tonight?"

"An excursion?" Emma's face was glowing. "Will John be coming?"

"Unfortunately not. He wishes that he could join us, but he finds himself unavoidably detained away on business."

That colour drained from Emma's cheeks as quickly as it had been pumped to her face. Dismayed, she fell back in her seat. "Business? Tracy Industries business?"

"Oh, no," Lady Penelope gave a light laugh. "Something totally unrelated. It's an old project that the family has reinstated. I'm sure you know how John, once he starts working on something, totally immerses himself in it until the project is completed."

"Oh, yes." Emma gave an emphatic nod. "I know. I don't know how many times I would tell him that it was time to go home, and he'd still be working when I left. Sometimes I even tried to pull him out of his chair, but he'd always say _I'll finish this first_. He could be quite exasperating."

"He has inherited that work ethic from his father."

"I've discovered that too. So..." Emma sat forward. "Where is this excursion to?"

"John tells me that you have an interest in astronomy."

"Not to his level," Emma admitted. "I looked his biography up on an online encyclopaedia. All these years that I've worked with him and I never knew he'd done all the things it said!"

"John, like his brothers, prefers anonymity."

"I know. But did you know that he'd discovered distant objects in outer space?"

"Yes. Did _you_ know that he was the inventor of the Weicaio?"

"John?!" The Weicaio, pronounced _weechow_, was a small device worn in a similar way to that which a person might carry a personal music player; on the belt, in a pocket, or strapped to the arm. The difference was that not only did the user wear ear buds which interpreted the words that they heard from the speaker's to their own language; they also wore a microphone, which translated their own speech into that of the listener. Being lightweight and relatively cheap, it was much in demand by travellers exploring other countries.

International Rescue, naturally, had had their own smaller, lighter, more efficient version.

Emma remembered one of her first days at Tracy Industries. The company was due to host a delegation of dignitaries from Kazakhstan, and she had dutifully set out pads, pens, tumblers, jugs of cool water, and a Weicaio at each seat. John had looked approvingly at her table, but had made no comment about her choice of accessories. When the Kazakhstanis arrived he had had met them outside and, to Emma's amazement, greeted them warmly and, as far as she could tell, fluently in their own language. Then he'd ushered them inside, and proceeded to hold down a conversation with his guests as they rode the lift up to the boardroom floor. His Weicaio had remained untouched on the table for the entire meeting, while she'd made a valiant attempt to take notes while her Weicaio interpreted every word that was uttered.

She related this tale to Lady Penelope, who nodded knowingly. "John has a talent for languages."

"I knew that Tracy Industries introduced the Weicaio to the market, but I never knew that John invented it!"

Lady Penelope smiled. "He has achieved more than can be found on any web site. Perhaps, one day, he will tell you all about his life," she added shrewdly, remembering Jeff's comments before his operation and her own observations.

"I doubt it." Emma pouted. "I haven't seen him in months. And I've only spoken to him on the phone a couple of times."

"Then I shall tell him to call you."

"No! Don't!" Emma reached out towards her guest as if hoping to stop any foolhardy actions. "He's like me, on holiday from Tracy Industries. He doesn't want to bother with his secretary."

"He wants to 'bother' enough to give you the chance to reengage with your interests."

"Oh..." The colour came rushing back again.

"John hasn't had a lot of contact with the astronomical world since Jeff's stroke," Lady Penelope explained, "but he has managed to pull a few strings and has arranged for you to visit the Lake Mathscal observatory. I thought we might stop off somewhere pleasant for a little light supper first."

Emma thought of the meatloaf defrosting in her fridge, and a night alone in front of a television, hugging a blanket for security, and said yes.

Twenty minutes later FAB1 drove away from Emma's apartment block. Emma, reclining on the luxurious seats and anticipating an enjoyable evening, wasn't aware that curious eyes watched the pink Rolls Royce depart...

_To be continued..._


	38. Chapter 38 - Theraputic R&R

**Chapter 38: Therapeutic R&amp;R**

_Friday, 13 October 2079_

Julie Brett always made sure that her patients had unlimited time on their first visit and Virgil had worked his way through his list of phone calls and was now alleviating his boredom as he waited for Scott by using the car's videophone to talk to John.

Who appeared confused by the call. "I thought you were going to sit in with him."

"I did, until they got around to discussing whatever happened with Gordon. Then I figured it was fairer if I didn't hang around."

"I would have stayed out of blind curiosity," John stated. "How was Scott?"

"A lot more open that I expected. I thought Julie would need a Recovery Vehicle to drag anything out of him. He was hesitant, but he wasn't holding back… within reason."

"Glad to hear it. So what does this Julie think?"

"I don't know. She wasn't giving anything away. She'd just ask a question and wait for the answer."

"So now we've got to wait for Scott to tell us what her answer is?"

"Yes. Any word from the Russian Premier?"

John chuckled. "That's gotta be the shortest political meeting in history. It's all organised. You'll have an official delegation waiting to give you access to the borehole and full security on hand to make sure no one causes any disruptions."

"Good." Virgil sighed. "Finally I've got the chance to make up for ruining the Dead Sea deployment."

"That wasn't your fault, Virg," John reminded him. "You should go and talk to Julie about this inferiority complex of yours."

"It's not an inferiority complex, I'm just…" Virgil saw a movement at the rear of the building. "Here he comes!"

"How does he look?"

Virgil smiled at the lightness of his brother's gait. "If I didn't know better I'd say he was skipping."

"Sounds positive."

The passenger door opened and Scott jumped into the car. "I've got it!" He held up a piece of paper.

"So there's nothing wrong with you?" John enquired.

An ecstatic Scott shared a high-five with Virgil. "Nope. Julie said that so long as I've got the support of my family and I'm prepared to talk about my problems instead of bottling them up, then I'm fine. She also said that she's always available if I ever decide that I need to talk to someone in a more formal environment."

"That's great news. So you're still going to tell everyone about the crash?"

Scott lost a little of his _joie de vivre_. "I'll tell Father first, alone, to prepare him. Then I'll have a family meeting."

"Don't forget that if you want either of us to sit in on those meetings, then we're both here for you," John reminded him.

"I know. Thanks."

Virgil reached for the ignition switch that would start the car and cut the video link, but held off pressing it. "We'll talk to you soon, John. We're off to have lunch and celebrate."

For a moment Scott lost his weight-of-the-world-off-his-shoulders expression. "I thought you'd want to head straight back home to work on Braman's casket?"

"I've sprayed the inside with shock-absorbing foam," Virgil explained. "It's got to cure for at least 48 hours before I can do anything else with it. We've got plenty of time."

Scott grinned again. "Then that sounds like a plan. And once you're back dirtside, John, we'll have an encore."

John beamed at him. "You're on. Enjoy your lunch, Fellas."

Virgil pressed the ignition switch and set the car in motion. As he negotiated it through the gate in the high walls that hid Julie Brett's clients from prying eyes he asked, "How're you feeling now?"

"Great! I hadn't realised how much everything was weighing me down… Thanks for your support in there."

"Your session went on for a long time after I left."

"We went into some things in more detail. I think she was concerned that you were holding me back from revealing everything while you were there, so once you'd gone she probed a bit deeper."

"I was worried that I'd said the wrong things and she'd called out the men in white coats."

"No. She said I was lucky to have someone as supportive as you and that that was what gave her confidence that I'm gonna be all right."

"Good." Virgil steered the car around a corner into a busy street.

"Virg!" Scott pointed through the windscreen towards where a teenager was cooling his heels. "There's Stewie! Honk the horn!" Ignoring his brother's protests, he reached across and pressed the appropriate button himself. "Pull over!"

"There's nowhere _to_ pull over," Virgil informed him. "Let me find a place to park…"

"Stop the car! I'll get out." Scott made a grab for the steering wheel.

"Hey!" Virgil made a rapid correction and slowed the vehicle. "I've just been telling Julie that you're not controlling and here you are trying to get us both killed…"

But Scott already had the door open and was out of the car. "Stewie!"

Virgil pushed the switch that shut the door behind his excited sibling. "Sorry," he said as irritated drivers blew their horns at him. He gave an apologetic wave. "It's just my crazy big brother trying to commit suicide." He decided to drive around the block to try to find a parking spot. "A few blades short of a propeller?" he scoffed as he drove off. "Yeah… And I think it's a screw propeller that's got loose…"

"Stewie!" Scott ran up to the younger man.

"Scott!"

They greeted each other warmly.

"You're looking good. Maybe a little greyer," Stewie teased. "The debauched lifestyle suits you."

"Debauched lifestyle," Scott snorted. "How have you been, Stewie?!"

"Great! And you?"

"Even better for seeing you."

Stewie beamed at his friend and 'Big Brother'. "What are you doing here?"

"I had an appointment in town. We're only here for a few hours and I thought I wouldn't get the chance to see you." Scott punched his young friend on the shoulder. "This is great! What are you waiting for?"

"Dunno. Gran told me I had to wait here until one o'clock."

"Why aren't you at school?"

There was a toot from the road. Virgil, having been unable to find a place to leave the car was double-parked and had both passenger-side doors open. He leaned across the gearstick. "Get in here both of you: quick!"

Scott and Stewie didn't need telling twice. They jumped into the car and Virgil drove away before other motorists could get irate and start honking their horns again.

"Have you got your seatbelt on, Stewie?" Scott checked.

Virgil chuckled at Stewie's exasperated groan. "This is from a man who's just jumped out of a moving vehicle."

"Well, you wouldn't stop."

"If you'd calmed down you would have seen there wasn't a place _to_ stop."

"How are you, Virgil?" Stewie asked, putting a halt to the good natured bickering. "Is this a new look?"

"Yep." Virgil ran his hand across his short hair. "Better than the old one?"

"Much."

"I think so."

"Okay, Virgil. What gives?" Scott demanded. "You _just happen_ to be driving past the spot where Mrs K has _just happened_ to tell Stewie to wait?"

"Some coincidence, huh?"

"Yeah," Scott drawled. "Some coincidence."

Virgil smirked. "I told you I had some phone calls to make."

Scott twisted in his seat so he could see the teenager behind him. "How's your gran?"

"She's great. Keeps treating me like a little kid though."

"That's a grandmother's prerogative. No matter how old you get your grandma's always going to think of you as her little boy."

"And that's from two voices of experience." Virgil looked at his passenger through the rear-view mirror. "Are you hungry, Stewie?"

"Starving."

"I might have guessed. No wonder the Big Brother organisation teamed the pair of you up. How about if we have lunch here?" Virgil turned the car into the car park of a building that was about four times longer than it was wide.

Scott stared out of the car at the sign above the front of the building with its flashing green and red lights on the right and left sides respectively. "_The Pilot Light_," he read. "What is this place?"

Virgil switched off the ignition and undid his seatbelt. "The Hawks and I used to hang out here after training. I thought you guys might like to try it." He climbed out of the car.

Stewie eyed up the rounded frontage jutting out over the gateway to the property. "It looks a little like a plane."

"Yep... Follow me." Virgil led the way to the side of the building, to where a set of steps, normally seen leading up to the fuselage of an aeroplane, were installed. "There's an elevator for those who can't manage these." Without hesitation he mounted the steps and walked in through the door to be met by the hostess at what was termed the _flight desk_. "Hi, Sherie."

Sherie did a double-take. Then she smiled. "Virgil! I didn't recognise you for a moment." She checked the bookings register. "Table for three, I see."

"Yes. I've brought my brother and his little brother."

Sherie frowned slightly at the description, collected together three menus and started walking through an eating area that was loosely fashioned like an aircraft's passenger cabin. "We haven't seen you for a while."

"I headed back home to be with the family when Doomsday was announced."

"I heard. The Hawks haven't been the same since you left."

"Have you seen any of the others?"

"Not as often as we used to. I guess they've been hanging out with their families too." Sherie stopped by a table, already set for three. "Here you are, Gentlemen. Please take your seats and your hostess will be along shortly." She handed out the menus. "If you wish to store your jackets, there are lockers above your seats. In case of an emergency the exits are to the front of the plane or towards the rear." She indicated the directions using the clear hand signals of a stewardess. "Proceed calmly to the nearest exit and assemble outside the plane by the terminal... When you are ready for assistance please push the button above your seat to alert a flight attendant."

"What do we do if oxygen masks drop from the ceiling?" Scott queried.

She winked at him. "That usually only happens if you try the chef's salsa. Carmel will be along soon to take your orders... Don't be a stranger, Virgil."

"See you, Sherie."

Scott looked around the room, taking in the propellers, flying goggles, photographs and other memorabilia that adorned the curved walls. "How come you never told me about this place?"

"It was like the Hawks. I wanted it to be a surprise. And I was worried that someone here might let the cat out of the bag before I was ready to."

"Hawks?" Stewie queried. "What are you talking about?"

"Until Doomsday, Virgil was the captain of the New York Hawks," Scott told him.

Stewie gaped at his 'Big Brother's' brother. "The captain of the Hawks!? Wow!"

"All that meant was that I was stuck with the paperwork at the end of the day while the rest of the guys got to go home." A 'flight attendant' dressed in a short mini skirt and low-cut pilot's shirt arrived at their table and Virgil smiled up at her. "How are you, Carmel?"

"Is that really you, Virgil?" Carmel responded. "When Sherie said who you were, I didn't believe her."

"Sorry to have to tell you, but it's me."

She treated him to a sexy wink. "It's an improvement. Now..." she held her pencil and notepad at the ready. "Are my passengers ready to order their in-flight drinks?"

Everyone ordered juice. "I'm driving and he's flying," Virgil explained, pointing at Scott.

"Well, he's come to the right place," Carmel said, scribing quickly. "Do you want to order your meal now?"

They placed their orders and she sashayed away. Stewie, his eyes fixed on her mini-skirted derrière, watched her go. "I like her undercarriage."

"Eyes front, Stuart," Scott commanded.

"Aw, Scott, I was only looking," Stewie complained. "I thought you said you were going to be my friend and not my big brother."

"You'd better get used to it, Stewie," Virgil told him. "Once Scott's your big brother, you're his little brother forever, and there are four of us who'll testify to that... How's the flying going?"

"I haven't done a lot since I got my private pilot's license," Stewie admitted.

"You haven't?" Concerned, Scott stared at his young friend opposite. "Why not? You passed! The more hours you have under your belt the better. Why have you given up?"

"I haven't given up, I just haven't had time." Stewie grinned. "I've got myself a part time job."

"You have?"

"Yeah. Flying's an expensive business, you know."

"But you're still at school?"

"Oh, yeah. I don't have to be at school today, so that's why Gran let me escape to meet up with you. I'm working after school Mondays, Thursdays, and weekends."

"Doing what?"

"Well..." Stewie drawled. "When International Rescue came out of retirement I thought that it would be great to work with those guys; you know saving the world? Then I thought that my chances of meeting them are probably nil, and my chances of getting a job with them are probably niller."

Scott and Virgil made no comment.

"So I figured I'd leave them to worry about saving the world. You were always telling me that it's just as important to take care of those around me, so I've got a job at the local ambulance station."

A beaming grin lit up Scott's face. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. It's nothing glamorous; basically a janitorial job cleaning around the place and occasionally they let me do a bit of minor maintenance on the ambulances, but it's giving me the chance to experience what those guys really do and see if it's what I want to do for the rest of my life... Assuming International Rescue are successful and I get to see 18."

"How long have you been working?"

"Coupla months."

"And what do you think of it so far?"

"Great! The guys I'm working with are fantastic! The pay isn't much, but they're subsidising me while I do a first aid course and start learning the basics."

Scott's beaming smile widened.

"The guys have even taken me out on a couple of call-outs. But I wasn't allowed to get out of the cab."

"What was that like?"

"Amazing!" Stewie enthused. "One was a car accident. There was blood and guts all over the place."

"Sounds delightful," Virgil commented as his spaghetti bolognaise was placed before him. "Thanks, Carmel."

"You're welcome, Virgil."

"You weren't squeamish?" Scott enquired finding Stewie's exploits more interesting than the food he was being served.

"Nah. It was magic watching the guys work. I thought the victim was dead, 'cos he'd lost so much blood, but they kept on working on him and got him to the hospital alive."

"Did he pull through?"

Stewie lost some of his enthusiasm. "I don't know. It's that side of it that makes me wonder whether I want to be a paramedic. I sometimes think that I'd rather be a doctor and see the patient walk out the door, rather than just pass him over to someone else and forget about him."

"You could always be a flying doctor," Virgil suggested.

"A flying doctor!" Stewie grinned. "I like it!"

"It's hard work becoming a doctor," Scott warned. "You've got to get good grades at school."

"I know. That's why I'm only doing Mondays and Thursdays, so I've still got plenty of time to study. I've got to keep my options open, you know?"

Scott's grin almost split his face in two.

Virgil examined his fork. "I wonder if the kitchen would let me borrow their chef's steel?"

His comment seemed so left-field that it threw his companions. "Huh?" Scott frowned. "What for?"

"If Stewie makes you puff up with pride any more, you're going to burst and do yourself some serious damage!" Virgil mimed puncturing his sibling with the fork. "Have they covered deflating big brothers in your first aid class yet, Stewie?"

Stewie laughed. "Nope. I'm tops at CPR though."

Virgil smiled at him. "Good man."

"What have you guys been up to?" Stewie asked, digging into his meal. "Apart from jumping off buildings."

"Did you see that?" Virgil asked.

"Yeah. I recognised Scott, even through all the smoke. Gran said it couldn't be you guys, but I told her that if Alan Tracy was there, like the commentators were saying, then the rest of your family had to be there too. I emailed Scott to check that he was all right."

"He's fine." Virgil's eyes briefly locked with his brother's. "There's nothing wrong with him."

They tucked into their meal with gusto, Scott and Virgil giving Stewie the full story of the events at Coche Del Olor as the three of them bantered with each other and the passing wait staff.

"Are you gentlemen ready for dessert?" Carmel asked, handing out the menus. "You might like to try the _Thunderbird Triumph_."

"That's a new one," Virgil said, looking up from his menu. "What is it?"

"The chef designed it in honour of International Rescue. It's a chocolate mousse on strawberry sorbet, with a crispy shortcake crust on top." Carmel leant closer as if she were about to share a confidence. "We all think he plated a cheesecake-type thing upside-down and didn't like to admit that he made a mistake." She straightened. "The official story is that the dish wobbles like the ground during Doomsday and you stop it wobbling by eating it." She rolled her eyes. "I think it's a lame idea for a dessert, but the passengers seemed to like it."

They ordered three Thunderbird Triumphs.

"What's with this obsession with International Rescue?" Virgil asked as they waited for their orders to arrive. "How effective can a bunch of old guys be after all this time?"

Scott glanced at his brother, saw a teasing twinkle in his eye, and managed not to grin.

"Even I remember them," Stewie told Virgil. "They can't be _that_ old."

"Maybe," Virgil conceded, "but everyone's going around saying how great they are and it's not even as if they've succeeded in defeating Doomsday yet."

"But they used to do amazing things. And what about the Thunderbirds?" Stewie challenged. "I'd _love_ to see one of those in action!"

Virgil snorted. "Have you seen the descriptions of those planes? I once saw a sketch done by someone they rescued and that Thunderbird Two must fly like dog. It looks like it's got no aerodynamic attributes whatsoever. What's with those forward facing wings? And what about the colour? Who in their right mind would fly a plane that's that colour green?"

"And that," Scott endorsed, "is the opinion of an engineer, a pilot, _and_ an artist."

Stewie was gaping at what, to him, was almost blasphemy. "But International Rescue are heroes! And this time they're trying to save the world! Besides," he looked to his 'big brother' for support. "Scott and I always said that Thunderbird One would be best plane to fly. Right, Scott?"

Virgil eyed his sibling. "Oh, yes…?"

"In a straight line, maybe…" Scott had already decided to play along with Virgil's game. "I'm sure it's got the speed. But manoeuvrability…" He clicked his tongue in dismay. "How can you manoeuvre something shaped like a cylinder?"

"It's got retractable wings, hasn't it?" Stewie reminded the brothers. "That would give it the necessary manoeuvrability."

"So you got what in effect is a rocket, flying at what… mach three?" Scott looked to Virgil as if seeking confirmation. "And you suddenly change the rocket's aerodynamic profile by opening a pair of wings? That's a disaster waiting to happen. No wonder they've got such stringent security. They don't want the world to know how many times they've crashed!"

"I can't believe you guys! This is International Rescue we're talking about! There isn't a person on the planet who doesn't think they're…" Stewie gaped again when the two men opposite burst out laughing. "Are you teasing me?"

"Sorry, Stewie," Virgil apologised. "I couldn't resist. There'll be no one happier than me if International Rescue succeeds."

"Me too," Scott agreed, as Carmel placed a dish carrying a wobbly, conical cylinder in front of him. Decorating it was a tiny logo, not dissimilar to the International Rescue hand across the world badge. He lifted it off the dessert, raising an eyebrow to Virgil, who shrugged in reply.

Despite Carmel's disparaging comments about it, the sweet wasn't bad.

Virgil finished his dessert and looked at his watch. "I'd better get going." He signalled to the waitress for the bill.

Scott looked him sharply. "Going? Where to?"

"I've got an appointment. I'll only be an hour. You guys can stay here and look around. You'll find plenty to keep you amused. There's an aviation museum out back."

"Are you going to get a massage?"

"As a matter of fact, yes."

"Do you want me to come with you?"

"What for? I'm a big boy now and I don't need you to hold my hand." Carmel arrived with the bill and Virgil reached out for it, but Scott was quicker. "Hey!"

"I'm paying," Scott insisted. "I missed both your birthdays, so it's the least I can do."

"Okay. Thanks." Virgil slid out from behind the table, grimacing slightly. "I've been sitting down too long today."

Scott watched him in concern. "Are you sure you don't want us to come with you?"

Virgil winked at Stewie. "See what I mean? Once a big brother always a big brother… No, I don't want you to come with me, Scott. Enjoy your time with Stewie, and don't worry about me." He pointed towards the rear of the building. "And when you do look around, may I suggest that you start down there? I think you'll find it interesting… See you in an hour."

Scott watched his brother depart, a concerned frown creasing his face.

"Relax," Stewie told him. "I'm sure that if Virgil needed your help he would have asked for it." He smirked. "So what's this massage he's getting?"

"What? Oh… It's a therapeutic massage. He hurt his back."

The smirk grew. "Oh, yeah… Doing what."

"Mind out of the gutter!" Scott snapped. "He hurt it helping someone, if you must know."

"Okay, okay, I got it!" Stewie held his hands up in surrender. "Don't blame me. I'm not the one who's been in all the gossip magazines."

"Gossip magazines?" Now, Scott's concerns switched back to his other little brother.

"Yeah. They were saying you and your brothers were caught up with girls, sex, alcohol, drugs… The whole nine-yards…"

Stewie's recollection had Scott worried. "How recently did you see this tabloid?"

Suddenly Stewie seemed cagey. "Coupla days ago. Some guy reported that he'd been out to your island and seen for himself how you were all 'living the playboy life'."

"Niko Brand," Scott growled. "I'd like to kill him! He turned up a couple of months ago and we told him all these things to make him go away and leave us alone. Last I heard he'd been sacked and was partying what he thought was the rest of his life away in Hawaii."

"I don't think it was him," Stewie admitted. "The reporter said his source was a pilot who'd visited your place."

"Probably Brand's pilot. Were there any photos?"

"Not of the island. If I remember correctly there was one of Alan in his racing gear; but that could have been anyone in a full face helmet. There was an ancient one of Gordon after he'd won his medal… And an out of focus one of you all from Coche Del Olor. It was all grainy 'cos they'd blown it up to try to see your faces."

Relieved, Scott sat back. "Good. So it worked."

"And there was one of your dad…"

Scott gave Stewie a sharp look. "There was?"

"The theme of the article was how Jeff Tracy's sons' antics were ruining their father's health. They had this photo that made it look like he'd been worrying about you guys so much that it had made him sick." Stewie hesitated. "He did look terrible. Even worse than when I met him."

"But he's looking better now than he has for years. He's been living on the island with us for the last month. Where did they get a photo from?"

"I don't know."

"It must be an old one."

Stewie nodded his agreement. "I think the photo was taken with a zoom lens and cropped. It was all out of focus, and the lighting was terrible and made him look all sunken and horrible."

"What else did this article say?"

"That while you guys are off getting wasted, you've forgotten about him. It said he sits at home, all alone, waiting to hear from you. It was typical wring-out-the-tissues stuff. You know how these magazines work."

"I know. They enjoy trawling the gutter... There's nothing in it, Stewie." Scott looked his little brother in the eye, desperate to extinguish any doubts. "I swear on my mother's grave. None of us would do anything like that. Not only because we don't want to hurt ourselves or those we love, but because Tin-Tin's pregnant and we wouldn't do anything to endanger her or the baby." He sighed. "But I will admit that we encouraged those guys to believe that we were living the 'debauched' lifestyle, as you called it."

"You did?"

"Yeah. We'd heard that there was a rumour that we were building a rocket so we could run away from Doomsday. Believe me, that couldn't be further from the truth."

"I can see why people might think that. You do have three astronauts in the family."

"And you're a pilot. Could you build a plane?"

"No... But Virgil's an engineer and you're a test pilot. I think between the five of you, you could."

"In four months? And what's Gordon doing while we're building this mythical space-bound life-raft, which would have to stay in space indefinitely with no chance of getting fresh provisions?"

"Erm... I don't know," Stewie shrugged. "I guess it is a stupid idea... But if that's not true, then why did you encourage this guy to think you were 'partying'. Why not just tell him to go away and leave you alone."

Scott thought fast. He didn't want to lie, but the truth was going to have to be flexible. "Because we all had our own projects and we didn't want to be interrupted by people panicked enough to think that we were hiding this rocket from the world and desperate enough to want to escape Doomsday in it. People had believed that we lived the playboy lifestyle once before, and, for once, we encouraged that belief. You know I've never liked publicity, not even when it meant promoting the Big Brother programme!" Scott saw doubt in Stewie's eyes. "Please believe me," he begged. "You do believe me, don't you?"

Stewie saw Scott's desperation and felt ashamed. "Of course I do," he admitted. "And as far as I know it was only one magazine. One of the kids brought it to school. He wanted me to know that my 'Big Brother' wasn't the great guy that I thought he was… I told him that I didn't believe him… or the article…" Stewie lowered his eyes to the table. "There was a bit of pushing."

"Pushing?"

"I wanted to get that magazine off him and destroy it… And… Things got a bit physical… One of the teachers caught us…" Stewie looked even more chastened. "That's why I'm not at school today."

"You're suspended?!"

Supremely ashamed of his actions, and wishing he could crawl away and hide from the man he idolised, Stewie nodded.

Scott let out a noisy breath. "What did your gran say?"

"That she's disappointed in me. That I should be thinking of my future and not jeopardising it… That I shouldn't believe everything that I read in the media."

"She's right on all counts."

"I'm sorry, Scott."

Scott ran his hand through his hair. "It was a gag to make Brand think he'd got the story he'd come for and leave us alone, and I'm sorry you got caught up in it." He regarded his downcast friend. "No one was supposed to get hurt."

Stewie looked up at his mentor. "Are you mad at me?"

"I don't know whether to say thank you for sticking up for me; or to be furious with you…" Scott hesitated as he thought. "We all make mistakes. You know what you did was wrong, but you did it with the right intentions…" He shrugged. "No. I'm not mad at you... Come on," he stood up. "Virgil brought us here to enjoy ourselves, so let's have a look around. Where did he say we should start?"

"Down here, wasn't it?" Relieved, and eager to distance himself from his confession, Stewie zeroed in on the display that obviously housed the collection's prized item. "Hey, look!"

"What?"

"You won't be interested," Stewie scoffed, blocking his Big Brother's view of clear Perspex box.

"If it's to do with aviation, I'll be interested."

"You've already said that you aren't interested."

"I did?"

"Yep." Stewie stepped back. "It's an International Rescue badge."

"What?" Scott's immediate reaction was that of concern, but his concern dissipated as he read how the badge had been found by someone who'd been saved by International Rescue and who'd treasured the memento until their recent death. The beneficiaries of the will had decided to auction it to the highest bidder. The auction, held in September, had attracted worldwide interest, but it had been the owners of the _Pilot Light_ who'd been successful for an undisclosed amount. The tiniest piece of orange thread told him that Gordon had been the original owner. Surrounding the hand across the world logo were various sketches and recollections presented by those who owed International Rescue their lives.

"Man, I wish I could be a member," Stewie enthused.

"You probably wouldn't get to find out how the victim does, Scott reminded him. "Those guys fly in, do the job, and fly out again."

Stewie shrugged. "It'd be worth it."

Aware of most of the stories behind the stories, and slightly irked by the well-meaning inaccuracies of the display, Scott wandered over to another feature of the museum. There, painted across a section of the wall were the words: _New York Hawks_. Below the legend was a painted representation of the team's logo: a bird of prey with its wings spread out at full flight.

"Virgil painted that."

Scott, unaware that he had company, started at the voice. He smiled at Sherie. "I should have guessed. I recognise the style."

"Do you recognise him?" Sherie pointed to one of the many photographs of the squad's pilots in uniform and holding their helmets. "We tried for years to get him to let us include his picture with everyone else's, but he always refused. It wasn't until he grew that beard that he finally let us take his photo. Even then he insisted on wearing his sunglasses and cap. Anyone would think that he was ashamed of the way he looks."

Scott chuckled. "That's because of genetics."

"Genetics?" Sherie eyed her companion up, clearly thinking that Tracys didn't have much to worry about in that line. "I can't understand why."

"Everyone in the family hates publicity."

"Oh." Sherie gave no hint that she was even aware who 'the family' were. "What was it Virgil said before? That you're his big brother, but that he," she pointed to Stewie who was engrossed in the contents of another display case, "is _your_ little brother?"

"I know it sounds confusing. Virgil is my younger brother. Stewie isn't related. He and I belong to an organisation that assigns men to be mentors to boys who don't have a male role model in their lives. I've been Stewie's 'big brother' for the last six years."

She smiled. "That's a wonderful idea."

"Yeah. I think I've got as much out of it as Stewie has. It's been a win-win situation." Scott indicated the range of photographs of the New York Hawks in full flight. "Virgil never told me he was member, because he wanted to surprise me one day; but Doomsday put paid to that."

"You've never seen him fly?"

"Not in the Hawks, no. Is the _Pilot Light_ a sponsor?"

"Not really. They used to hang out here after training, and I guess we gave them free advertising by having this wall. We've missed not having them come in and give us cheek."

"The International Rescue badge must be a draw card," Scott asked, pointing back towards the display case. "Did the company pay much?"

"Way too much," Sherie responded. "But, as you said, with International Rescue being in the news so much at the moment it's a huge draw card. Plus, a percentage of the proceeds went to charity." She sighed. "I hope they're successful."

"Yes," Scott agreed. "So do I."

Sherie went back to work, and Scott enjoyed admiring the various displays, occasionally chatting with Stewie when their paths crossed.

An hour later found him waiting at the door, waiting for one little brother as he watched the other read about International Rescue's exploits again.

"Don't tell me you've finished looking around."

"Oh. Hi, Virg."

"I thought I'd have to drag the pair of you away..." Virgil looked over to the youngest member of their group who hadn't noticed his arrival. "I may have to yet."

"How's your back?"

"Much better." Virgil frowned. "What's wrong?"

Anyone else would have wondered how he'd known that something was amiss, but Scott accepted his brother's intuition. "The reason why Stewie's not at school today is because he's suspended for fighting."

"Suspended?! What happened?"

"Some kid brought a magazine to school. It had an article about the Tracy sons and how they're making their father ill with worry over their antics."

"Niko Brand's article?"

"No. From what Stewie was saying, it sounded like it was an interview with the pilot. The kid was taunting Stewie with it and he tried to uphold our family's honour."

"I thought Mrs K sounded a bit hesitant when I asked if Stewie could join us," Virgil admitted. "I assumed that was because she was wondering if it was Gustav or me asking. She must have decided that her best course of action was to let Stewie ask you in person if it was true. What did you tell him?"

"That it was an act we put on to make him leave us alone."

"Which is the truth."

"Yeah... But I never considered that the repercussions would reach this far."

"No. Me neither…" Virgil watched as Stewie circled the display case. "What's he so interested in?"

"He's checking out the International Rescue display."

Virgil chuckled. "Oh, yes."

"Did you know they've got a genuine International Rescue sash badge?"

"A genuine one?!"

Scott nodded. "Apparently it was ripped off an operative's uniform during a rescue."

"Ah… So that's where the chef got his design from…" Virgil looked at his watch. "Time we got a move on. Are you ready to go?"

"Yes." Scott grinned. "Do you think dragging Stewie out of here is going to be a two man job?"

"Not if we get Carmel's help."

Despite their joking Stewie had willingly accepted that it was time to leave; after eliciting a promise out of Scott that they'd come back to the restaurant in the new year. He was therefore surprised when, instead of heading towards his home, Virgil turned the car in the opposite direction. "Where are we going?"

"I've got a few friends I want to catch up with before we head back to the island," Virgil admitted. "I'm sure you two will find something to keep you occupied while I enjoy myself."

Scott raised an eyebrow in his direction. "Which friends are you talking about?"

"Some guys I've worked with."

"Artists or...?" Scott's unfinished query was answered when they turned into the grounds of an aerodrome and pulled up outside a hangar. This time the words _New York Hawks_ and associated logo stood out in proud relief.

"Skip!" A flight suited pilot walked out of the hangar as they got out of the car. He did an exaggerated double take. "Sorry, I was expecting the captain of the New York Hawks, not some stranger."

"Former captain." Virgil corrected as he extended his hand in greeting. "Good to see you, Jett."

"Good to see you too. Did you step too close to a chopper's rotor?"

Virgil laughed. "This is my brother, Scott."

"Ah, the ace test pilot," Jett enthused. "About time we got to meet you. And you must be Stewie." He shook hands with the teenager. "I hear you're a pilot too."

Stewie grinned. "Yep! Are you with the Hawks?"

"Jett was my 2IC," Virgil explained. "Now he's the captain."

"Temporary captain," Jett corrected. "And only until my predecessor decides to return. We need your artistic flair, Skip." He swept his arm towards the large, convex-roofed building. "Come on inside, Stewie. Everyone wants to meet you." He led the way out of the light into the darkness of the hangar.

Scott fell into step with Virgil. "Skip?"

"Short for Skipper."

"Is there anyone in New York who calls you by your real name?"

Virgil chuckled. "Only you, Scott."

"Yeah... Virg."

"Jett's short for Jettison. He had to bail out twice during his early flight training. We keep on making him promise that there's not going to be a third time."

"I'm with you on that one."

Inside the hangar the rest of the Hawks greeted Virgil as if he'd been away for years, rather than just a few months. Scott was greeted just as warmly and made to feel like he was a part of the team.

Then Jett stepped forward. In his hands he held a square of sheet metal, plain except for a small rectangle of plastic. "Virgil Tracy," he announced, "we would be honoured if you would accept this..." As he made a formal bow he added in an exaggerated whisper to Scott and Stewie, "we couldn't find a silver tray so we're making do."

Virgil didn't pick up the piece of plastic. "My Hawks' ID card?"

"You're going to need it if you're going to fly one of those." Jett pointed to the sleek jets behind them.

"I can't do that. I lost the right to fly them when I resigned."

"We voted unanimously not to accept your resignation." When Virgil continued to hesitate, Jett put on his most winning smile. "Come on, Skip. I'm sure you haven't lost the ability to fly in only three months."

"Nope," Scott agreed. "He's been flying planes just as sophisticated as these."

Jett extended the metal square closer. "Take it," he insisted, before solving the impasse by flicking the card off the square and forcing Virgil to catch it. "You've got Hawk One, of course."

"Of course..." Grinning, Virgil caught the flight suit tossed to him by another of the team. "You're with me, Stewie."

"Yeah!?"

"Virg..."

"Mrs K's okay with it, Scott. I checked with her when I phoned."

"Good." Scott accepted the helmet that was offered to him. "Thanks."

"Do you want that we check with your dad that you're allowed to fly, Scott?" Stewie teased, accepting a helmet of his own.

"He'd only ask if he could join us."

"You're with me, Scott," Jett announced. "And I'll show you and Stewie around while our captain does all the pre-flight paperwork."

Virgil groaned. "I should have known there was a reason why you wanted me back... I'll be in the office if anyone wants me."

Jett led the two 'brothers' over to the nearest jet. Once out of earshot of Virgil and the rest of the squad, he lost his teasing manner. "In all seriousness, d'you think there's any chance he'll come back if we survive Doomsday?"

Scott shrugged. "I don't know what his plans are for next year. I know that he enjoyed his time with you guys, but I also know that he's given up on being an artist."

"He kept that side of his life well away from this; apart from his appearance. I could never get used to that long hair and beard."

"No," Scott agreed. "Me neither."

"He might have changed his appearance, but he remained committed to the team. He was always first to arrive before training and last to leave afterwards. And if we ever had any family get-togethers, he'd always arrive alone. I know he wanted to surprise you at a show, but I kept on suggesting that he should invite you along. He always said that you were too busy... And I suppose after test flying new aircraft all day, these babies would seem rather tame." Jett patted the aeroplane labelled Hawk Two.

"After a day test flying a plane that you can't be one hundred percent certain isn't going to fall apart around you, flying these babies would be a welcome diversion," Scott countered. He paused. "Virg and I kinda drifted apart these last few years. He had his life and I had mine and we each thought we couldn't fit into the other's. But we've rectified that over the last few months."

"I'm glad. I kinda got the impression that he was lonely and that we were the only friends he had in New York…" Jett paused in thought. "If he decides to come back, maybe you could join us too?"

"I'd love it, but I haven't considered what I'll be doing or where I'll be next year," Scott admitted. "And the only thing I've got to keep me in New York is Stewie."

Stewie had been listening quietly. "Nice to know that you regard me as a _thing_." Scott chuckled and ruffled his hair.

"Well, now you've got two reasons to stay here…" Jett told them. "Scott, if you have any influence over Skip, try to talk him into coming back, would ya? We need him. I don't know anyone else who'd have the artistic and technical skills to be able to choreograph some of the flight formations that he's come up with; not to mention having the engineering expertise to design and build the gizmos that make the shows even more spectacular."

Scott was enjoying the praise his brother was receiving. "I'll talk to him, but I'm not sure that I have any influence over him."

Jett seemed unaware of the pride he was inducing. "All I'm asking is that you have a quiet word in his ear." He started leading them around the aeroplane, giving the two aeronautical enthusiasts a chance to admire the craft as he did his pre-flight checks. "Gotta make sure I do this right or else the captain's gonna be mad at me. Skip's the most diligent person I've ever met when it came to doing safety checks."

Scott decided against saying the Virgil had seen enough downed aircraft to understand the value of such precautions.

"He's came up with our signature manoeuvre. Have you seen it, Scott?"

"No. I've never been to one of your shows."

"Oh, that's right… Skip just had the knack of visualising something in his head and being able to translate it into a form that we ignoramuses could understand. Sometimes he'd come up with a new formation and we'd be listening to him tell us what it was going to involve and how it was going to look, and thinking that he was crazy and what he had planned was suicide. But he'd have all the details worked out and on paper, with each manoeuvre timed to the last second. By the end of the discussion we'd be sold and raring to get flying. But Skip wouldn't let us try his schemes for real until every member of the team knew exactly what his role was and he was convinced that each manoeuvre would go like clockwork. Even when it was just a straight-forward training session, he wouldn't let us off the ground until he was convinced that all the planes were shipshape. I remember one time he let rip because one of the other guys hadn't…"

"Talk, talk, talk," Virgil interrupted. "If you spent less time talking, Jett, and more time preparing, you'd have more air hours under your belt. Haven't you checked everything yet?"

"He's been singing your praises," Scott clarified.

"He has?"

"Yeah, and I think we're going need your fork, Virgil." Stewie mimed deflating his Big Brother.

"Telling a lot of apocryphal stories about me isn't going to get anyone into the air," Virgil rejoined. "Come on, Stewie. Let's go check Hawk One's shipshape."

Stewie obediently followed him to a second aeroplane. "Wow!" he said, looking into the cockpit. "They must be complicated to fly."

Virgil chuckled. "It's just like any other plane."

Stewie gazed at the expanse of dials, gauges, and switches. "Trust me, Virgil, it's not."

"Most of those you don't even have to worry about. Trust _me_, Stewie, if something happened to me while we're in the air, you'd be able to land her."

Stewie regarded him solemnly. "I hope you don't expect me to prove your theory."

Virgil clapped him on the shoulder. "Me too. Now… If this were your standard, run-of-the-mill plane, what would your first check be?"

They spent the next few minutes going through the pre-flight checklist, Virgil letting Stewie take the lead and occasionally gently reminding him of a forgotten step or showing him a different technique.

Eventually it was time to mount up and ride out.

"Now that I've got you alone, Stewie," Virgil began, as they, Stewie in the front cockpit, Virgil behind, waited for permission to taxi out onto the runway. "I've got a couple of things I want to say to you."

Stewie listened warily. Virgil's tone made him think that he wasn't going to like what he was going to hear.

"Scott told me that you've been suspended from school and why. And I want you to realise that if he, or your gran, had said that I couldn't let you fly with the Hawks then you wouldn't be sitting in that seat now. But they believe that you're mature enough to realise that this isn't a reward for getting into trouble, and based on that I'm prepared to trust you not to betray their trust. Understand?"

"Erm..." Stewie wondered how he should take the lecture from someone who'd only had a minor role in his life. "Yes."

"Good… Secondly I want to thank you for sticking up for Scott."

Stewie wasn't expecting this. "You do?"

"I'm in no way condoning what you did, but Scott spends so much time looking out for those he cares about that sometimes he forgets that those he cares about are willing to look out for him. Occasionally he needs to be reminded and I appreciate the fact that you've done that."

"Uh… Okay…"

There was an interruption when Virgil received permission from the control tower to begin taxiing. It wasn't until Hawk One was lined up on the runway that Virgil continued their conversation. "And the third thing I want to say to you…"

"I thought you said you only had a couple of things to say."

Virgil ignored the interruption. "And the third thing I want to say to you is…" He grinned. "Hold onto your hat!"

There was a blast of power and Stewie was pushed back into his seat as the plane rocketed down the runway and launched itself into the air. He let out a whoop of exhilaration.

Virgil took the aeroplane through a few basic moves at first, giving Stewie a chance to get used to the increased acceleration and higher G-forces, and himself the opportunity to get reacquainted with the aeroplane. "How're you feeling, Stewie?"

"Great!"

"Good. If you look out to starboard you'll see Hawk Two. Scott's piloting." Virgil brought his aeroplane around so they were flying parallel to the other aircraft.

Stewie hadn't heard any such announcement come over the radio. "How'd you know?" he asked, waving across to the other aeroplane. He saw two hands wave in return.

"I know Scott's flight style and he's smoother than Jett. There's nothing that he can't fly."

"Where's that fork. I think you're gonna need deflating too."

Stewie heard laughter followed by a click as Virgil reopened the radio. "Have you bailed out again, Jett? I can't see your parachute."

"I keep telling you, Skip, I'm never going to bail again. I thought I'd give your big brother a test flight to see if he's good enough join us."

"Trust me, he's good enough."

"I know you've always told us that, but some of us like to make sure."

"Come on, Stewie," Virgil didn't shut down the radio link, "let's show them you're just as capable."

"What!" Stewie wasn't sure he'd heard right. "Me fly her?"

"Yep. Take the joystick..."

Scott heard the awe and excitement in his Little Brother's voice as Virgil coaxed him through a few simple manoeuvres. Once again he felt pride flood his system, before he executed a few manoeuvres of his own. Nothing could make this day any better.

He heard Virgil speak. "Hawk One to Hawk Two."

Jett replied. "Hawk Two, receiving."

"Think you can wrestle control of that girl back?"

"What method would you recommend? I left the knock out pellets on the ground."

Scott raised one hand so it was visible in the cockpit behind. "She's all yours, Jett." He felt some resistance through the joystick and released his other hand.

"I have control, Skip," Jett announced.

"Good... Let's make things interesting. Alpha one one six. Confirm?"

"Alpha one one six. Check."

There was more conversation as both pilots got their craft into position.

"Commence on my signal," Virgil commanded. "Five, four, three, two. One!"

Over in Hawk Two Scott suddenly found himself facing an icy blue sky with no reference to the ground below. His pulse raced as he felt the aeroplane fight against gravity while it gained altitude. Suddenly, through his port window, another aeroplane appeared. It streaked past, its undercarriage appearing to pass only inches from his craft's nose. Overcome with the excitement of it all, he let out a cheer.

He heard a chuckle in his earpiece followed by: "I think your brother's enjoying himself, Skip."

"Then let's give him more to enjoy. Beta one one six. Confirm?"

"Beta one one six. Check."

This trick appeared to be a reverse of the first as Jett allowed Hawk Two to stall, slide backwards, and then fall down to Earth. This time when Virgil's aeroplane's undercarriage sped past the craft's nose, the only difference was the view of the ground that filled their windows.

Hawk Two started climbing again. Suddenly two more aeroplanes flashed past and the four of them began formation after formation and death-defying stunt after death-defying stunt.

It was exhilarating, but all too brief. "Okay, Fellas, that's a wrap," Virgil announced. "Sorry, Stewie."

"Our captain has spoken," Jett agreed. "And so has the fuel gauge. Back to terra firma, Scott."

If Jett had been prepared to relinquish control of Hawk Two and the nagging problem of that fuel gauge could have been ignored, Scott would have willingly stayed airborne the rest of his life. Instead he felt a soft tap as the aeroplane's wheels made contact with the runway.

However it seemed that Virgil was determined to show off one last time. His aeroplane skimmed just above the surface of the runway upside-down, almost as if its pilot planned to land with the wheels uppermost; then, seemingly at the last possible minute before the wings made contact with the tarmac, it tilted its nose skyward and soared around in a combined loop and barrel roll before touching down in a flawless landing.

Jett chuckled. "That's his signature move."

"It's the first time I've seen it from outside the plane," Scott admitted. "Gives you a heck of a turn when you're the passenger and not expecting it."

Both men walked towards Hawk One as the aeroplane taxied to the hangar. As soon as the canopy was open, Stewie was out of the cockpit and running over to Scott. He was fizzing. "That was awesome!"

Scott and Jett laughed at the teenager's exuberance. "It was, wasn't it," Scott agreed.

"Didya see that last manoeuvre of Virgil's!? We were upside-down! I was sure he was going to land it like that! Then rowwr..." Stewie's hand mimicked the aeroplane's upward trajectory. "We were up and barrel rolling! It was awesome!"

Laughing, Virgil joined the group. "Most people have that reaction."

"Either that or the stagger out of the plane decidedly green," Jett rejoined. "Clutching their air sick bags."

"I never felt sick once," Stewie bragged. "That was awesome!"

"Keep practising and you'll be able to fly like that one day." Virgil checked his watch. "We've got time to pack up and then we'd better get going."

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

The car pulled up outside Stewie's house. Stewie, eager to tell his grandmother all about his afternoon, was out of it and pulling Scott's door open. "Come and say hello to Gran."

"Okay, okay. Give me a chance to get this off first." Scott undid his seatbelt. "Are you coming in, Virg?"

"No. I'll wait here." Virgil watched as the two of them ran up the pathway. Then he settled back to relax.

He was surprised when a short time later he saw Stewie's grandmother walk back down the path. He got out of the car. "Hi, Mrs K."

"Virgil? I, uh, I just wanted to thank you for giving Stuart such a wonderful day."

He still wasn't quite used to the double-takes people gave when they saw his appearance. "I suppose I should thank you for your trust. Last time you saw me I looked like someone who was into sex, drugs and rock n' roll and you must have thought that that magazine article confirmed it."

"Well..." she hesitated. "If I hadn't met you before, and Scott hadn't spoken so highly of you, I wouldn't have given you my permission to meet up with Stuart, but I couldn't image Scott getting into anything untoward... I'm glad I let you talk me into letting Stuart go, I haven't seen him this happy in months."

Virgil smiled. "We've all enjoyed it, and I know Scott got a lot out of seeing Stewie again. What are they up to?"

"Stewie's showing Scott his flying certificates and some photos he's got of the ambulance crew."

But Scott had finished that task and was walking down the path, smiling broadly and with a still hyper Stewie bouncing along beside him. "Thanks for letting him loose, Mrs K."

"Don't be such a stranger, Scott. Things haven't been the same without you hanging out with Stuart." Mrs K. gave her grandson an affectionate hug. "He keeps getting under my feet."

"Things should settle down soon, so I'll try and make it back," Scott promised. "Look after your grandma, Stuart."

"I will, Bro. Say hi to your family for me. Thanks for a great day, Virgil."

"No worries. I told Jett to give you a call sometime and see if you can go for another flight."

"Yeah!?" Stewie's eyes were sparkling. "I can't wait to tell the guys at the ambulance station!"

Scott and Virgil said their goodbyes and settled back into the car; Scott waving to his friends until they were out of sight. Then he turned to his brother. "Thanks, Virg."

"I thought you might like the chance to celebrate."

"But you must have organised all this while I was still in with Julie. What if she'd said I was a hopeless mess?"

"Firstly: I know you're not and I figured she had no option other than to come to the same conclusion. Secondly: I thought that if she wasn't satisfied with your sanity then seeing Stewie would cheer you up."

"And flying with the Hawks?"

"Was to prove to you that she didn't know what she was talking about and that you don't need a piece of paper to show that you're the best pilot out there."

"Even better than the captain of the New York Hawks?"

"You can't claim that until you can do my landing."

Scott laughed. "You know that's a challenge I won't be able to resist."

Virgil grinned.

_To be continued..._


	39. Chapter 39 - Kola Superdeep Borehole

**Chapter 39: Kola Superdeep Borehole**

_Sunday 15__th__ October 2079_

Scott treated his brother to an encouraging smile. "Sooner or later Brains is going to have to let you get up."

"Rather sooner than later," Gordon grumbled.

"Look at it this way: at least you're back in your own room…"

The bored, irritated, invalid muttered something indistinct.

"You're able to eat Kyrano's cooking and you're not tethered to an IV anymore," Scott enthused. "That's got to be good… Isn't it?"

"Good!" Gordon exploded. "I'm tied to a bed with no chance of escape, when the sun's shining, the sea's blue, and everyone else is working to save the planet! And you think this is good? Are you crazy?!"

"Nope." Despite the outburst Scott's grin broadened. "And I've got the piece of paper to prove it."

Gordon remembered the shock of his brother's revelation and his own fears from a couple of months earlier. "Sorry, Scott."

"Don't worry about it… Look at it this way. Lying in here has got to be better than lying at the bottom of the ocean."

"I like it at the bottom of the ocean! It's interesting at the bottom of the ocean! I'd love to be lying at the bottom of the ocean! This is boring!"

There was a knock on the door.

Hoping against hope that it was Brains about to release him from his cell (aka his bedroom), Gordon admitted the newcomer and was marginally disappointed to see his father enter the room.

"Morning, Gordon…" Jeff accepted Scott's chair. "Thank you, Son."

"Dad..." Gordon moaned. "I'm going stir crazy! You couldn't have a talk with Brains, could you? Tell him I need to get some sun. I promise I won't go wandering off anywhere."

"I know you're frustrated, Gordon," Jeff sympathised. "And Brains knows too. He'll let you up as soon as he feels you're ready."

"Are you sure? He's that tied up making the ACGs and fretting over Braman that he's probably forgotten all about me!"

"Trust me, Gordon. We could never forget you." Scott gave a wicked grin. "As much as we'd love to sometimes."

Gordon purposefully ignored his elder brother. "What brings you here?" he asked his dad. "Checking up on us?"

"I was checking up, but not on you two. I wondered if Virgil was with you. He's due to take off for Russia in two hours."

Scott placed a chair next to his father's and made himself comfortable. "Last I heard he was heading back down to the hangar to work on Braman's casket."

"I wish you boys wouldn't call it that," Jeff growled. "If Brains heard you he'd think that you don't appreciate his sacrifice."

"We do appreciate it," Scott reminded his father. "Which is why Virgil's putting so much effort into making sure it's the best it can be."

"I know; but out of respect to Brains, stick to calling it a capsule, would you?"

"Okay."

"Yes, Dad."

"Good."

Scott's watch beeped. Surprised, he activated it. "Virgil?"

His brother's face looked up at him from the dial. "I know it's an imposition, but can you do me a favour?"

"A favour?" Even more astonished, Scott's eyebrows shot up. "If I can."

"I need to keep working on Braman's casket..."

"We've agreed to call it a capsule, Virg," Scott interrupted. "Out of respect to Brains."

"Ah... Okay. But I'm at a tricky stage with the cas-psule. Would you be willing to fly Brains up to the Kola Peninsula?"

Scott blinked at the request. "Huh?"

"What? In an ordinary jet?" Gordon clarified.

"No." Virgil's image frowned slightly at the indistinct voice. "Are you in Gordon's room?"

"Yes." Scott twisted his arm so his brothers could see each other.

"Morning, Gordon."

"Morning, Virg."

"No. Not in a jet."

Scott reclaimed his watch. "But we haven't started work on Thunderbird One yet. I was going to do that today."

"I know that. You need to take Thunderbird Two."

Using his own watch, Jeff patched himself into their conversation. "This sounds serious, Virgil. Are you that far behind?"

Virgil hadn't expected this particular intrusion. "No…" He paused. "Things are at a tricky stage. I want to confirm that the superior component is reset at the apex of the fraternal structure of the main body, and that any fragility to the component's control of aerodynamic capsules is negated by the action of a simplified repetitive motion in the premiere aerial locomotive unit; thereby validating the initial component by sub-components, ensuring the correct tensile strength is maintained, and reinforcing the integrity of the superior component in the structure's housing."

Gordon, trying to make sense of what, to him, was engineering gobbledegook, went cross-eyed. "What?"

Scott frowned at the watch. "Whatever it is, it sounds serious."

"Could be if we don't get on top of it right away."

Even Jeff, who had more than a little engineering knowledge, had been struggling to make sense of his son's problem. "Can you repeat that, Virgil?"

"I need to confirm that the superior component is reset at the apex of the fraternal structure of the main body, and that any fragility to the component's control of aerodynamic capsules is negated by the action of a simplified repetitive motion in the premiere aerial locomotive unit; thereby validating the initial component by sub-components, ensuring the correct tensile strength is maintained, and reinforcing the integrity of the superior component in the structure's housing…" Virgil repeated. "And in order to do all that I need you to fly Brains to Russia in Thunderbird Two, Scott."

"How long will this, erm…" Scott tried to find something in Virgil's explanation that he could repeat and still sound intelligent, "superior component, ah, work take? I'm sure we can wait a couple of hours."

"No, better to get the Kola deployment underway," Virgil stated. "That couple of hours might be crucial as Doomsday gets closer. If Gordon was fit I'd naturally expect him to make the run, but as he isn't, you're next in line."

"In Thunderbird Two?"

"Why not? I've got no problems with you flying her."

"Oh…" Nonplussed Scott didn't know what else to say. "Thanks."

Jeff had been mulling over the engineering problem. "Virgil...?"

"Yes?"

"I'd assumed that prior immersion in state eleven had tempered the superior component enough to ensure that its bearings have been realigned. Don't you agree?"

Virgil hesitated. Then he smiled. "Probably. But you can never be too careful, can you? We can't risk any impurities corrupting the system."

"That's true…" Jeff agreed. "And you're convinced that this is the best course of action?"

"I wouldn't suggest it if I wasn't."

Jeff looked over his watch at his eldest son. "Okay, Scott, looks like you're flying north. You'd better go get ready."

"Okay." Scott stood. "I'll go warn Brains."

"He already knows," Virgil told him. "I told him my plans."

"I'll see him down there then..."

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

It seemed strange to be sitting at the controls of Thunderbird Two for real.

Scott had made a point of reacquainting himself with the transporter prior to their first Doomsday deployment in case Virgil had been unable to do the Dead Sea run. Virgil had done the same with Thunderbird One, as had Gordon with both aeroplanes and they'd all had simulator sessions in Thunderbird Four, but none of them had seriously expected to have to take control of another's craft in an actual scenario.

Yet here he was, sitting in Thunderbird Two's cockpit, watching the hangar door swing outwards and the sun shine in.

He heard a click behind him as his passenger fastened his safety harness. "Ready, Brains?"

"Ready."

Scott activated the microphone. "Thunderbird Two ready for launch." The hangar's doors opened and Thunderbird Two motored forward, stopping just before to its standard launch point. "In position."

"F-A-B, Scott," his father responded. "You are cleared for liftoff."

There was no hesitation as the VTOL jets roared and the mighty green Thunderbird left the ground and Tracy Island.

"ETA Kola Peninsula..." Scott grinned. "Let's see if I can do Virgil's trick, huh? There's no rush, so touchdown in three point zero zero hours exactly." He glanced over his shoulder. "How does that sound?"

Brains looked up from his notes. "Wh-What was that, Scott?"

"Nothing, Brains." Scott decided to leave his friend alone, sit back and enjoy the ride...

-F-A-B-

"Ah, ha! I was right!" Gordon, enjoying a sense of freedom, walked into a room buried deep below the villa. "I thought I'd find you in here."

Virgil looked up from where he was working on a large, aerodynamically-shaped pod. "Why would you think that…?" he heard a GPS signal beep from his brother's watch. "You cheated."

"I prefer to call it taking advantage of the tools I have at hand… Why are you in the print shop, anyway? I thought you were still working on Braman's capsule."

"I am. Why aren't you in bed? If you're going to get into trouble again I'd appreciate you letting everyone know that I'm an innocent bystander."

"Not to worry." Gordon grinned. "Brains gave me the all clear before he left. He said that so long as I took it easy and didn't venture beyond the swimming pool, I could get up and get some light exercise."

"And that includes behaving like a mole?"

"I'd go for a swim, but the ash has wrecked the pool's filter pump, so I decided to go looking for you. And as the pool's over there," Gordon pointed through the wall that separated them from where Thunderbird One sat awaiting repairs, "technically I'm doing just what the doctor ordered."

Virgil gave an exasperated sigh. "And why were you looking for me? Do you want a hand fixing the filter?"

"Maybe later." Gordon became serious. "You sounded as though you were having some issues with Braman's capsule and, if possible, I'd like to help."

"Oh..." Virgil peeled the backing off a laser cut transfer and affixed it to the capsule. "I appreciate that, and I'm sure Brains would too," he gave the letter a rub, "but I've finished."

"Finished?" Gordon frowned. "But the way you were talking…" he switched his watch back to a standard timepiece, "90 minutes ago, you made it sound like you had at least a couple of days work ahead of you."

Virgil grinned. "I did, did I? Good."

"Good?"

"That's what I wanted you guys to think."

"Why? Then what was with all that component aerodynamic capsule stuff?"

Still grinning, Virgil pulled a piece of paper from out of his pocket. "You mean confirming that…" he started to read, "that the superior component is reset at the apex of the fraternal structure of the main body, and that any fragility to the component's control of aerodynamic capsules is negated by the action of a simplified repetitive motion in the premiere aerial locomotive unit; thereby validating the initial component by sub-components, ensuring the correct tensile strength is maintained, and reinforcing the integrity of the superior component in the structure's housing."

Wide-eyed, Gordon stared at him. "Yeah."

"It's nothing to do with Braman's capsule."

"It's not?" Gordon scratched his head. "But Dad seemed to think that it was."

"Nope. He worked out what I was really trying to do. I was impressed. I was up half the night trying to phrase this so it sounded right and he only took a few minutes to translate what I said and respond appropriately."

Gordon took the piece of paper. "…_confirm that the superior component is reset at the apex of the fraternal structure of the main body_…" he read, and scratched his head.

"I thought the fraternal bit might give it away," Virgil admitted. "But he walked straight into it."

"He? Who…?" Gordon chose one possible candidate. "Scott?!" He re-read Virgil's paper. "He's the superior component?"

"Yep."

"…_any fragility to the component's control of aerodynamic capsules_ … Translation: any residual concerns that Scott has about flying…"

"Right."

"…_simplified repetitive motion_… Straightforward flight between here and the Kola Peninsula?"

"Yes."

"…_premiere aerial locomotive unit_…" Gordon chuckled. "That's got to be Thunderbird Two."

Virgil smirked. "Couldn't be anything else, could it?"

"…_validating the initial component by sub-components_… That's showing that we have faith in him?"

"Uh, huh."

"So paraphrasing this," Gordon waved the scrap of paper, "you are forgoing piloting Thunderbird Two to boost Scott's morale?"

"He wouldn't have gone if I'd just offered him the flight, and he would have known if I lied, so I had to tell him the truth in such a way that it wouldn't be immediately obvious what I was saying."

"You old softie," Gordon chuckled. He re-read the paper. "Does this mean that you're going to let Scott pilot Thunderbird Two for the Yelcho deployment?"

"No chance."

Gordon laughed. "I thought as much." He watched as his brother cleared the discarded papers from the bench. "Virgil…?"

"Yes?"

Gordon shoved his hands into his trouser pockets "I was a part of the reason why Scott needed therapy, wasn't I?"

Virgil had no choice, except to be honest. "Yes, you were, Gordon, but then so was I; perhaps even more so. I don't know what you did, but the two of you were able to get over it. By becoming Gustav, I pushed him away and kept him at a distance for months, if not years."

"You don't know what I did?"

"No. I left the session before he told the therapist. I didn't think I should find out before you were both ready to t..."

"I punched him."

"What…!?" Not expecting the confession, Virgil stared at his brother.

"I hit him…" Gordon looked down. "On the nose," he clarified.

"Why? Because he wanted you to reconsider your relationship with Marina?"

Gordon, his eyes glued to the floor, nodded.

"I know he wasn't keen on you marrying her and you were probably sick of him telling you that, but hitting him seems a bit…" Virgil sought out an appropriate word. "Extreme."

Gordon gave a bitter laugh. "Tell me about it. There hasn't been a moment go by that I haven't regretted it." He leant against the workbench. "I sometimes think that I should be the one having therapy. And if I'd known that Scott thought he needed it because of me…"

"Because of us," Virgil corrected. "It wasn't one person or action that dented Scott's confidence. It was a cumulative effect caused by the betrayal of a number of sources. It was me. It was you. It was Farrah double-crossing him. It was crashing a plane and hurting an innocent kid. Even the strongest of us has a breaking point, and Scott reached his." He regarded his downcast brother. "But we've both got to remember is that while we may have had a small role in causing his problems; we've also aided his recovery…. You've apologised, right?"

Gordon nodded.

"And I've deep-sixed Gustav. But the best therapy we gave him was with John and Alan at Coche del Olor. When we caught Scott in that blanket we not only saved his life, we knocked whatever mental component was out of alignment back into place again."

Gordon gave a wry grin. "That's an engineer talking. Did you stay up all night thinking up that line too?"

"No, I'm just paraphrasing something Scott told the therapist."

"He said the therapist said he was okay. Do you think he's okay?"

"Yes, I do. And I don't think you need therapy either. Possibly a couple of months ago when you had that panic attack, but not now." Virgil grinned. "That's unless you've lied to me and Father thinks you're still safe in bed. Then you're definitely going to need professional help."

"No, I'm safe." Gordon indicated the pod. "So what is it you're doing?"

"Adding the finishing touches." Virgil stepped back so his brother could read the neat lettering on the side of the capsule.

"_Thunderbird_ _Seven_," Gordon read and nodded his approval. "Brains will appreciate that."

"It was Tin-Tin's idea." Virgil threw the last scraps into the recycling. "Do you still want to give me a hand with this?"

"Sure. If there's anything I can help with."

"I want to give Braman a fitting, and I'd rather do it when Brains isn't here."

"Then I'm here to help you. Lead on..."

-F-A-B-

Far away in space, Alan's finger hovered over the replay button. He wasn't sure that he wanted to listen to this again, but there had been something compelling about the first viewing…

Two days ago he'd been surprised to see a new icon appear on his computer screen, with the directive "Urgent. Play now" inscribed underneath.

This was unusual. All previous 'visitations' as John had called them, had occurred at random moments of boredom. But this time he was being invited to hear what a member of his family had to say.

A shiver of apprehension had crawled down his spine.

His fears hadn't been allayed when Scott's hologram had appeared before him and his brother's opening words had been: "I have to tell you something, Alan..."

In that split second between the opening statement and "...and I wanted you to find out at the same time as everyone else..." all sorts of dire thoughts had chased through Alan's head.

Something had happened to Tin-Tin or his baby...

His father had died...

Kyrano was ill or worse...

A disaster had occurred...

Someone would be missing from the family when he returned home...

They'd failed to combat Doomsday and he wouldn't have a home to return to...

The continuous isolation from those he loved had shifted his imagination into overdrive, and he'd been so relieved to discover that his fears had been groundless that he'd barely taken in what Scott was telling him. When he finally got his brain back into gear, he'd been shocked to realise that his big brother, the person that to him had always exemplified strength, self-confidence and solidity and had spent the last year fighting demons that had threatened to destroy him and potentially International Rescue.

"I know that this isn't the ideal way to tell you, Alan," the hologram had said and then given a wry grimace, "and I'm not sure whether it's going to be easier sitting in a room alone talking to a camera or facing the others, but our other methods of communication aren't good enough. If all goes to plan you'll be watching this at the same time that I'll be telling the rest of the family. I think that just because you're thousands of kilometres away doesn't mean that you don't deserve the same consideration as everyone else. And, this way, at least I'm able to give you the full story and then you can call me if you want to ask any questions."

Questions? Alan had more than questions. It was probably the isolation, but he had an overwhelming desire to reach out and drag that hologram into a reassuring embrace. As soon as he'd finished listening to Scott's explanation he had sent a message to Thunderbird Five, telling John to let him know when the family meeting was over. John had transferred him through to Scott almost immediately, boosting the signal to the maximum. It had been a disjointed conversation, but Alan had come away with a sense of relief and with the impression that Scott was feeling better too.

It felt good to be able to help his big brother.

He just wished he could have been there in person.

-F-A-B-

As they wheeled the capsule through the complex and towards Brains' laboratory, Gordon's duties consisted of leading the way, nudging the trolley back into line when it occasionally veered off course, and opening any doors. He was therefore within what he regarded as a safe zone when they ran into their father. "I'm allowed up, Dad! Brains said I could if I didn't overdo it!"

Jeff released his walker and raised his hand. "I know, Gordon. I asked him to consider letting you out of bed." He turned to his other son. "Is this the capsule?"

Virgil nodded. "Yes."

"What are you doing now?" Jeff frowned slightly. "I'd assumed, from what you were saying earlier, that you'd all but finished."

"I have," Virgil admitted. "Gordon and I are just going to give Braman a test run in it."

Jeff read the legend that ran down the capsule's side. "Thunderbird Seven… Thank you, Virgil. Brains will appreciate that."

"Thank Tin-Tin. It was her idea."

"I will. If you're heading to the lab would you mind if I joined you? I'd like to see how this is going to work."

"Be our guest."

"Yeah," Gordon piped up. "And then you can explain how you managed to translate Virgil's mumbo-jumbo."

Jeff laughed and they started walking. "In context with the project, it made no sense whatsoever. But I happened to be looking at Scott when Virgil gave his second recitation and it all clicked into place."

"And what did your response mean? You sounded like you were clarifying what Virgil said."

"I was." Jeff tried to remember his exact words. "I think I said something along the lines of 'prior immersion in state eleven had tempered the superior component enough to ensure that its bearings had been realigned', didn't I?"

"Sounds about right to me," Virgil agreed.

"What's state eleven?" Gordon asked.

"That's what he had me wondering…" Virgil admitted, "for a split second."

Even though one of the Thunderbirds was off on a mission, Jeff was in the mood for a little teasing. "What do you think I meant, Gordon?"

"Erm… Some kind of physical state? Like liquid, gas, solid, plasma…?" Gordon saw his father shake his head. "No?"

"No. Don't try to think like an engineer."

"I couldn't if I wanted to. You guys are a whole separate species from the rest of us…" Gordon frowned. "State eleven…" he muttered. "State eleven…"

"Try to remember your history," Virgil suggested.

"_My_ history, or just history history?"

"America's history."

"Remembering the true context of the conversation," Jeff added.

"Right… So it's something to do with Scott's 'prior immersion' in something… When?"

"Couple of days ago."

"Couple of days ago? That was when..." Gordon slapped himself on the forehead. "He was in New York! The eleventh State of the United States!"

Jeff laughed. "Right."

"Clever."

"Thank you..." Jeff switched his attention back to his other son. "When you discussed your plan with Brains, Virgil, did you tell him the real reason why you weren't going?"

"Yes." The trolley veered right and Virgil made the necessary correction. "I figured that it wouldn't help Scott if Brains was going to be uncomfortable with him piloting, so I checked first."

"And what was his reaction?"

Virgil chuckled. "He looked at me as if I was insane for even thinking that anyone could have less than total confidence in Scott's abilities."

Jeff smiled. "I always said that man was a genius."

-F-A-B-

The digital display read 2:58:59.

"Kola Peninsula coming up."

Brains took one final look at the contents of the case that resided on the seat next to him, closed and locked it, before storing the bag away. Then he reclaimed his seat and did up his safety harness, pulling his brown International Rescue sash clear of the webbing. "D-Do we have a welcoming committee?"

"Do we?" Scott snorted a laugh. "I think the entire Russian army's on parade." He switched on a monitor so that Brains could see the view far below, and zoomed in.

Brains observed that the 60 metre tall tower was ringed by troops standing five deep, their backs to the area that was clearly designated as Thunderbird Two's landing pad. "I-I don't think we're going to have any problems with, er, rogue journalists."

"I think you're right," Scott agreed. "Coming in to land now."

The VTOL jets flared, kicking up the chilled earth. Resolute, the soldiers held their ground as the mighty aeroplane blasted the air and dirt behind them before settling.

The digital display read 3:00:00.

"Ha!" Scott crowed. "Three hours exactly. Am I good or what?"

"You are good."

For the briefest of moments, caught up as he was in the exhilaration of flight and the idea of being on another rescue, Scott had forgotten that he had a passenger. A little embarrassed he glanced at his friend, who shared an understanding smile with him. "I h-have never thought otherwise, Scott."

"Ah… Thanks." Scott got to his feet and pulled on a warm jacket. "Let's go out and meet the welcoming committee. Is your Weicaio switched on?" He picked up the ACG's case.

Brains nudged the Weicaio translator's microphone into place. Technically this piece of kit could have been miniaturised until it was all but invisible, but in early trials John had realised that it could be unnerving for a listener to realise that the speaker's lip movements were out of synch with their speech. To give someone the impression that the party they were communicating with was an actor in a dubbed foreign language movie, when they were already stressing over the events that had brought everyone together in the first place, was not an ideal way to inspire confidence. Scott had been reluctant to wear a microphone that obstructed his face, but had agreed that in the interests of clear communications a visual cue was necessary.

Now they both were ready to meet the Russian delegation. Aware that they were not going to be exiting into a tropical spring day, they turned up the collars of their polar International Rescue jackets and stepped out of the warmth of Thunderbird Two. A gust of the cold air that had flattened the scrubby plants around the complex assaulted them like a blast chiller as they walked towards the tower.

No one appeared to observe their progress until they drew close to the tower and a door opened, discharging a number of men whose dress suits didn't quite fit the bracing wind.

One of the dignitaries, whom Scott and Brains recognised as the Russian Premier, extended his hand to Scott. "Welcome to Russia, International Rescue. All is ready."

"Thank you," Scott acknowledged. "We won't keep your men out in the cold for long."

The Premier retrieved his hand from Brains' grasp and indicated the tall building ahead of them. "Our borehole awaits you."

Brains looked at the structure, which towered over them. "We appreciate Russia's assistance."

"Not as much as Russia appreciates the work of International Rescue," the Premier replied. "It is an honour to assist you."

Inside the tower the wind chill factor lessened slightly and they felt the warmth return to their numbed cheeks.

The drill that had been responsible for cutting deeper into the Earth than man had gone before had been removed decades earlier, however the cap that had covered that hole had been detached more recently. A deep dark abyss waited; its mouth ready to swallow whatever International Rescue chose to drop into it.

Brains indicated the case. "Would you mind, Scott?"

"Sure." Scott balanced the bag on his arms, allowing Brains to open it and carefully remove a device as big and round as a table tennis ball. Twisting the ball caused a screen inside the case's lid to flash into life.

"Good," Brains grunted and without ceremony dropped the ball into the borehole. There was not a sound as gravity sucked the ball deep into the Earth's crust; however on the screen an image appeared, slowly extending downwards and then branching out like the root system of a tree.

Brains pointed to the deepest line that veered off from the vertical. "There is shaft S-G3. That is the route that the acoustic concussion generator will follow." Using an electronic screwdriver he removed a panel in the 20-centimetre-diameter, 35-centimetre-long, conical-nosed cylinder that lay in its protective depression in the case and flipped a switch. The ACG beeped, started buzzing, and on the screen a red target appeared at the end of the line that marked the bottom of shaft S-G3.

"Good," Brains grunted again. After screwing the panel back into place, and ensuring that nothing protruded that could snag the walls of the borehole, he laid a sealing compound along its edges. Finally he removed the ACG from the case.

The Russians watched in breathless anticipation as he walked over to the mouth of the borehole. Pointing the nose downwards Brains released the ACG and it dropped out of sight.

He turned back to the group, closed and locked the case and took it from Scott. "We have finished."

"You have finished?" the Premier queried. "Do you not have to do more?"

"N-No. The acoustic concussion generator has been programmed to follow the borehole down the S-G3 branch until it reaches the end, 12,262 metres into the ground. Then it will activate its own drilling mechanism and continue drilling until it reaches approximately 25,000 metres in 14 days time. Then it will detonate and, hopefully, release the, er, seismic energy building up in the Eurasian Plate."

The Russians seemed almost disappointed at the lack of drama in International Rescue's mission.

Scott, although he would never have admitted it to them, felt the same. "Thank you, Gentlemen. International Rescue and The World owe you a great deal."

The Premier swallowed his disappointment that he had not been able to witness one of the fabulous rescue machines in action. "Thank _you_, International Rescue. The World owes you more than you owe us."

Scott and Brains hoped that his gratitude was not premature. They bid goodbye to their hosts, walked back out into the cold, past the guard of honour, and returned to Thunderbird Two.

Scott discarded his jacket and slid into Virgil's pilot's seat. "Happy with how it went?"

"Yes. The ACG sh-should be able to negotiate its way down to S-G3 without any problems."

"Thunderbird Two to Thunderbird Five. About to leave the Kola Peninsula."

"F-A-B, Thunderbird Two," John responded. "All went well?"

"Without a hitch. You can tell base that there's nothing to report and we're on our way home. Thunderbird Two out." Scott ignited the transporter's engines. "Strange, isn't it?" he commented as they lifted off the ground. "This is our biggest, most important rescue ever, and yet that has got to be the most uneventful, un-dramatic, even dull, mission International Rescue has ever completed."

"All the d-drama will occur deep in the Earth."

"Virgil'll be happy that it went smoothly. He's feeling pretty bad about the Dead Sea deployment."

"I-I have not given up hope that his ACG will do its job," Brains admitted. "We did not have the time or resources to properly test the initial prototypes. The lack of communication may simply be a transmission fault."

"You're not worried about the magma that he ran into?"

"One of the reasons that the R-Russians abandoned the Kola Superdeep Borehole project was because of the unexpectedly high temperatures encountered by the drill bit. At 12,000 metres deep they had anticipated the rock to be 100 degrees Celsius, but discovered that the actual temperatures were closer to 180 degrees. The rock was behaving like a v-viscous plastic and flowing around the drill."

"You mean it was behaving like magma?"

"Exactly, although not as hot. The Russians c-calculated that if they had reached 15,000 metres as planned, the rock temperature could have been as high as 300 degrees Celsius. Based on their discoveries I have allowed for exposure of the ACGs to much higher temperatures than that."

Scott grinned. "That's why you're such an asset to the organisation, Brains. You've built a large margin of error into everything." He turned Thunderbird Two for home. "Let's hope that the Yelcho deployment goes just as smoothly."

_To be continued…_


	40. Chapter 40 - Yelcho

**Chapter 40: Yelcho**

_Wednesday 18 October 2079_

"Can't I go...? Please? It'll be the last chance I have to wear the uniform."

"Gordon…"

"It's not like I'll have to do any heavy manual work. I promise that I'll sit in my seat and do nothing more strenuous than wave goodbye to Braman."

"Gordon…"

"And if I do anything else you can tie me to my bed until after Alan comes home again… Please, Dad," Gordon pleaded. "Let me go with the guys to Yelcho."

"Gordon…" Jeff repeated for the third time. "If you could only stop and take a breath you would give me the chance to say: yes, you may go."

Not expecting to receive a positive response, Gordon stared back in shock. "I can?"

"Brains is happy with your progress and, as you said, since it's highly unlikely that you'll have to do anything strenuous, then there's no reason for you to stay behind when Thunderbird Two flies out today. Yes, you may go."

"I can?" Gordon echoed. Then he grinned. "Thanks! I'd better go get into my uniform!" He ran to the door, remembered his promise to take it easy, and slowed to a saunter.

Jeff chuckled when he heard the footsteps speed up again in the hall. He'd expected that his second youngest wouldn't have been content to sit back at home while his brothers were engaged in International Rescue's final mission and he hadn't been disappointed. He opened the link in his watch. "Virgil… Scott… You've got a passenger today."

"Gee…" Virgil drawled. "I wonder who."

"Guess."

"Is it you?"

"No. Someone else."

"Kyrano?"

Jeff laughed.

"It can't be Gordon," Scott joked. "He's too happy lazing around in bed."

"He's solemnly promised me that he won't do anything strenuous and I expect you two to hold him to that," Jeff warned. "Although you've given me an idea... How would you both feel if I came with you? It's my last chance to be part of the action too."

"It's not going to be very exciting," Virgil admitted. "But if you want to come I don't mind."

"Me neither," Scott agreed. "We might need your help keeping Gordon under control."

And so it was decided.

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

Everyone was in a much more sombre mood when it was time for Thunderbird Two to depart. Having given Brains the opportunity to say goodbye in private, and once again offered him the option of being part of Braman's final mission (he declined; saying that he had other things to do, followed by a huge sniff), and having glued one of their International Rescue sash badges to the robot's copper front, Braman was escorted through the complex and into Thunderbird Two.

Tin-Tin quietly coordinated the take-off and soon they were heading east.

-F-A-B-

"_This is Ned Cook of NTBS._

"_And now the world waits with bated breath to see if International Rescue can once again achieve the seemingly impossible. Sometime during this day, perhaps even as we speak, one of the Thunderbird machines will be flying towards the South American country of Chile. There, in a rift formed by the explosion of Mount Yelcho roughly 15 years ago, International Rescue will place a device, which they say will trigger a massive earthquake. What they hope, what we __**all**__ hope, is that this seismic tremor will dissipate the stresses that Doomsday has been building up in the South American tectonic plate._

"_This is the first of five explosions. Today is the first great test. Today the world will discover if International Rescue has done enough to save Planet Earth._

"_This is Ned Cook of NTBS news, signing off."_

-F-A-B-

"You know," Gordon began, stretching his legs as the Pacific Ocean passed beneath them. "Today's a kind of litmus test. If this doesn't work we may as well call Alan back, climb into Thunderbird Three and head off to the Moon Base. Either that or go in search of the nearest habitable planet."

Scott snorted. "Now that's an original idea."

Jeff had been allocated a seat to himself. "Has any more been said about that?"

"Not that I've heard," Scott admitted. "And John hasn't mentioned any further reports along those lines."

"And Marina's kept well clear since I had the restraining order slapped on her." Gordon, dying to get up and have a wander, but aware that a stroll across the Pacific Ocean could be construed as excessive activity, fidgeted again. "So I haven't heard anything from that quarter."

Jeff had tried not to be too pleased that that woman was no longer going to be a part of his son's life. "People must have realised that story was complete and utter garbage."

"I wonder who started it."

"Probably a case of Chinese whispers. Someone said that if they had our money they'd build a rocket to safety, and someone misunderstood and thought that we were already doing it."

Gordon chuckled. "Just as well they didn't realise that we already had a rocket. Mind you, Alan would probably have appreciated the company."

"The reception's getting worse, isn't it," Scott recollected. "And he's not even halfway to the magnetosphere yet."

"When's he due to hit that?"

"End of the month."

"And then it'll still be another 15 or so days before he reaches Arnie." Jeff looked over to Thunderbird Two's control panel when something beeped.

"South America coming up," Virgil announced.

Scott stood. "I'd better go get ready."

They passed over the border where the hospitable soils of South America merged into the highly radioactive zone known as the Yelcho rift. On one side all was lush and fertile with abundant life. In the margins, a few hardy insects scraped out a living by devouring each other and those of the animal kingdom who'd been unwise enough to venture into the rift and had died an agonising death. Beyond that: nothing survived.

Scott was back a short time later wearing an anti-radiation suit. "Nearly there, Virgil?"

"I'm already following the line of the eruption." Virgil indicated out the window towards a barren, rocky, desolate landscape. "It's looking pretty stormy out there. I hope it holds off until we've finished."

"What are the radiation readings?"

"High, but not dangerous."

"Okay, make sure they don't go into the red. I'll take care of Braman." Scott exited the flight deck.

Down near one of the many hatches that punctuated the undercarriage of Thunderbird Two was the room that presently housed International Rescue's most expendable member. Scott opened the capsule labelled Thunderbird Seven and looked down on its contents, checking that nothing had been disturbed during the flight and that the pyramidal shaped ACG was still in place. But before he activated the robot he felt the need to do one more task. "I'm sorry we have to do this, Braman. I owe you my life and now I'm going to ask you to give up yours to save the lives of everyone on this planet."

Unseeing and unhearing, Braman's blank face stared upwards.

Scott hesitated, aware that he was talking to a package of metal and electronics. Despite this he felt the need to say one more thing. "We'll look after Brains for you." He reached out and pushed the button that marked the place where the robot's nose should have been.

Braman's face lit up and he made a few electronic chirping noises.

"What is your task?"

There was a mechanical whirring sound. "Up-on land-ding op-en caps-sule. Search out op-ti-mum lo-ca-tion. Take A-C-G and bury det-to-na-tor point down in ground. Det-to-na-tor point must be set in line with the grav-it-ta-tion-al force of the Earth. Once det-to-na-tor is in pos-i-tion de-press top-most plate of A-C-G."

"That is correct," Scott confirmed. "Good luck, Braman. And thank you."

"Thank-you, Scott."

Closing the lid on that capsule was one of the hardest things that Scott had ever had to do. When he was sure that Thunderbird Seven couldn't accidentally open on the drop down, and that the attached parachute would deploy as planned, he pulled his anti-radiation suit's hood over his head. They were kilometres above the radioactive field and he could have worn his standard uniform without fear, but he wasn't prepared to leave anything to chance. "Ready for launch."

He heard Virgil's voice. "We're in position, Scott. Eject when ready."

"F-A-B."

Scott pressed a button and Thunderbird Seven slid along a conveyor belt into the area above a hatch. The door slid shut, creating a further barrier between the human and the radioactive hazard.

"Opening hatch in ten… Nine… Eight… Seven… Six…"

Up in Thunderbird Two's cockpit his family waited patiently.

"Five… Four… Three… Two… One."

The underside of Thunderbird Two opened and Thunderbird Seven fell towards the ground, its parachute deploying cleanly. The landing point had been programmed into the onboard computer and tiny jets on all sides of the capsule steered the descending pod down towards its target.

Unable to see any of this, Scott joined the rest of the team back on the flight deck. "How's he going?"

"Still descending," Jeff grunted, as he watched Braman's downward flight on a monitor.

"Radiation level's increasing." Virgil pointed at an auxiliary screen that was giving the readout of Thunderbird Seven's speed and trajectory. "We're going to be losing contact soo…"

The screen went blank.

"Will he last long enough to reach the ground?" Gordon wondered.

Aware that there was going to be a large explosion happening soon, even if most of the energy was expected to blast downwards, Virgil was slowly moving Thunderbird Two up and away from the danger zone, while trying to keep the action within range of the video camera. "I made the capsule as radiation-proof as I could without impacting on its weight or aerodynamics. If he doesn't survive, Brains has built in an automatic detonator. If it detects that there's been no movement for ten minutes the ACG will blow of its own accord."

Jeff nodded. "If that happens we'll have to hope that it landed facing the right direction. Brains' plan was for the force of the blast to be downwards into the ground."

Scott pointed to the screen. "He's about to touch down."

They watched as Thunderbird Seven started skidding along the ground. Its cords and parachute snagged on rocks, detaching themselves from the main body and coming to rest far from the capsule.

Virgil breathed a sigh of relief. "Good, that worked."

Unencumbered by any part of the parachute, Thunderbird Seven's lid opened and Braman sat up. Grasping his ACG in one copper claw, he looked around him before standing. Then, with a purposeful gait, he clambered deeper into the valley.

"It won't be long now," Scott commented.

The camera remained trained on the diminutive form of the robot as Braman reached a place that he had obviously decided was the optimum point for detonation. He bent down and scratched at the scoria surface, pulling a few boulders clear.

Virgil frowned. "I think he was supposed to bury it so that only the ignition plate was visible. Looks like there's nothing to bury it in."

"He's getting slower too," Jeff commented. "He's going to have to work fast before the radiation kills him."

Braman, moving as if he was rusting before their eyes, must have had the same idea as he wedged the point of the pyramid into the ground. Then, at the moment that he raised his claw to smash it down hard on the flat plate that was topmost, Virgil accelerated upwards.

Brains had reassured them that should Braman position the ACG correctly, there would be comparatively little disruption to the air above the ground. As a further safeguard, part of the plan had been for Thunderbird Two to remain well beyond the range of any explosion.

The problem was that the forces generated by this explosion were far greater than anyone had imagined.

It was the loudest noise that they'd ever heard and the resultant shockwave radiated out at a speed faster than any modern aeroplane; even the one that had already been flying away from it. A radioactive cloud followed on the tail of the fireball that blasted skywards, mushrooming up from the barren land and into the atmosphere above them.

John, high up in Thunderbird Five, felt his jaw drop as he saw a bright flash on the horizon lighting up the clouds over South America. He grabbed at the microphone. "Thunderbird Five to Thunderbird Two!"

Nobody heard him.

-F-A-B-

"_This is Ned Cook of NTBS._

"_Reports are coming in of a large explosion in South America in the vicinity of the Yelcho Rift. There is speculation that this is the first salvo in International Rescue's attack on Doomsday and that it will only be a matter of minutes before we know if they have been successful. Now we are waiting for the Seismic Heralding Alarm Kinetic Energy Responder, known by us all as the SHAKER, to give us the news we are all hoping for._

"_I am joined by Gina Scolepi of the International Seismological Society. Dr Scolepi, is this the beginning of the end of Doomsday?"_

"_Ah, good morning, Ned. It is too early to tell. It is true that International Rescue has stated that they will be creating a large explosion in the Yelcho Rift to try to promote the early release of seismic energy in the South American Plate. But until the SHAKER gives us proof positive that the stresses in the plate have been released, then I am unwilling to comment."_

"_But you are hopeful?"_

"_Erm... Like everyone else on the planet, I am hopeful that International Rescue will be successful."_

"_Thank you, Dr Scolepi. This is Ned Cook of NTBS news, signing off."_

-F-A-B-

Thunderbird Two's safety systems kicked into gear and her computers took command of all flight systems, overriding the ineffectual, and, quite frankly in the computer's opinion, slow human being at the control yoke. At the same time she applied tension, relative to the force of the blast, to the seat restraints; ensuring that those seat's occupants were not catapulted into danger. Because of the force of this particular blast, the immediate result was that all the air in Jeff, Gordon and Virgil's lungs were forced out leaving them gasping for breath.

Thunderbird Two bucked and then tipped forward as if she were planning to somersault to the ground. Then her nose lurched upwards as her tail dropped and she slid backwards. Following that, a roll to the left was quickly succeeded by a plunge to the right. All four vertical jets seemed to cut out and she dropped like a stone, before they blasted back into life shooting her towards the clouds. One of the horizontal jets overrode the vertical ones and she dropped again, spinning like a top. Then the vertigo-inducing rotation stabilised and she juddered again as if she had an all-encompassing case of the hiccoughs.

Scott, untethered, was flung like a ragdoll around the floor and into the bulkhead.

"Scott!" Jeff yelled. At least he thought he yelled. There didn't seem to be any air left in his chest to breathe, let alone cry out to his eldest son; and the ringing in his ears masked any noises he or anyone else made.

Thunderbird Two lurched once more and the restraints repeated their suffocating assault, although with less ferocity than the initial shock

Jeff was gasping for air again when something fell from out of the sky.

It was their oxygen masks.

Grateful for the unexpected gift, Jeff managed to snare his wildly swinging mask, pulled it over his head and allowed his starving lungs to inhale the pure, refreshing oxygen.

On the seat next to him Gordon looked deathly pale as he hauled his mask over his face and gasped for air. The younger man saw his father's anxious gaze and, one hand to his chest as he tried to pull the restricting harness clear, raised the other in a thumbs-up.

Jeff, relieved, copied him and then rubbed at his ears. His fingers felt damp and in the flickering light of the sun spinning in and out of view through the windows, he noticed a light sheen of red. A glance at Gordon revealed that his son had the same problem.

It was only then that Jeff realised that automated flight systems had failed and that Virgil's problems seemed to go beyond a set of bruised lungs and bleeding ears. Their pilot, instead of being given a moment to regain his breath, was fighting to keep them all aloft. He had managed to capture his mask and was holding it to his face ready to pull the elastic over his head; a chore made almost impossible while Thunderbird Two seemed intent on bucking him free of the control yoke.

Jeff was tempted to go across to help him, but he knew there was no way that he could negotiate the chaotic short distance between them. The way that Thunderbird Two was still lurching about, it would be folly to undo his safety harness, no matter how many times it painfully pulled him back into his seat.

Gordon appeared to have come to the same conclusion. The younger man said something, but Jeff, his ears still ringing, couldn't comprehend. He shook his head, cupping his hand to his ear to show that he couldn't hear. Gordon nodded his understanding and pretended to clean out his ears. His hand flew upwards away from his head as Thunderbird Two dropped again.

Virgil, in one movement had released the control yoke, pulled his mask over his head, and then reclaimed the steering unit.

Now that the pilot could breathe, things seemed to settle down a bit.

Scott, appearing a little dazed and sore, struggled to a sitting position before grabbing at a nearby brace when Thunderbird Two lurched, nearly sending him flying again. Using the flat of one palm, he banged the side of his head as if to clear an obstruction. When that didn't work he shook his head and yawned.

Jeff, his own ears still ringing, wanted to tell him not to bother. He saw a pair of concerned blue eyes turn to him and put his hands over his ears. Then he treated his son to a thumbs-up.

Using the arm that wasn't clinging to the brace, Scott replied in kind before frowning, placing his hand over his face like a mask.

Gordon pulled at his safety harness and grimaced.

Scott nodded his understanding and fixed his attention on the pilot; analysing the situation while Thunderbird Two bruised his arms as they clung to her brace. He didn't need to be able to hear the blaring alarms to realise that the accompanying lights were screaming that something had failed with Thunderbird Two's motive jets. When Virgil applied vertical thrust, only a random pair of jets would ignite. Horizontal thrust resulted in an ineffectual wobble that seemed to drain more power from the firing vertical jets.

Slowly, but surely, Thunderbird Two was dropping towards the lethal radioactive zone above Yelcho.

While Virgil undoubtedly needed help, he was the best man to try to bring Thunderbird Two under control and Scott wasn't about to usurp his position without good reason. The problem was that if his brother hadn't found a solution by now, Scott couldn't see a way that they could avoid crashing and/or being exposed to a lethal dose of radiation. He wished they hadn't made the decision to allow Jeff and Gordon to join them.

He was about to attempt to crawl over to the pilot's seat to offer his assistance when Thunderbird Two's lost-at-sea-in-a-category-five-cyclone motion stopped. What was more, he was sure that they were now ascending vertically. Somehow, Virgil had managed to regain control of his aeroplane.

Not willing to risk another tumble, Scott crawled over to the first aid kit and hauled himself upright. A sudden attack of vertigo threatened to overbalance him and he grabbed the box that was bolted to the bulkhead; closing his eyes and breathing deeply. After a moment he opened his eyes again, glad that no one had seen his moment of weakness.

Reaching into the first aid kit, he withdrew a roll of cotton wool, before sitting on the floor again. Taking two pinches of the fluffy gauze he inserted them into each of his ears. Then, having tucked the roll into his pocket, he crawled back to the passenger seats and offered the cotton wool to his father and brother. They accepted the offering with a silent word of thanks.

Taking a chance, Scott got to his feet, waiting a moment to see if his vertigo would pitch him forward. When he was relieved to realise that his head wasn't spinning like the Mole's nose (more like an anemometer in a zephyr) he walked over to the pilot and touched him on the shoulder to get his attention.

Surprised, Virgil looked up, before pulling his oxygen mask free.

"Can you hear me?" Scott asked.

Guessing what was said, Virgil shook his head.

"_None of us can hear,_" Scott signed and then offered his brother the cotton wool. "_What did you do?_"

Virgil indicated the continuing pressure that he was applying to the vertical throttle. Then he released the pressure, and applied the same force to the horizontal jets. Thunderbird Two stopped climbing and slowly moved forwards, losing altitude as she did so. Virgil released the horizontal throttle and reactivated the vertical jets.

Scott understood. Something had happened that had affected the linkages between the two systems. Individually: the vertical and horizontal jets still worked. Together: things got confused and neither behaved as it should. Virgil's plan was to get as much height as possible, and then, while Thunderbird Two was pulled Earthwards by gravity, get as much distance between them and the Yelcho rift as possible. When they'd approached the bottom of the safety zone, then he'd climb straight up again, repeating the process. It was similar to a technique known in gliding circles as "dolphining".

Scott nodded his approval. The horizontal jets weren't working at full power, meaning that it would take a long time to get anywhere, but at least they had control over their progress.

Something caught Scott's eye. John, on the communications video monitor, was shouting at him.

Virgil didn't see him, but he did react to his message. Across Thunderbird Two's windshield had been projected three triangles within a circle, morphing from yellow to orange. A glance at the control panel showed that a similar icon was beaming out an orange beacon; a desperate warning that was accompanied by a siren, inaudible to every man in the room. John, realising that no one had heeded the alarms, had flashed the picture onto the window to get their attention.

Virgil stopped their ascent and said something that Scott couldn't hear, but didn't need an interpreter to understand.

Radiation alert.

So far South America had been lucky that the prevailing winds, dragging the radioactive dust kicked up by the ACG, were following the same course as those from the explosion years earlier.

But that luck didn't extend to International Rescue. They'd been so desperate to climb away from the danger that soaked the ground that they hadn't even thought about the radioactive cloud that hovered above them. They were, in effect, in a radiation sandwich: one that could start to rain death down on them the moment that the black clouds above opened up.

The warning light faded from orange to green and the image on the windscreen disappeared.

Virgil let out a visible sigh of relief. "Thanks, John."

Another message flashed up ahead of him. "_What's wrong?_"

One hand clinging to the control panel for balance, Scott used the sign language alphabet to reply. "_No sound_."

No sound? Through the monitor's microphones John had heard every alarm and siren shrieking their warning to the cockpit's occupants, but they'd heard nothing? Faced with limited communication options and endless questions, John continued typing. "_What happened?_"

Scott knew that he should reply that he thought that an acoustic pressure shockwave had wiped out some of their systems, including their hearing, but didn't have the time or hand freedom to respond in full. Once again he spelt out the words. "_Big bang._"

"_All okay?_"

Scott made a fist with his palm downwards and nodded it up and down. "_Yes._" Thunderbird Two lurched and he grabbed at the panel.

John had his doubts. "_I'll download telemetry and send through to Brains._"

Scott signed his approval and then sat on the floor; bracing his back against the flight console's bulkhead, so he could get some control over his spinning head. Now that he was facing Gordon and his father he was able to converse with them in a fashion."_Need anti-radiation suits,_" he signed. "_Can you come with me to get yours, V's, and Father's, G?_"

Jeff looked confused, but Gordon nodded his understanding.

"_Better crawl. Ears might be upsetting balance._"

Gordon nodded again. He unclipped his harness and removed his oxygen mask before sliding to the floor to crawl alongside his brother out of the cockpit and down the corridor to where their protective gear was stored.

"_I'll get them._" Before Scott could protest Gordon hauled himself upright and pulled his and Virgil's suit free. Then, after a moment's deliberation, he removed Alan's. Thunderbird Two shuddered as they passed from horizontal to vertical flight and he fell into the cupboard. Pulling himself free he claimed the spot next to Scott on the floor. "_Dad's going to need help getting into his. You'd better go help him. I'll put mine on here._"

"_F-A-B._"

Scott tied Alan's anti-radiation suit about his middle and started crawling back to his father.

Jeff grabbed him by the shoulder. "Where's Gordon?!"

Scott couldn't hear him, but his father's anxious glance in the direction that he'd just come told him what the question had been. He made a sign and held the anti-radiation suit out so that Jeff could slide his feet in.

Jeff, frustrated by the lack of information, had to trust that he correctly understood what he was being told. Gordon was okay, and he was supposed to put on this suit. The latter made sense as he had no doubts that they were still in danger. Grunting, although he couldn't hear himself, he wriggled in his seat and inched the suit under his thighs.

Gordon, fully suited up except for his hood, which lay flat against his back, and with Virgil's anti-radiation suit tied around his waist, crawled towards his father and brother. He looked as though it was taking all his energies just to make that short journey. He'd been so bright and lively this morning before they'd set off, that it had been easy to forget that only a week and a half ago he'd been at death's door. He sat on the floor next to his father, saw Jeff's look of concern and managed a wan smile and a thumbs-up, before pulling Virgil's suit free of his midriff.

Scott claimed the suit and indicated their father."_Can you help him get dressed, G?_" he signed.

Gordon nodded.

"_Thanks._"

Scott crawled towards the pilot's seat, managed to stand without dizziness overpowering him, tapped Virgil on the shoulder, held out the radiation suit, and indicated that they should change places.

Virgil nodded his understanding and keeping one hand on the horizontal throttle, slid out from his seat. He didn't release control of his aeroplane until he felt Scott's pressure on the lever equal his.

Jeff and Gordon watched as he pulled his anti-radiation suit over his uniform. Then, directing it towards them, he made an 'okay' sign, followed by an exaggerated question mark. They both responded with thumbs-up.

Virgil grinned and did the same. Then he left the flight deck…

-F-A-B-

_What's going on?_ John had wondered as he'd watched Virgil wrestle with the controls. He tried to evaluate what he knew.

Observation one: Readouts from Thunderbird Two's sensors told him that the aircraft had been hit by a concussive blast from the explosion.

Observation two: The force of the blast had damaged Thunderbird Two's controls, resulting in an erratic flight. Readouts of the craft's output showed that the vertical jets were behaving erratically and the horizontal jets were barely functioning.

Observation three: When Virgil had reclaimed control of his craft and had used the horizontal and vertical jets independent of each other, they seemed to function, although the horizontal jets' output looked to be somewhere in the region of 12 per cent of their maximum capacity.

Observation four: The oxygen masks had been deployed.

Observation five: In some respects, this was the most chilling. Despite this cacophony of alarms blaring, there had initially been no reaction to the warnings from anyone on board. Not only that, he hadn't heard any verbal communication between his family and, as Scott and Virgil changed places, they'd gestured rather than spoken.

At first John spoke as he typed. "Can you hear me?" The words appeared on the windshield.

He saw Scott read the words and hesitate before he looked down at the Space Monitor. He shook his head.

"_You're deaf?_"

One hand still applying pressure to the throttle as he held the other fist out, Scott's hand nodded again. "_Yes._"

"_Can the others hear?_"

This time Scott rocked his fist from side to side. "_No._"

"_Can you hear anything?_"

Using that single hand, Scott signed seven letters. "_Ringing._"

John had a lot that he wanted to communicate then; but he didn't want to pester Scott unnecessarily. His brother needed to concentrate on ensuring that Thunderbird Two remained airborne. He couldn't take time out to read a long recitation.

Instead John opened up the link with base.

"J-John?"

"Brains. I'm glad I've got you. Braman's deployed the ACG…"

Brains swallowed as he studied a seismographic readout. "I c-can see that…"

"Something's gone wrong. The blast has affected Thunderbird Two."

"Affected Thunderbird Two? How?"

"I've patched through the telemetry…" John detailed what he knew. "More than that, they can't hear. Scott says he's aware of a ringing noise, but he can't hear anything. He's put cotton wool in his ears, and gave some to Virgil, so I think he's got the same problem, but he was too busy trying to get Thunderbird Two under control so I didn't ask him. I haven't been able to communicate with the others."

"They are probably suffering from perforation of their tympanic membranes," Brains frowned. "Thunderbird Two must have been hit by pressure wave. Braman can't have buried the ACG properly."

John's own diagnosis had been that his family were suffering from burst eardrums, and was relieved to hear his friend confirm it. "I don't think he was able to. There was nothing there but raw scoria. Nothing can grow there, and with no plant matter there's no soil."

"I should have realised." Angry with himself, Brains thumped his leg in punishment. "I should have known! We should have done a reconnaissance flight!"

"We didn't have the time or the capabilities," John reminded him. "And there aren't any satellites trained on that part of the world now. There hasn't been a need for visual analysis."

But Brains was focusing on their current problem. "Didn't they get clear?"

"They were well beyond the safety margin when the ACG detonated. I think they were just unlucky."

"Aside from the tympanic membrane injuries, how is everyone?"

"Oxygen masks were deployed, but Scott said that they're all okay. Both Virgil and Scott seem to be having few problems. I haven't seen Gordon or Dad."

"I wish, er, your father was wearing a medical sensor…" Brains, chewing on his lip, studied the output from Thunderbird Two. "Apart from signs of stress, your brothers appear healthy..." He stared at the computer a while longer. "I-I see they are making some forward progress."

"But they're also losing height. They climb vertically until they're just beneath the radioactive cloud, then they move forward, descending. Scott's piloting at the moment. I think he was giving Virgil the chance to put his anti-radiation suit on… But if he is, he's taking a long time to do it…"

-F-A-B-

The reason why Virgil was taking his time was because he'd made his way back into the engine bay to see if he could ascertain what was wrong with his aeroplane. His hood blocking out any stray radiation and earmuffs protecting any residual hearing, he was staring at the horizontal thrust engines, waiting for them to shut down.

They ground to a halt and he felt a slight jarring as Thunderbird Two went from horizontal flight to vertical lift.

Trusting that he knew Scott well enough to guess when these arm-crushing machines were about to come back to life, Virgil felt around one of the units, seeking out any abnormalities.

He pulled his arm free some ten seconds before a large piece of metal started moving.

Squeezing between the units when he felt it was safe, he followed the cabling, checking it for any irregularities. That task finished, he worked his way across the aeroplane, checking the other units and linkages as he went.

Finally he returned to the flight deck. Grabbing an electronic notepad he sat next to his father and Gordon. "_I think I can do a temporary repair,_" he scrawled. "_But I'll need your help._"

He received two thumbs-up in reply.

"_Scott'll fly her. I'll work on engines. G. You interpret instructions I give. Write on this,_" he indicated the notepad, "_and send through to F. F, you liase between S, J &amp; G. And vice versa._"

They decided against pointing out that in his haste he'd spelt liaise wrong.

"_Can you do that, G?_"

Gordon gave him the thumbs-up.

"_Questions?_"

Jeff took the notepad. "_Can you fix it?_"

Virgil claimed the electronic note-taker back. "_Better chance on ground, but should get us to safety for more repairs._"

Jeff made an okay sign.

Virgil joined Scott at the pilot's console and motioned that he should stay put. "_G and I are going to try something in engine bay. Father'll liase between us and J. OK?_"

Scott nodded and Virgil reached across, entering a code into a keypad. A screen descended from the ceiling and a keyboard unfolded in front of their father. Virgil scrawled "_testing_" on his notepad and the word appeared on Jeff's screen.

Jeff went to type a response, but was stopped by Gordon, who pressed a large button marked "reply" and then indicated that his father should continue.

"_Receiving,_" Jeff typed.

Virgil nodded his approval, handed the notepad to Gordon, and went in search of some tools.

On Jeff's keyboard, Gordon indicated a button labelled "Heads-up" and Jeff pressed it before typing "_testing 2_".

"The words "_testing 2_" were beamed onto Thunderbird Two's windshield and Scott gave a thumbs-up.

Now Gordon pointed at a button marked "TB5" and Jeff pressed that before typing: "_It's Dad, John. We're going to try something. I'm the liaison._"

"_F-A-B. How are you all?_"

Jeff pressed **Reply**. "_In one piece apart from the hearing._"

"_Burst eardrums?_"

**Reply** "_Think so._"

"_I've told Brains what's happened._"

**Reply** "_Good. I'll be in contact soon, son._"

"_F-A-B._"

Gordon pointed to the button marked "Aux", and Jeff pressed it before typing: "_Hello_". Gordon showed him the echo of the word on the notepad in his hands.

"It would be much easier to be able to talk," Jeff growled, and Gordon shrugged his lack of understanding.

Jeff's screen burst into life. "_I can hear you, Dad. Say something else._"

"I wish I could hear you. I can't even hear myself."

"_Brains is bound to have the solution. Burst eardrums are a relatively minor injury._"

"I hope so."

Gordon looked up when Virgil tapped him on the shoulder. He accepted a pair of earmuffs with a quizzical expression.

Virgil borrowed the notepad. "_Don't_ _want to damage it any more than it is._"

Gordon mouthed an "Oh", and signed an okay. He stood, wobbling slightly.

Virgil cleared his message. "_Are you going to be ok, G?_"

Gordon took the notepad. "_Try to stop me._" He accepted some of the equipment in Virgil's arms and followed his brother out of the cockpit.

Jeff watched them go. Then he turned to his keyboard. **Heads-Up** "_They've gone to the engine bay, Scott._" He then realised that, with no way for the pilot to respond, there was a flaw in their carefully constructed plan.

Scott proved him wrong. "_Thanks_" he scrawled on a notepad, and the word appeared on Jeff's screen.

Words appeared on the heads-up display and Jeff's monitor. "_If you speak out loud, Scott, I can translate to Dad."_

"That will take longer, but be a heck of a lot easier," Scott said.

"_That'll take longer but be easier,_" Jeff read.

-F-A-B-

It was going to be a long and difficult job and Virgil's first task, when he reached the engine bay, was to order Gordon to sit on the floor. The fact that his brother obeyed without complaint was a sign that he was finding today's activities more tiring than he was letting on.

Keeping a watchful eye out for any hand signals, Virgil set to work, finding his process slow and frustrating. He had to time his repairs to coincide with the horizontal jets' periods of inactivity, while at the same time trying not to reduce those jets' capabilities when they fired back into use.

Occasionally he would sign a message or a comment to Gordon, perhaps telling Scott not to expect the necessary power on the next horizontal burn. Gordon would scribble it on his electronic notepad, and Jeff would receive the message, before passing it on to Scott. It wasn't the most efficient system, but it worked.

While he was waiting for the next message to come through, Jeff talked with John. "Any word from the SHAKER?"

"_Not from the SHAKER. IR's seismograph is showing a reduction in seismic pressure. One of those shakes that knocked you around was an 8.6 aftershock_"

8.6 on the Richter scale was a large magnitude earthquake and they could only assume that the ACG had done its job and was releasing the built up energy from the earth. A by-product of such a major quake was the sudden compression of the air above the ground, and Thunderbird Two had felt the effects of the jolt.

"Has Brains made any comments about it?" Jeff asked.

"_Says each aftershock is reducing the threat from D-day in the region._"

"That's a good sign."

"_Yes. Hearing anything?_"

Jeff strained his ears. "The ringing doesn't seem to be as loud."

"_That's a good sign._"

Jeff laughed at the echo of his own words. Up till now none of them had had the opportunity to dwell on their hearing loss, but while he was forced to sit and wait for the next missive from one of his sons, he was finding that he had too much time to brood. This conversation with John, as stilted as it was, was stopping him from considering the worst.

He realised the irony in his situation. Here he was thinking that 'the worst' was permanent deafness, when he was flying in an aeroplane with less than full power that had the potential to spin out into an uncontrolled crash, and a strong possibility that they could be at any moment subjected to lethal doses of radiation poisoning. "What's the weather forecast?"

"_The rain's holding off._"

"May it stay that way until we're clear."

"_Yes, then I hope it pours and washes all the radiation out of the atmosphere before it can contaminate anywhere else. Message from S. Mountains ahead._"

Jeff forwarded the message to Gordon… Who caught Virgil's attention and signed it to his brother.

"_How high?_" Virgil asked.

The message was returned to Scott. "_About 150m clearance._"

A response came back, its sterility hiding any of the speakers' emotions. "_How wide?_"

"_12.36km._"

Virgil and Gordon received the message in alarm. "_That's like threading Thunderbird Two through the eye of a needle!_" Virgil signed. "_Don't write that,_" he added when he saw Gordon lift the notepad.

"_How do you want to respond?_"

"_Ask him to hold off attempting to traverse until I've done a bit more work… That's if he can't find an easier route._"

Gordon wrote: "_Can S stay on the spot til V's got the engines working?_"

**Reply** "_Do you need us to stay in a vertical holding pattern for a while?_"

"_Either that or find another route._"

**Reply** "_I'll let Scott know._"** Heads-up** "C_an we stay in hold. patt. until V gets more power out of jets?_"

"I don't know. It'll depend on handling. How long will he be?"

"_Depends on handling. How long?_"

**TB5** "_Is there…_" "For Pete's sake… Is there another way through the mountains, John?" **Heads-up** "_Can you see another way?_"

"I can't see anything. Can you, John?"

"_Neither of us can find anything._"

**Aux** "_No other route. Not sure of handling._"

Gordon waved his hands to get Virgil's attention. "_No other route. Not sure of handling._"

"_Can we attempt a holding pattern?_"

"_Can we attempt a hold. patt.?_"

**Heads-up** "_Attempt a holding pattern, Scott._"

"F-A-B."

"_F-A-B._"

**Aux** "_F-A-B._"

"_F-A-B._"

Ready to resume his now familiar routine of igniting and extinguishing jets should the need arise; Scott attempted to put Thunderbird Two into a hover. "Seems to be working."

"_TB 2 is hovering._"

**Aux** "_TB 2 is hovering._"

In the engine bay, Gordon and Virgil were already aware of the change of vibrations. Virgil set to work with some urgency.

Up in his cockpit, Scott kept a wary eye on the altimeter. "We're slowly losing height."

John made the decision that everyone else would need to know this worrying snippet. "_Slowly losing height._"

Jeff didn't want to disrupt Virgil's work, but nevertheless he forwarded the message. **Aux** "_We're slowly losing height._"

Gordon wasn't quite so keen to interrupt his brother. "_How slowly?_"

**Heads-up** "_How slowly?_"

Scott did a quick analysis. "Ten metres a second."

This time Virgil received the full message. "_Then will he do a vertical ascent?_"

The question, Chinese whispers style, was relayed back to the pilot of the aeroplane. "I can."

"_Good. That'll give me a little extra time."_

But time wasn't something that they had in reserve, as both Jeff's screen and the heads-up display screamed into life. "_Eruption at point of impact. Brace yourselves!_"

Jeff barely had time to send this message through to the engine bay when the shockwave hit. He and Scott, tethered to their seats by their respective safety harnesses, had to endure another round of suffocating body compressions as Thunderbird Two was buffeted by the pressure wave.

Fighting the control yoke, Scott had no time to think about his brothers' predicament. His first and only thought was to keep Thunderbird Two upright and off the ground. He battled the swaying aircraft, burning one set of jets and then the others as, slowly, as the initial pressure wave passed.

Finally he regained control of his charge.

A heads-up message flashed onto the windshield. "_Are you okay?_"

Scott glanced at John and nodded as he regained his breath following the excitement and the crushing force of the seat restraints. He transferred his attention back to the altimeter and other gauges. "How's 'veryone else?"

Jeff had also received the initial question. "I'm okay, John. That wasn't as bad as last time." He started typing. "Let me check on the boys."

Gordon and Virgil hadn't been so lucky. With no restraints and little warning, they'd been thrown around the engine bay like marionettes. When Thunderbird Two finally stopped behaving like a rodeo bull, they lay still for a moment, analysing their injuries and hoping that their ordeal was over.

Virgil was the first to sit up. He felt much the same as he had after the Mole had done its torque-assisted spin a mile under the ground; bruised, grazed, stiff, but otherwise unhurt. Using a guard rail to assist him to his feet, he dragged himself around the machinery until he saw a pale blue-suited figure crumpled on the floor.

"Gordon!"

Forgetting their combined hearing loss, Virgil staggered to his brother and collapsed to his knees beside him. "Gordon! Answer me!" He reached out, wondering if it was safe to remove the stiff radiation-protective material so he could look for a pulse.

Gordon stirred. His face framed by the anti-radiation suit's hood, looked up at his concerned brother, and managed a wan smile; before going cross-eyed as he stared through the earmuffs that had twisted ninety degrees on his head. Slowly he sat up; dislodging the hearing protectors.

Virgil's earmuffs had disappeared in the melee and with his on-going deafness he had no way of knowing if they were still needed. "_Are you okay?_"

Gordon managed a shaky grin. "_Someone stop the rollercoaster,_" he signed."_I want to get off._"

Virgil laughed and it felt strange to feel and not hear the sound. "_Me too._" Crawling a short way away, he picked up the electronic notepad, seeing his father's urgent query. "_Both ok,_" he scribbled. "_Coming back._"

He could almost imagine his father's relief in the replying: "_F-A-B._"

Turning back to his brother, Virgil slipped his arm around Gordon's waist and helped him to his feet. Then, without letting go or asking if his help was needed, he assisted Gordon out of the engine bay.

Worryingly, Gordon didn't protest.

But he did push Virgil away when they reached the cockpit and continued his shaky trek to the passenger seat unaided. Virgil let him go, but kept a wary eye on him in case he should stumble.

Gordon dropped into his seat, pushed off his hood, and treated his father to a huge smile along with a "hello" wave. Jeff eyed him uncertainly and then looked up at Virgil; who made a sign that Jeff correctly interpreted as "watch him" and then went to talk to Scott.

The heads-up display and Jeff's monitor illuminated. "_I think I've managed to download the TB3 communication system to you,_" John informed them. "_If you speak we should see your words._"

"So don't swear, Dad, cos we'll all know what you said," Gordon joked, as his words appeared on the screen.

Jeff relaxed a little. Gordon couldn't be feeling that bad.

"_Care to reply, Dad?_" John asked.

"Don't be cheeky, Gordon."

"_Well, you two are working okay. How about you, Scott?_"

Scott, with other things on his mind, hadn't been concentrating on the conversation. "What?"

"_That'll do. Can we have a test phrase from you, Virgil?_"

"Was that the final eruption?"

"_No. The rift's opening up again._"

The interpretation programme was unable to comprehend the simultaneous exclamations that followed. Confused it wrote: "_Bottled_ _Orinocco Pete's damages._"

It was Virgil's next statement that brought it back into line. "Is it going to be possible for us to clear the mountain range?"

"Depends on how good a job you did," Scott told him. "We've only got a shallow window to work in."

"150 metres, you said."

Scott indicated the relevant readout. "Yep."

Virgil projected a typographical map onto the windshield. "What if we followed this ravine here?" he asked; a yellow dot tracing a winding course.

"_That's the way you flew in._" Words overlaid the map. "_It's the line of the original eruptions._"

"So that's the route the volcanic eruptions are likely to take?"

Scott gave the vertical jets a nudge, increasing their altitude to just below the maximum. "How much more power do you think you got out of the engines?"

Thunderbird Two shuddered again as they were buffeted by the pressure wave from another explosion. A bolt of lightning lit up the cabin, although whether it was from the eruption or the threatening storm, no one knew.

"Enough," Virgil stated. "Let's get moving."

"Do you want to take over?"

Another explosion lifted the port wing and Virgil was thrown to the floor. Landing heavily on his back he skidded down the sloping cabin floor and slammed headfirst into the steel bulkhead.

He didn't hear his father or younger brother yell out to him.

-F-A-B-

"_This is Ned Cook of NTBS news._

"_I am at the home of the SHAKER, the Seismic Heralding Alarm Kinetic Energy Responder, and the first reports are coming through following International Rescue's attempts to combat Doomsday. I am with Dr Gina Scolepi and her associate Grant Fisher_ _of the International Seismological Society. Dr Scolepi, what is the SHAKER telling us?"_

"_I... ah... I'm just double checking the Seismic Heralding Alarm Kinetic Energy Responder's reports, Ned. We hope to give you a conclusive answer any moment... What do you think, Grant?"_

"_There have been a number of major earthquakes and volcanic eruptions in the Yelcho Rift... There's an 8.6 at five kilometres deep..."_

"_And the original quake was 9.1 at one kilometre depth. There have been several aftershocks of magnitude 6.0 and greater..."_

"_I'm sorry to interrupt you, Doctors, but the world is desperate to know. Has International Rescue been successful? Are we going to live...? Dr Scolepi?"_

"_Oh, ah... Right... Well... Obviously it is early days, and we are only talking about the area around the Yelcho Rift, but..."_

"_Yes?"_

"_It does appear that there is some reduction of the stresses acting on the South American Plate."_

"_So International Rescue have been successful?"_

"_It is too early to give a definitive answer, but I have to say that I am quietly optimistic."... "Mr Cook!"_

"_Sorry, Dr Scolepi. It's just that that's such great news! There you have it, folks! International Rescue have done it! It's time for popping the bubbly and dancing in the streets! They have saved us all! Our planet, Planet Earth, is going to survive!_

"_Thank you, Dr Scolepi, and thank you, Dr Fisher. This is Ned Cook of NTBS news, signing off."_

-F-A-B-

His attention on the dramas going on outside the cabin, although he was aware of those going on behind him, Scott realised that they couldn't wait to decide which pilot was going to face the challenge ahead. He switched off the vertical jets, reignited the horizontal ones, and headed for the ravine, knowing that they were likely to be followed by fountains of red-hot lava. "Is Virgil all right?"

Wincing, Virgil pulled himself upright. "I'm getting sick of this," he grumbled as he crawled over to a vacant passenger seat and strapped himself in.

"Are you all right?" Jeff asked.

Virgil didn't hear him or take the time to read the screen. Nevertheless he raised a hand to quell the questions that he knew were heading his way. "I'm all right. Just got a few more bruises." He rubbed his head.

Relieved that his brother appeared to be uninjured, Scott smiled. "Good work, Virgil! We've got more power!"

But Virgil didn't see or hear the compliment as he rotated his shoulders, feeling them complain. Then, when he felt the horizontal jets switch off and the vertical ones reignite, he finally focussed on the monitor. "That burn didn't last very long."

"Mountain peak," Scott responded. "Have to climb over it."

This meant they weren't getting as much distance away from the charging volcano as Virgil had hoped. "Can you switch on the rear cameras, Gordon?"

Gordon entered a code into Jeff's keyboard and an image was projected onto the screen. The picture was bi-chromatic with black rocky peaks, dark jagged cliffs, grey stormy clouds, and, casting it all in an unholy glow, a scarlet river of lava interspersed with exploding fiery rapids.

Feeling real fear for the first time, Jeff stared at the screen. "How far ahead are we?"

Gordon entered something else and a legend appeared on screen. "17 kilometres."

"Going faster or slower?"

They started ascending again.

"Slower," Virgil stated. "Can you give me my monitor, Scott?"

Another screen and keyboard was lowered from the ceiling and Virgil called up the typographical map. As the green dot representing Thunderbird Two crawled across the screen a red squiggle followed them as persistent as a bloodhound on their trail.

They crested the hill that they'd been climbing to avoid and Scott pushed forward on the horizontal throttle. "We've got a clear run for the next ten kilometres or so," he announced. "We might be able to put some distance between us and the eruption."

"_Good news,_" John's screen announced. "_It's started raining back up the rift. It's washing most of the radioactive dust out of the sky._"

Gordon glared at the words. "You think that's good news?"

"_Hopefully it'll mean that the radiation isn't going to get the chance to reach uncontaminated areas._"

"I suppose that also means that that storm's following us?"

"_Yes._"

"So if the eruption doesn't kill us, the radiation will!?"

"_You're not dead yet…._"

"May as well be…"

"_Just remember that we've never given up without a fight. Right, Dad?_"

"We?" Gordon ignored the invitation to bring Jeff into the conversation. "How's your life hanging in the balance, John? Where's the radioactive cloud above Thunderbird Five? When do _you_ expect to crash onto the radioactive dirt? Where's the volcano chasing _you_ down a dead end? Oh, I'm sorry, I forgot. Your precious telescope's broken, isn't it? I hadn't realised that that was such a life threatening situation!"

"Gordon…" Virgil said his brother's name so quietly that the microphone didn't pick it up.

Nor did Gordon hear him. "You're up there in your safe little cocoon dolling out your predictions of death and destruction. What else have you got in store for us, John? Is some mutant, giant, metal-eating lizard going to jump out from behind those hills to chew us up and spit us out?

Gordon's rant was making them all uneasy. None of it had been said in the light-handed way of the joker and, as Jeff glanced towards his son, he could see in his reddening face what he could almost have believed to be a real antagonism towards his space-bound brother. "Gordon? How are you feeling, Son?"

"Fine. Great. Wonderful! Top of the world! Except the world's collapsing about our ears."

"Try and stay calm, okay. We're not dead yet."

"'We're not dead yet'," Gordon parroted. "Is that all anyone in this family can say! Well, I'm going to say something to you, Dad. This is the last time that you'll be going on a mission with us!"

"All right," Jeff agreed.

"We don't need your pep talks! We've been in trouble before and got out without you cheering us on!"

"Fair enough."

John was as concerned by Gordon's comments as their father, but it wasn't because the venomous words had been directed his way. "Brains… Are you still getting a reading from Gordon's medical scanner?"

"Yes…"

"How is he? He's becoming irritable."

Brains looked somewhat alarmed "Th-That's a bad sign."

"Don't I know it. And at the moment I seem to be public enemy number one… No…" John tuned into the other conversation. "He's turned on Dad."

Brains consulted Gordon's readouts on his computer. "Increased perspiration output..." he muttered. "Increased pulse rate... Increased blood pressure… Increased adrenaline and other hormone levels..." He looked back up at the screen. "He is exhibiting signs of stress."

"That's hardly surprising. They all must be."

"Your brothers are." Brains made an irritated noise. "I wish I'd given your father a medical scanner."

"He seems to be holding up as well as any of them. Better than Gordon anyway."

Brains continued analysing Gordon's medical output. "I'm also picking up a slight t-temperature increase."

"Is it a lot?"

"Point seven five of a degree. Under normal circumstances I wouldn't be concerned, but in light of Gordon's recent medical history..."

"That's what I figured. The question is; what can we do to help him?"

-F-A-B-

Back in Thunderbird Two, everyone else was pondering that same question.

"_Gordon._"

Gordon glared at the word on the monitor. "Who said that?"

"Me. Scott." Scott waved the hand that wasn't applying thrust to the engines. "I need your help."

"My help?"

"Yes. I can't keep track of everything that's going on at the moment. Can you keep watch of what's going on behind us? Let me know when things are getting a bit warm."

"What about Virgil?"

"Virgil's busy."

Virgil, having no idea what he was supposed to be busy doing, pretended to make some entries on his keyboard.

"Oh," Gordon huffed. "Okay." Forgetting his animosity to the world in general, he turned his attentions to the typographical map. "Lava flow 17.5 kilometres behind us."

"Thanks."

Jeff wished he had some way of thanking his eldest son. Already, Gordon's colouring, and hopefully his blood pressure, had lessened. He relaxed.

On the screen a jet of fire and rocks burst from the earth. "16.75 kilometres," Gordon announced.

Jeff had thought that seeing smoke spewing from Tracy Island had been reasonably frightening, but that was nothing compared to what he was seeing on that screen now. Dry mouthed he watched as one of the mountain peaks that had towered over Thunderbird Two when they'd flown past, exploded. When the smoke cleared all that remained was a small hill of rubble. He swallowed and tried to drag his eyes away from the screen, but it drew them back like a magnet.

When the Yelcho rift had been formed it had started life as a series of explosive eruptions like the one Jeff had just observed. Then, following the path of least resistance, the molten rock had travelled underneath the Pacific Ocean, carving out giant lava tubes until it found a spot where the Earth's crust was thin enough that it could force its way to the surface. In time, as the activity had settled down, the lava tubes had drained, leaving vast subterranean tunnels. Tunnels that were at present enabling the magma below ground to flow at speeds faster than a crippled Thunderbird.

The eruption ahead of them was as blinding as it was sudden and unexpected.

Jeff, Gordon and Virgil were all concentrating on the video monitors and were shielded from the bright light; but Scott, his eyes straining to compensate for the information his ears couldn't hear, was exposed to its full fury...

-F-A-B-

"_And now we're crossing live back to our roving reporter, Ned Cook."_

"_...those guys are fan..."_

" _Ned..."_

"_...tastic. They saved my life once, you know?"_

" _Ned? Can you hear me?"_

"_...If it wasn't for International Rescue, I wouldn't be..."_

"_Ned!"_

"_...standing h... Whoops, sorry, Rochelle. As you can tell we're now broadcasting from High Street outside of the International Seismological Society's building. People are partying and they've invited me to join in the celebrations."_

"_That's great, Ned. So the general mood is happy?"_

"_Happy isn't the word, Rochelle. Upbeat isn't the word. Ecstatic isn't the word! I don't think you could string together all the positive synonyms in the thesaurus to be able to explain the atmosphere here! The traffic's gridlocked and no one cares. Everyone's just got out of their cars and they're celebrating! There are already calls to make the October 18__th__ International Rescue Day!"_

"_And what about the seismologists of the International Seismological Society? Are they joining you in your impromptu party?"_

"_No. As they pointed out much of the world is still under the threat of Doomsday and they plan to hold off celebrating until after International Rescue has finished their rescue. But, hey! The rest of us know that International Rescue has got it in the bag now. They've succeeded once and they'll succeed another four ti..."_

"_International Rescue rocks!"_

"_You are so right, Pal... There you have it Rochelle. The mood of the people in three simple words."_

"_How do you think International Rescue are feeling right now?"_

"_If they've any sense they'll be feeling pretty darn pleased with themselves. After all; International Rescue has literally saved the world! Whoo-hoo!"_

"_Thank you, Ned. We'll let you go back to your party."_

"_Will do, Rochelle. This is one happy Ned Cook of NTBS news, signing off."_

-F-A-B-

Scott, his vision obscured by the damage to his retina, had almost managed to override his impulse to jolt the vertical throttle and send them into an out of control dive as he raised his hands protect his eyes. That conscious attempt at self-preservation was accompanied by the realisation that with his vision replaced by a glaring white glow, he was no longer in a fit state to pilot an aeroplane. With his sight gone, and his sense of balance compromised, there was a real chance that that he could direct Thunderbird Two into one of the nearby mountain peaks.

He hadn't had time to announce the fact when Virgil was by his side. Scott sensed, rather than felt his brother's approach and released his restraints, allowing himself to be pulled from the pilot's seat. Virgil, with sympathy, but no ceremony, dumped Scott on the floor and reclaimed his rightful seat, pushing forward on the vertical throttle to regain control and try to increase the space between them and the fiery fountain ahead.

Survival, not pride, was the most important concern at the moment and Scott felt no anger or dismay at his treatment. But he did feel surprise when not one, but two pair of hands grabbed him beneath the arms and pulled him, his legs scrabbling on the floor as he tried to assist, backwards towards the passenger seat where he was lifted onto the chair and strapped into place. "I'm okay," he gasped, blinking as the glow that blinded his eyes faded.

"_He says he's okay,_" the various video screens announced, but Virgil, looking through the heads-up display, was the only one to read the words.

A pair of hands that could only be his dad's gripped Scott's arms. "I'm okay, Father," he said again, patting one of them. "The flash blinded me temporarily." Then he felt something pushed into his hands. Feeling the shape Scott realised that it was a bottle of saline solution. "Thanks, Gordon." He released himself from his father's hold and unscrewed the lid.

Jeff, so worried about his eldest's condition, hadn't even realised that Gordon had made a visit to the first aid kit. Now the younger man was examining his brother. "Here, let me." He took the bottle from Scott, whose hand was hovering somewhere in the vicinity of his ear, and administered the eye drops.

"Thanks." Scott blinked again as he willed his eyes to work and wiped away the solution that was trickling down his cheek. Things were still starry, but he was starting to see shapes. An outline of a head, which he thought was his father's, swam into view. Scott smiled, trying to ease Jeff's concerns. "My sight's improving. I'll be okay."

Jeff had to look to the nearest monitor and read his words. With no other way to communicate with his son, he patted Scott's shoulder to express the relief that he felt. Then he returned to his own seat and re-fastened his harness.

Gordon, sitting next to his brother, did up his own safety straps. "We're ready to proceed, Virgil."

Virgil had taken that short break to evaluate their situation. Directly ahead of them was the monstrous fountain of molten rock. To the sides were huge cliffs and rugged volcanic peaks. Behind them, and getting closer by the second, was the explosive river of lava. Further back, but bearing down on them, was the storm washing radiation out of the sky. All around were turbulent air currents as hot gases rose up from the ground. While they weren't trapped, they were in a precarious position.

One that he had to get them out of.

Dipping Thunderbird Two's starboard wing, Virgil caused his aeroplane to slide to the right; then he fired the vertical jets sending her upwards at an angle and to the side of the iridescent cascade before them.

His eyes glued to the windows, Gordon watched as the mountain range seemed to grow alarmingly close. His natural instinct was to shout out a warning to the pilot, but he held his tongue. He knew that Virgil had a plan and wouldn't let them down.

"Tell everyone to hang on, John!"

Virgil barely gave his brother time to obey the command before Thunderbird Two rotated even further until she was almost literally lying on her side. Then he burned the horizontal jets to the maximum and they flew forward, skirting the side of the eruption.

Gordon's fingers dug into the leather of his seat. He'd never thought that Thunderbird Two would have been capable of flying like this with any degree of control. While the mighty aeroplane was flying side on to the ground, she had no lift, and it would only take the smallest of explosions from the eruption and they would be slam-dunked against the mountains. As it was they were definitely falling to earth.

Virgil kept a close watch on both the altimeter and their proximity to the eruption. As soon as he thought they were clear of the newly formed volcano he feathered the starboard vertical jets and Thunderbird Two rocked back upright. A blast from all four jets and they were roaring upwards again.

Gordon let out a sigh of relief, glad that another obstacle had been successfully negotiated and wished that he was safe at home, in bed, and free of the pounding headache.

He looked across and saw his father's shoulders drop as he released the tension within them. Gordon doubted that he'd be able to relax for long.

Between them he could see that, without his sight and hearing to keep him fully informed, Scott was making use of his other senses to interpret Thunderbird Two's vibrations and convert them into something he could understand. His forehead was creased in a deep frown of concentration as he tried to understand what his palms, one flat on the seat beside him, the other pressed up against the metal vertical strut that held the passenger seat in place, were telling him.

Gordon switched his attention back to the only person who could do anything about their predicament.

Once he felt that they'd reached the top of the safety zone Virgil made the switch from vertical to horizontal flight. As they started to lose height again he glanced at the screens before him. Only another three kilometres to travel and then they would be beyond the mountain range and free to turn off to safety and the chance to land and do some proper repairs.

Three kilometres. Under normal circumstances they would cover that distance in the blink of an eye. Now it seemed to be the flying equivalent of a double-marathon, with no guarantees that they wouldn't fall before the finishing tape.

The magical number to safety reduced from 3.00 to 2.79.

Beneath the ground the town-sized lava tube, its ceiling weakened by the 700-plus degree magma rolling beneath it, crumbled and collapsed creating a vacuum effect that sucked down everything above it including rock, ash, mountains, air...

And Thunderbird Two.

The aeroplane's horizontal engines, unable to battle against the sudden downdraft that sucked her backwards, gave one final scream and died. Fighting against the downward currents, Virgil reignited the vertical jets and battled to keep his Thunderbird aloft. She gained height briefly before plummeting back to Earth; towering mountain peaks swallowing them up like rotten teeth in a diseased mouth. Throwing all of Thunderbird Two's power into her vertical jets, Virgil willed them upwards, leaning against the throttle as if adding his strength to the fight would be enough to triumph over the enemy that was devouring them.

Then, as the vacuum beneath equalised and the heat rising from the now exposed sea of lava gave the crippled aeroplane a much needed lift, the vertical jets won out over gravity and they ascended. The mountains opened up and Thunderbird Two flew out of Death's gaping maw.

Everyone let out a breath. This trip was as much a rollercoaster for their nerves as it was for their bodies.

"Lost horizontal power," Virgil announced.

"_Horizontal power?_" John echoed. "_You mean you can't move forward?_"

"Affirmative." Virgil tried the engines again; imagining them sounding like the laboured groan of a car with a dead battery.

He resumed their vertical thrust.

"_What are you going to do?_"

Virgil frowned at his control panel, trying to seek out the solution. "I'm open to suggestions."

"_Are you going to have to go back and work on the engines again?_" Virgil had a feeling that that was his father speaking. "_I'll help._"

"Don't think we can do more while in flight. Need replacement parts."

"_I'm trying to see if there's another route._" That comment had to be from John.

Unless it was from Gordon.

"_See if there's somewhere safe you can land._"

"There's nowhere safe. What's the shortest route out?"

"_The shortest route? Straight over that mountain dead ahead of you. But you've only got 350 metres clearance."_

"That's gonna have to be enough."

"_But you've got no way of getting any forward momentum, let alone maintaining it!_"

"There're more ways of flying than flapping your wings."

John decided against pointing out that Thunderbird Two's wings didn't flap. "_What are you going to do? Glide?_"

Virgil increased the vertical jets' output to the maximum. "No other options. Can't hang around here. Hoods up, everyone!" He flipped his over his head and sealed it.

Gordon obeyed and then turned to Scott so that he could assist his sight-impaired brother into the protective headgear. He was pleased to see that Scott had done it himself.

Scott grinned. "_Hi,_" he signed.

"_Hi back. You read what V said?_"

"_Yes._"

"_How are the eyes?_"

"_Okay._"

"_What do you think V's plan is?_"

"_Don't know. Guess we won't have long until we find out._"

"_Guess not._"

Feeling helpless they sat back, watching the ominous clouds above them grow closer.

Helplessness changed to alarm when the pale yellow radiation symbol flashed up on the windshield.

But instead of stopping Virgil continued to climb.

The yellow trefoil deepened to gold and then amber. As they watched the symbol's colouration intensified until it was impossible to call it anything except orange.

And still they climbed.

The trefoil was now the same hue as the carrots in Kyrano's garden and reddening like a sunset over Tracy Island.

Concerned, Gordon glanced across at the other passengers. Jeff's face, framed by his protective visor, was a picture of anxious consternation. Scott's eyes were wide and staring at that warning alarm on the windscreen, as he gnawed his lip to stop himself from interrupting the pilot's concentration.

Up in Thunderbird Five John bit his thumbnail as the readout from Thunderbird Two told him that the levels of radiation outside the craft were rising towards critical.

But none of them said anything to stop the ascent; trusting that Virgil knew what he was doing.

At the moment the symbol turned scarlet, Virgil extinguished the front jets leaving the rear ones burning. Thunderbird Two's nose dropped and she dipped downwards, gliding forwards powered only by gravity and the configuration of her various elevators and flaps. Just as a glider was able to make use of air currents to keep airborne while still maintaining its horizontal flight, so Virgil was able to keep the heavier Thunderbird Two aloft by virtue of her forward swept wings and by manipulating the vertical jets' output.

A sudden burst of light pulled Gordon's attention from the front of the cabin to his monitor. Another eruption was chasing them down the rift. "Explosion 6.2 kilometres behind," he announced.

Apart from pitching Thunderbird Two's nose down a fraction more to give them more horizontal speed, Virgil gave no sign that he'd read the heads-up announcement, and Gordon realised that they were running out of room as a black rocky peak loomed ahead. Soon they'd have to stop their freefall and climb again. "5.9 kilometres behind." He waited for the moment when Thunderbird Two's downward, forward momentum would revert back to a vertical climb.

It didn't happen.

"5.3 kilometres."

5.3 kilometres seemed to be the equivalent of the distance from the Earth to Jupiter compared to that hard lump of rock that was growing in the windows ahead of them.

Scott reached across and used the keyboard to change the display. "Obstacle 4.9 kilometres ahead."

And closing.

Virgil nodded his head to show his understanding, but didn't alter their trajectory or angle of descent.

"Four point zero kilometres ahead."

No change.

Wrapped up in a cocoon of nervous tension Thunderbird Two's passengers looked at each other and Gordon wondered whether it was time for their father, as the Tracy patriarch and head of International Rescue, to speak up. Or if it should be Scott, the best pilot of them all and Virgil's closest brother, who should make a quiet suggestion. Or maybe John, as a clear-headed observer whose life wasn't on the line, could offer another option. Or if it was his, Gordon's, role as Thunderbird Two's co-pilot to suggest that maybe it was time to reignite all the vertical jets.

But no one said anything to stop their suicidal plunge.

"Three point five kilometres."

Gordon watched as Virgil's hand left the yoke and stole across the control panel.

"Three point zero."

Virgil flipped open a cover that protected a button.

"Two point five."

Gordon identified Virgil's plan a fraction of an instant before the missiles rocketed out of Thunderbird Two.

The projectiles vaporised the mountain's peak and as dust, rock, and ash pelted her hull the mighty Thunderbird swooped through the newly created hole in the landscape. The Pacific Ocean opened up in front of them; black where the sea had died in the catastrophic event of close to fifteen years ago, and they were free.

Breathing a sigh of relief Gordon switched the monitor back to the scene behind them and watched as the mountain that Virgil had nearly demolished was decimated in full volcanic fury. Hot, molten rocks and lava were flung into the ocean and steam exploded out of the water, obliterating the view.

Mindful of their lack of horizontal propulsion and the fact that they weren't yet out of danger, Virgil turned north and soon they were flying over azure blue waters. However they still had no mechanical means of forward propulsion, so he continued dolphining until he felt that they were a safe distance away from the ongoing eruption.

It was only at this point that John felt that he could safely interrupt the pilot's concentration. "_Well done, Virgil. How's she flying?_"

Frowning, Virgil pushed his hood off his head. "Horizontal jets are still dead. All forward motion is limited. She's not built for gliding and the conditions aren't conducive to it anyway."

"_I can see you're losing height,_" John admitted. "What are you going to do?"

"Land her and do some repairs. We don't have many other options. Can you ask Brains to start getting some parts together? He's going to have to bring them to us."

"_Sure. What do you need?_"

"He can start loading the basics. I'll give you a more complete list once we've landed and I've had a chance to check her over."

John looked at the map "_Where are you planning to land? There's nothing but ocean about for miles._"

"That doesn't leave us many options then, does it? Just as well the pod's empty. I'll call you back once we're down, John."

"_F-A-B, Virgil. Good luck._"

No one else had said anything during this exchange. They remained silent as the waters of the Pacific Ocean drew closer. Virgil raised Thunderbird Two's nose until she was level and fired the VTOL jets; steam rising up around them as water evaporated into thick white clouds. And then they landed, settling onto the surface, the air-filled bubble that was her pod acting as a floatation aid.

Virgil switched off Thunderbird Two's motors, let the yoke retract into its housing, released his safety harness, and flopped back in his seat, relieved to finally have the chance to relax.

His father and brothers released their restraints with the the same intense feeling of relief. They weren't safe – you couldn't be safe when you were sitting on the largest body of water in the world in a craft designed for flight – but they were out of immediate danger.

Groaning; aware of every bruise, and ache and pain as the adrenaline wore off, Scott got to his feet; putting his hand out to the back of his seat to steady himself when the room spun. He took a deep breath, pushed off the seat and managed to walk fairly steadily over to where the pilot sat. Not speaking, he patted Virgil on the shoulder.

"_I think,_" the heads-up display began, and they had to look backwards to ascertain that it was their father who'd spoken."I think that, until Brains gets here, some, if not all of us should get some rest in the pilot's quarters and the sickbay."

Virgil read the words. "I can't," he admitted. "We're not going anywhere until Brains gets here. And he won't be leaving home until I've supplied him with a list of what we need to make repairs."

Jeff fixed him with a look that warned him not to protest. "Then I'll help you."

"No you won't." The look had bypassed Scott. "You need to rest as much as the rest of us, if not more. It wasn't that long ago that you had a major operation... Whatever it was."

"And I'm fitter than I have been for years," Jeff rejoined. "Plus I haven't been flung around the cabin like a rag doll like you were. All I've done is sit here..."

"Getting the life squeezed out of you by these restraints." Gordon plucked at his safety harness.

"So has Virgil," his father reminded him. "I'm sure he'd rather lie down than work. Wouldn't you, Son?"

Virgil looked like he'd rather not have to consider the option.

"Scott, you and Gordon can take the first rest shift, while Virgil and I take inventory for Brains." Jeff stood.

Scott opened his mouth to protest, but stopped himself when he guessed his father's true plans. He had to admit that it was a clever ploy; a way of getting Gordon to get some much needed rest without making it obvious that his family was worried about him. "Okay," he conceded. "You'd better let Brains know that's what we're doing. And don't forget to wake us when it's time to swap places," he warned. "Come on, Gordon."

Gordon made no complaint as the pair of them left the cabin.

Virgil gave a sigh and pushed himself out of his seat. "I'll go get some gear together. Do you want to call home?"

"Call me when you're ready," Jeff agreed. "Can you patch me through to Brains, John?"

"_F-A-B._"

A short time later Brains was on the screen. "_How are you feeling, Mr Tracy?_"

"I'm all right," Jeff waved the younger man's concerns away, "but I want you to check on Gordon. I don't think he's as well as he's letting on."

"_I have been monitoring his medical scanner,_" Brains admitted. "_I had some concerns, but now that he's able to lie down I don't think we need to worry about him. But I will continue monitoring,_" he added when he saw that Jeff was about to offer up an argument.

Virgil arrived back on the flight deck. "I think I've got everything we need. We'll be in contact with you soon, Brains."

"_I'll be waiting for your call, Virgil."_

Virgil and his father worked for a good hour, diagnosing Thunderbird Two's problems and drawing up a list of supplies that were needed from Tracy Island. Finally, after they'd transmitted their requirements to Brains, they too were able to relax.

Jeff scrawled onto his notepad. "_Go and get some rest in your quarters, Virgil._"

Virgil shook his head and scrawled his own reply, fatigue nearly making his handwriting illegible. "_I'll get some sleep here in the cabin. That way I'll know when Brains arrives and can let him in."_

Jeff considered doing the strict father act, then decided that he no longer had the energy to write an argument. He nodded, grasped the handles of his walker, and headed for the sleeping quarters. Virgil checked Thunderbird Two's control panel, reassured himself that all was well – well, as well as it could be under the circumstances – curled up on one of the passenger seats and fell asleep.

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

Tin-Tin had been hailing Thunderbird Two for some time before the flashing lights on the console finally penetrated Virgil's slumber. Groggy, he sat up, wondering where he was and why he felt so sore. When his brain cleared enough to remember what had happened, he watched as the seaplane touched down and taxied up to the larger craft, sheltering under Thunderbird Two's wing. Virgil extended a bridge between the two aircraft and welcomed his two fellow engineers on board.

Tin-Tin greeted him with a hug of relief. Then she frowned at him. "You look terrible."

"Pardon?" he apologised. "What was that?"

"Are you s-still having p-problems with your hearing?" Brains enquired.

"What?"

Tin-Tin sighed. "I think the answer's yes, Brains. Come on, Virgil," she took her brother-in-law by the arm. "First things first. Let's get you checked over."

"What did you say, Tin-Tin?"

Brains checked Virgil's hearing and confirmed the burst eardrums diagnosis, before putting his foot down and telling his friend that he was to get more rest and leave the temporary repairs to Tin-Tin and himself. When Virgil protested International Rescue's head engineer responded that communication between the three of them was going to be difficult while Virgil couldn't hear the others; adding that in his opinion as a medical professional, the pilot had the choice of either sleeping now, or during the flight home. Virgil, who was not prepared to let anyone other than himself make the tricky launch off the water, grudgingly agreed to leave the pair of them to do the manual labour. A chore they set to once they'd reassured themselves that everyone else in the Tracy family was as well as could be expected and sound asleep.

_To be continued..._


	41. Chapter 41 - Mariana

**Chapter 41: Mariana**

_Thursday 19__th__ October 2079_

A hatbox tucked under one arm and a large suitcase clutched in the other hand, Parker descended the steps of the Creighton-Ward Manor to where, like a faithful steed, FAB1 stood ready and waiting. With expertise borne of years of experience in the necessary care to ensure that each piece remained pristine, he inserted the last two cases into the Rolls Royce's already full boot and then pressed the button that sealed the pink bags away from a dusty world. The car was, in his parlance, 'stuffed full of 'er Ladyship's stuff' while his own solitary pack had been discreetly hidden behind her luggage.

Satisfied with his work, he re-ascended the steps. He felt good, despite his advancing years, and while his old bones might twang on occasion, he still firmly believed that he could hold his own against much younger men. Should Lady Penelope ever need his assistance, in any capacity, she would not find him wanting.

It was with self-satisfied pleasure that he entered the manor's library. "H-All done, m'Lady?"

Lady Penelope arose from her elegant chair in front of the videophone. "All done, Parker. That was a most informative conversation."

"Mister Gordon's solicitor?"

"Mister Gordon's solicitor's private investigator," she corrected. "What I am about to tell you is in the strictest confidence, Parker."

"You can count on me, m'Lady."

Lady Penelope smiled. "I am aware of that."

Parker practically purred. "What's this P. H-Eye found h-out?"

"Enough to give Gordon grounds for divorce."

"But we h-already know that the tramp was playin' about. So does 'e."

"True. However I was able to alert the investigator to possible criminal activities behind the scenes. He is most eager to further his investigations along these lines."

"Why's h'it secret?"

"Because we do not want the criminals made aware that their plans have been exposed. Mr Compton, the investigator, is of the opinion that if Marina and her associates learn that the authorities are trailing them, they would cut their losses and vanish; re-emerging elsewhere to attempt the same, er, scam on some other unsuspecting individual."

"But surely the legal beagles would 'ave to tell Mister Gordon?"

"His solicitor has told him that the wheels of justice are turning slowly at this time. And I am of the opinion that, so long as Marina does not intrude into his life, Gordon is quite happy to await his divorce."

"'Ow is the private h-eye gonna find h-out what we found h-out? 'E ain't got the same resources we got."

"But he does have our prior knowledge. Gordon granted him permission to examine the houseboat for proof of Marina's infidelities. Apparently his 'search' was most profitable."

Parker grinned. "Y'mean you told 'im to grab 'er notebooks."

"Gordon gave him permission to remove anything that he believed could be of assistance, which, as the houseboat is solely in Gordon's name, makes the investigator's possession of the items legal and unable to be dismissed by a court of law. I, of course, was able to tell him how to decipher her code, which saved him many hours of dreary tedium."

_Tell me 'bout h-it,_ Parker thought.

"As far as the defence will be concerned," Lady Penelope continued, "Mr Compton is an expert code breaker... Not that Marina's code could be classified as a challenge."

"But what h-about h-everything h-else we'd discovered? The h-investigator couldn't just pop h-over to Tracy H-Island and do a bit h-of snoopin' like we did."

"He has his own methods. As we speak, tests are being done which will prove our theories."

"Won't 'e want to meet with Mister Gordon to confirm his suspicions?"

"I have informed him that Gordon has not been well. An explanation he readily accepted under the circumstances."

"Especially since h-it's the truth," Parker approved. "But what H-I still don't h-understand, m'Lady, h-is why they don't just tell Mister Gordon? H-I'm sure 'e'd want to know."

"The Tracys are sensible, level-headed, honest men; but they are men of action and I have no doubt that if they were aware that one of their own had been compromised they would not hesitate to take matters into their own hands. Even if they were to do something seemingly as innocent as appointing a secondary investigator, it could be enough to warn Marina and her, er, cronies that the, ah, game was up."

"'Ence the need for secrecy."

"Hence the need for secrecy. Exactly."

Parker pulled himself up straight. "Then they won't 'ear a word from me."

"Nor me. Is the Rolls Royce ready, Parker?"

"Ready h-and waitin', m'Lady."

"Then let us proceed to Tracy Island. I am eager to know if International Rescue have been successful in combating Doomsday."

"H-Ain't we h-all, m'Lady? H-Ain't we h-all...?"

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

_Friday 20__th__ October 2079_

Alan Tracy stared at the chessboard on the screen in front of him trying to decide how he was going to respond to Brains' latest gambit. He was seated in what he was beginning to regard as his natural habitat: Thunderbird Three's flight deck.

He still spent his 'nights' in his bedroom; next to Tin-Tin's photographs and her letter. An hour each 'morning' was set aside for exercise in the gym with its 3D photos of the island covering the walls and artificial sounds and smells of the sea. Meals were cooked and eaten in the galley, but nothing that he did could make him believe that he was eating Kyrano's or his grandmother's creations. The rest of his time was spent here, on the flight deck, in the hope that he would receive a message or a "visitation" from Earth.

He lived for those moments; those all too brief contacts with home. Even when he was being teased by his elder brothers, he felt that they were pulling him closer, instead of the reality – that he was drawing away from them. Not that they teased him so often now. That habit had faded about the same time as his couvade syndrome's symptoms.

He hoped that the disappearance of that particular malaise didn't somehow signal that his love for Tin-Tin was lessening. How could it, when every day he felt what almost seemed to be grief that she wasn't at his side?

He tried to keep busy so he wouldn't dwell on his situation, but even then he felt isolated and cut off from the rest of humanity.

And he had only been away from home for less than two weeks and had another three and a half months to endure.

Still, today was a red letter day in International Rescue's mission. Today Brains' theory was really going to be put to the test. Today he would learn if he would have a home in the Pacific to return to.

Today was (he hoped) the day of the Mariana detonation.

Alan made his decision, moved his knight, and despatched the chessboard out into the ether. The computer beeped an acknowledgement, followed by an unexpected second chime.

Someone in his family was about to 'visit' him and he wondered who the computer had chosen this time. Eager to welcome the visitor, Alan vacated the console and claimed a seat in the middle of the room. He'd discovered that sitting here meant that he was more or less positioned in the same place as the camera back on Earth and when his visitor looked at the camera it was if they were looking straight at him, enhancing the experience.

He was a little surprised, and even more pleased, to discover that he was almost surrounded by the Tracy clan. Doubly exciting was that John appeared to have made a hologram of himself and projected it next to Jeff so that it gave the appearance that his hologram was sitting in the room that was the hologram projected onto Thunderbird Three's flight deck.

Alan figured that analysing that particular arrangement would probably make his head hurt, so he decided to simply sit back and enjoy the experience.

He also decided that this had been filmed relatively recently. Part of the fun he'd had with the visitations was trying to guess when the recording had been made, based on the visitor's ease in front of the camera. This time there was no sign of the awkward awareness of the recorder that characterised the earlier recordings.

"Hiya, Alan," John grinned. "I've asked them to let me be the first to speak so I could warn you. Firstly, we're still waiting to hear if Gordon's ACG's detonated. So if Brains, or Tin-Tin, or someone comes rushing in, you know things are starting to happen. Secondly, these guys are still deaf..."

Still deaf? That meant that this particular recording had been made recently, probably this morning.

"..and you might want to pause this visitation and go get your earplugs before they start talking. Because they can't hear themselves speak they keep on yelling."

"We don't yell," Scott yelled.

"You just did, Scott."

"No, I didn't. You've got the volume set wrong."

"Yeah, right..." John winked at his youngest brother/the camera as Alan laughed. "Despite Brains' treatment..."

Alan had already been told about the treatment. Brains had installed a synthetic membrane in his father's and brothers' ears. The cover was designed to protect their eardrums by keeping water and dust at bay, while restoring some of the patients' hearing.

"...I've already had to turn the volume down on my communications console. So if you want to pause, now's the time to do it."

Alan decided that he couldn't wait that long to hear what his family were going to tell him and the 'film' kept rolling.

"Back to business," Jeff began, assuming that Alan had done as suggested. "We thought you'd like a full debrief of Wednesday's mission, and we decided that it would be better if we told you all together, rather than piecemeal."

Alan settled back to listen, glad that they'd made that decision.

The tale started off sedately enough, detailing how, because of his sacrifice, everyone had tried to be respectful towards Brains, and how the trip out to South America had been uneventful. They gave a blow-by-blow account of Thunderbird Seven's launch, Braman's performance, and the moment up till when the robot had detonated the acoustic concussion generator.

Alan sat forward. This was where it was going to get exciting.

"The last thing I expected to see," John was saying, "was a bright orange glow. It was cloudy above South America, because of the storm, and the clouds lit up like someone had directed a spotlight onto them. For a moment I thought I'd lost these guys. That was until I realised I was still getting reports from Thunderbird Two. Not that they were particularly reassuring."

"They weren't very reassuring where we were sitting either," Virgil admitted. "The explosion was so loud, and I lost my hearing so quickly, that initially I thought that something had gone haywire with Thunderbird Two's amplifier systems. By the time I'd realised that my hearing had been wiped out, I was too busy trying to regain control to worry about what had caused it."

"I was too busy trying to breathe through the restraints," Gordon interrupted. "Just as well you're carrying on the Tracy line, Alan, 'cos after the way Two squashed everything the rest of us have no chance!"

"Gordon!"

Alan laughed. Not only did he find the comment and his family's reaction to it amusing, he was relieved to discover that his brother felt well enough to joke. Gordon had retired to bed as soon as he'd got home after the mission and hadn't surfaced at all yesterday. Alan, the paranoia of isolation and separation plaguing him, had imagined that his brother had been sicker than anyone had been prepared to share with him. He was relieved to discover that he was wrong.

"I felt like I was riding a bucking bull," Scott said. "One that was determined to shake me out of Thunderbird Two."

One that must have shaken Alan's big brother and the others more than they were willing to let on. Like Gordon, Jeff had retired to bed as soon as he'd got home, arising again at his normal hour the following morning. Both Scott and Virgil had staunchly got through the rest of the day, but, John had reported in the strictest confidence, had excused themselves uncharacteristically early that evening and had risen later than normal.

It can't have been an easy ride for any of them.

Now they were explaining how they had to relay their messages between them, gaining amusement from the occasional mistranslations that had arisen.

"Dad…" Alan saw Gordon, his wrists held together before him, turn to face their father. "I'm ready to take my punishment."

Jeff frowned. "Your punishment?"

"I'm guilty of engaging in strenuous activities when I promised I wouldn't, and we agreed that my punishment was for you to tie me to my bed until Alan gets home." Gordon turned back to his brothers. "It's been fun working with you, Fellas. Remember me while you're outside enjoying the sun and fresh air."

"Sun and fresh air?!" John snorted. "I wish!"

His father chuckled. "Under the circumstances, Gordon, I'm sure we can overlook your misdemeanour just this once."

"Really?!" Gordon beamed at his dad as if this were an unexpected reprieve. "Thanks!"

Alan laughed. He couldn't imagine his brother happy at being confined to his bed for three months. That would almost guarantee a loss of sanity.

And not necessarily Gordon's.

He watched his family, seeing the relaxed way that they were interacting with one another. He knew the almost euphoric relief that came after battling life or death situations and winning. He also knew that it had been months prior to his leaving when they'd last had the time and energy to be able to enjoy each other's company without any pressures or deadlines. Now they were revelling in the opportunity to finally relax. He was glad to see his family enjoying themselves.

Caught up in the exhilaration of the moment he asked: "What was wrong with Thunderbird Two?"

Everyone carried on talking as if they hadn't heard him.

The realisation that they hadn't felt like a hunk had been ripped out of his heart. It was moments like these when it really hit home how isolated he was. The only bonus was that his family couldn't see how much that loneliness hurt.

"The eruption was like a full-on camera flash," Scott was saying. "Everything just turned white and then I was seeing these weird psychedelic patterns. I felt like I was flying some kind of virtual reality simulator that had gone on the fritz."

"Instead of us all being stuck in Virgil's reality," Gordon sniggered.

Virgil sighed. "Gee. I've never heard that one before."

"Under normal flight conditions I could have kept her on an even flight path," Scott continued as if he hadn't been interrupted, "but these were by no stretch of the imagination normal."

John grinned at Alan/the camera. "So Virgil dumped him on the floor and reclaimed his throne for himself."

"I didn't have any option other than to 'dump him'," Virgil protested. "It was either that or crash. Scott understands."

"I do. And I was wondering which direction to start crawling when all of a sudden both of these guys," Scott indicated Jeff and Gordon, "grabbed me and pulled me onto the passenger seat."

Alan was surprised. He wouldn't have thought that either his father or Gordon would have had the strength to drag his big brother any distance. Jeff was getting stronger, but it was obvious that Gordon, although healthier than he had been when Virgil pulled him from Thunderbird Four, wasn't back to full fitness. While he was fully participating in this conversation, Alan noted that he'd lost his effervescence and wondered if it was because his brother was feeling the effects of the recent strains to his body or if the imminent detonation of his ACG was preying on his mind.

"Once I started to get my sight back I couldn't believe what was happening," Scott continued. "My eyes were telling me that Thunderbird Two was flying at an orientation which was simply impossible, and that had to mean that something more than my sight had gone on the fritz. So I closed my eyes to block out what had to be a visual lie and to try to work out what was really going on."

Virgil was grinning at his brother's reactions to his aerobatics. "And?"

"I could find no other explanation. Losing my hearing _and_ my sight had made me lose my mind."

Jeff snorted. "That's nothing, Scott. Try losing every sense you've got: sight, hearing, smell, speech, touch... Try losing all _that_ and attempt to hang on to your sanity."

At once his five sons switched their focus to him. "What are you talking about?" Scott demanded.

"Yeah," Virgil chimed in. "When did you lose all your senses?"

John tried to tap his father on the shoulder and his hand passed through the older man. "Did this happen during your mystery procedure?"

"Well…" and Alan imagined that Jeff gave himself a metaphorical kick. "No, I said I wouldn't tell you about that until Alan got home."

"You said you weren't going to tell us until you could tell Alan at the same time," Gordon reminded his father. "Alan's listening." And Alan saw a finger pointed in his direction.

"Yes, Dad," he chimed in, forgetting again that his father wouldn't hear him. "Tell us."

Recognising that his sons wouldn't give up until they knew all the facts, Jeff gave a resigned sigh. "All right…" He detailed the procedure and the frustrations of recovery.

"So that's why the videophone's camera 'wasn't working'!"

"...You've no idea how glad I was that you overrode my objections and got Kyrano to come and sit with me."

"Why didn't you tell us?" Virgil challenged.

"You had enough to worry about without wondering if I was going to survive and what state I would be in if I did. Don't forget this was an experimental procedure. No one had tried it before and there weren't any guarantees that it would be successful. The last thing you needed, while you were fighting to save the world, was to be wondering whether or not your old man had made the biggest mistake of his life."

Scott was shaking his head. "I'm surprised that Kyrano or Lady Penelope didn't give us the heads up so we had a chance to prepare mentally in case things didn't work out."

"I made them promise not to tell you until after Doomsday – whatever happened."

"You mean you made them promise to lie to us if you died or something?"

"Yes."

Alan was glad that his father couldn't see his reaction to the revelations.

"Anyway," Jeff continued, determined to shift the focus back to the reason why they were all sitting in the room together, "the day before yesterday, while things were going crazy, I was trying to visualise Thunderbird Two's blueprints and specs and nothing I could remember reassured me that she was capable of flying on her side or doing any of the other things she did. I can't believe that you actually attempted that manoeuvre, Virgil."

"I knew she could handle it."

"I didn't," Gordon announced. "I was ready to launch the ejector seat."

Virgil stared at his brother. "Thunderbird Two doesn't have an ejector seat."

"That's the reason why I didn't use it… But I was tempted to don a jetpack, grab a laser, and start cutting a hole when you dive-bombed that mountain…"

Dive-bombed a mountain? In Thunderbird Two!? Alan sat forward again, eager to hear more.

"You're getting ahead of yourself, Gordon," Virgil interrupted, much to Alan's disappointment. "Y'see, Alan, we'd been dolphining away from the lava fountain when the Earth's crust collapsed into itself and we, because we were flying at only a fraction of full power, were sucked into the rift. That was when we finally lost horizontal thrust."

Scott took up the story. "It wasn't until the air pressure had stabilised that Virgil was able to get enough lift to start dolphining again and give us forward momentum. At least that's what I _thought_ his plan was. What he actually did was start to gain altitude…"

"We climbed higher…" Gordon elaborated. "And higher."

"…until the radiation alert appeared on the windshield. Still we carried on climbing…"

"Higher…" Gordon echoed. "And higher…"

"The alert turned from light yellow…"

"…and higher..."

"...to deep yellow…"

"...and higher..."

"...to orange…"

"...and higher..."

"I think Alan's got the picture, Gordon...Anyway, the alert was about the same colour as Thunderbird Three and I was getting mighty worried…"

"We all were," Jeff admitted.

"I was ready to start yelling at Virgil," John stated. "Not that he would have heard me."

Virgil chuckled at his family's concerns. "I knew what I was doing. I had to make sure that we had the maximum height, so that when we started moving forward we would cover a lot of ground before we had to start ascending again."

Jeff turned to his middle son. "I realise that now, Virgil, but back then I wondered if maybe you'd hit your head harder than we thought during one of your tumbles. I was beginning to worry that maybe you weren't thinking as clearly as we hoped. The dilemma was: who was fit to take over from you? Gordon, although he wouldn't have admitted it at the time, clearly wasn't well enough. Scott had taken quite a few knocks during the rougher moments of the flight…"

"I was all right."

"Were you really? You didn't seem very steady on your feet."

"My ears were upsetting my sense of balance. I was fine when I was sitting."

"Maybe, but after that flash I wasn't convinced that you'd regained enough of your sight to pilot a plane safely. That only left me, and I wasn't capable…"

Scott snorted. "I should think that a man who could negotiate an air-to-air transfer and then land Thunderbird One with only a few minutes simulator training would have been more than capable."

Jeff turned back to the camera. "Anyway, Alan, by the time I'd analysed all that, the extreme radiation warning turned red and, much to my relief, Virgil dropped Two's nose and we were diving away from the radioactive cloud…" He paused for dramatic effect. "Straight towards the side of a mountain."

Gordon nodded. "And when Dad says straight, he means straight! We were heading for this _huge_ lump of rock!" He extended his arms as a visual aid.

"Bigger than that," Scott amended.

John chuckled. "While I was checking maps and GPS coordinates and wondering if maybe something was showing on my charts that wasn't there anymore. I thought that perhaps the eruption had already blown the hill to smithereens."

"No such luck," Jeff began. "The mountain was getting closer and closer...

"And closer," Gordon echoed. "And closer."

"Don't start that again," John groaned.

Virgil laughed and leant towards the camera. "These guys might not have believed it, Alan, but I had a plan. I knew that Thunderbird Two's missiles would be powerful enough to take out the top third of that mountain and that, so long as we didn't lose too much height, we'd be home free. The way the eruption was following us I figured the hill was doomed anyway, so it didn't matter if it met its end a couple of seconds earlier."

"I've gotta admit, Virg," Scott added, "that wasn't a bad bit of piloting."

"It wasn't _bad_?"

"Well... I suppose it was quite good." Scott glanced at Gordon as if seeking confirmation. "What do you think?"

Gordon gave a solemn nod. "_Quite good_ covers it."

"_Quite_ _good_?!" Virgil seemed hurt by the comments, but Alan knew that this was as much an act as their brothers' lack of enthusiasm.

Jeff chuckled. "Stop teasing your brother, Boys."

"Why?" Gordon asked. "When it's such fun."

Scott nudged Gordon. "Perhaps we've understated it a bit?"

Gordon shrugged. "Maybe. What do you think? Should we ramp it up a little?"

"Okay."

As one, both brothers knelt on the floor, bowing low before Virgil, who, Alan could tell, was enjoying the adulation. "Hail the greatest pilot who ever lived," they chorused.

Scott stood, dusting his trousers down. "At least until I get the chance to prove that I can do your landing."

Virgil laughed.

Jeff continued the narration as if there hadn't been the interruption. "You've no idea, Alan, how glad we were to finally be sailing out over the Pacific Ocean towards freedom."

Alan thought he could imagine.

John grinned, before turning to another brother. "You know, I've just thought of something, Gordon. You've got to be jinxed. You've crashed and burned in both of your last two missions."

"Jinxed?!" Gordon shook his head. "Me? No way! Both Thunderbirds Four and Two made it back to base because I was on board. If it wasn't for me everyone would be fried at the bottom of the Yelcho chasm… I..." he settled back with a look of triumphant smugness, "am a lucky charm."

"Something had to be," Scott muttered.

"See, John, Scotty agrees with me."

"But I'm not saying it was you, Gordon. I survived two crashing planes. And remember it was Virg who saved your life last time, _and_ all our lives this time."

"Does that make me the lucky charm?"

"You've got to be lucky, Virgil," Jeff growled, "The way you were throwing Two around, I was wondering what the heck you were doing…" Jeff glanced at his eldest. "And why Scott wasn't saying something to stop you."

"I didn't say anything because I was waiting for you to say something. You're the boss."

"Not when we're on a mission. You're the Rescue Co-ordinator."

"When Virgil's piloting and I'm a passenger, he's in charge."

Virgil grinned. "I'll remember that next time,"

"Anyway, Alan." Once again Jeff attempted to bring things back on track. "Braman appears to have done his job, and we're not going to have a repeat of the Cobaltium 5 incident. The pressures acting on the South American Plate have largely dissipated, although the SHAKER is reporting the possibility of lesser quakes around the 6th November in the vicinity of La Serena. The Chilean government is already setting plans in place to evacuate the city's inhabitants."

John, for some reason that wasn't immediately obvious to those participating in the conversation, stood, took two steps to his right, and vanished.

He reappeared a moment later.

"A ghost!" In mock terror Gordon hid behind his dad. "It's a haunting!"

"I thought you might be interested, Gordon," John began in the patient voice that he reserved for this particular brother, "Thunderbird Five's just received a signal from the Mariana Trench ACG. It's going to detonate within the quarter hour."

"It is!?" His playacting forgotten, Gordon was on his feet and, like his brother from only moments earlier, appeared to vanish into thin air. His disembodied "'Scuse me" was the only reminder of his presence.

Alan watched as his earthbound relatives turned to look at some invisible entity. "It's nearly time?" Jeff asked Thunderbird Three's blank cabin wall.

"Yes." And Alan felt his pulse quicken at the sound of his wife's voice. "Brains has set up a computer in the lounge to record what happens."

"Good. Thanks, Honey." Jeff turned back to face his son/the camera. "We'd better go, Alan, but we'll report in as soon as we have news."

"I'll send you blow-by-blow text reports," John promised. "It'll be quicker than trying to patch you through the video link."

"Thanks, John," Alan replied; forgetting for a moment the reason why these communication variations were necessary.

Tin-Tin materialised onto Thunderbird Three's flight-deck, pushing Jeff's walker before her. "Hello, Alan." Slightly out of focus, she smiled at the camera as she placed the frame in front of its owner.

"Thank you, Tin-Tin," Jeff grasped the walker's handles. "We'll talk to you later, Alan." He hurried out of the room.

With a hasty "Bye, Alan," his sons followed.

Tin-Tin watched her family leave before blowing a kiss towards her husband. "I will send you a message soon, Darling."

"I'll look forward to it."

There was a beep from Thunderbird Three's console and the hologram disappeared.

And Alan was alone again...

-F-A-B-

Gordon hurried into the lounge. "Has it happened yet?!"

Surrounded by Lady Penelope, Parker, and Kyrano, Brains looked up from where he was fiddling with the computer on Jeff's desk. "N-No. Not yet, Gordon."

"How long?"

Reeling from the shout, Brains leant back in the seat. He checked his watch. "I-I would think just over ten minutes."

Gordon seemed unaware that he'd cranked up his voice's volume. "Is it on target?"

"Y-Yes."

"Will it be deep enough?"

"I-I believe so."

"Will it…"

"Gordon," Brains held up his hand to silence his friend. "You are, ah, shouting again."

"I am?"

"Yes."

"Sorry."

"Relax, Gordon," his father instructed as, closely followed by the rest of the family, he pushed his walker into the room. "Brains will know the answers at the same time we will. Interrogating him won't make your ACG detonate any sooner or more effectively." Thanking the engineer he claimed his seat at his desk.

Gordon looked like he was about to argue, but decided to hold his tongue.

"'E seems h-a bit h-excited," Parker murmured to his mistress.

Lady Penelope agreed. "And his hearing loss is making him even more vociferous."

Most of the Tracys weren't aware of the whispered conversation.

"I hope everyone's heeded our warnings." Scott, displaying traces of the anxiety that they all felt, went to sit on the corner of the desk before changing his mind and standing again. "Have the governments of those countries likely to be affected told their citizens to get to safe areas?"

Virgil had chosen to sit at the closed piano. "If they haven't we could be creating our own disasters. And we're not in any shape to help anyone. If only we'd had time to fix Thunderbird Two!"

Gordon flopped into one of the chairs. "And Thunderbird Four."

Unaware that he was fidgeting, Scott shifted the pen caddy so he could sit again. "And Thunderbird One." The caddy was replaced and he remained standing.

"I feel underprepared too, Boys," Jeff conceded. "But there is nothing we can do about it." He turned back to International Rescue's engineer. "What are we looking at, Brains?" He indicated where his sons' portraits normally resided. Now the screens, except for where John looked down on them, were white with two horizontal black lines bisecting them.

"I-I've, er," uncomfortable with being shouted in his ear, Brains inched away. "I h-have linked International Rescue's computers with various seismographs around the western Pacific. Scott's portrait is the readout from the Mariana Trench." He pointed at the screen as both black lines produced small squiggles. "Th-That's just, ah, normal seismic activity… Virgil's portrait shows the seismograph located in Manila. Alan's is Guam. And yours, Gordon, is Tracy Island."

"Tracy Island?" Lady Penelope enquired. "Surely you are not anticipating any earthquakes this far away?"

Brains stared at her through his thick spectacles. "I do not know what to expect, L-Lady Penelope. Th-There are no guarantees that some form of s-seismic activity won't occur about the Pacific Plate. I can only suggest that we prepare for the worst and hope for the best." He indicated the screens. "The top line denotes the faster longitudinal primary P-waves. The lower line denotes transverse secondary S-waves. Should we feel the direct effects of the detonation the P-wave will give us some 12 minutes warning before the S-wave hits."

"You're expecting the energy of the blast to travel thousands of kilometres through the Earth?" Scott queried. "I'd always assumed that if we're going to feel any 'quakes they'll be secondary to the initial explosion as Doomsday's power dissipates... A kind of ripple effect."

Brains shrugged. "L-Like I said, Scott, I honestly don't know what to expect." He turned back to his employer. "Y-Your computer, Mr Tracy, is linked directly to the acoustic concussion generator. W-We will know when it is ready to detonate."

Jeff looked at the screen before him. On the left side numbers ticked down while those on the right were increasing. "And when will that be?"

Brains was wishing he'd worn earplugs. He pointed at a series that was steadily growing larger. "When that reaches 50,000."

Everyone's concentration zeroed in on the number on the computer screen: 49,955.

49,960

49,965

Gordon gnawed his lip. "The suspense is killing me."

49,975

49,980

John sent a silent message into space. _Still counting down._

49,990

49,995

The counter ticked over again.

49,996

49,997

"49,998," Scott breathed. "Come on..."

49,999...

50,000

50,001

Disbelieving, everyone stared at the numbers.

50,002

"Why hasn't it detonated?" Gordon demanded, leaping to his feet. "Something should have happened by now!"

50,004

"D-D-Do not p-panic, G-G-Gordon" Brains' exacerbated stutter betrayed his inner concerns.

50,007

50,008

"I-I-It could be th-that the c-c-computer's not c-c-calibrated c-c-correctly. W-We d-did not have t-time t-to f-fully test the s-system before d-deployment."

"I'm sure that's all it is, Brains," Jeff soothed.

50,012

50,013

_50014 m deep_, John typed._ Nothing's happened._

50,016

50,01...

The computer monitor exploded with a new range of numbers and readings. The two black lines where Scott's portrait should have been leapt off the screen and back again. The top lines on first Alan's and then Virgil's pictures lurched, seconds before the lower ones started dancing an echo.

"What's happened?" Gordon shouted. "Has it worked?"

_ACG's exploded. Waiting results._

"It appeared to be quite violent," Lady Penelope commented. "More so than I would have expected."

"Me too," Jeff agreed. "What can you tell us, Brains?" He dodged a flying elbow as the engineer typed furiously into the keyboard.

"The ACG detonated at, er, fifty th-thousand, zero hundred, sixteen point four six metres. The magnitude of the shake at its epicentre was... 9.2 on the Richter Scale..." Brained looked up from the computer screen. "We've started a chain reaction." Scott's portrait's lines shimmied across their screen.

_M9.2 50016km deep_, John typed and sent the message to Alan. _Many aftershocks_ he added.

There were many aftershocks. The lines on the middle three screens were jumping about like inchworms on speed.

Scott tried to lean in so he could see over Brains' shoulder. "What's being felt on the surface?"

"Major earthquake activity," Brains admitted.

_Earthquakes around the epicentre_

Jeff frowned. "Strong earthquakes?"

"R-Relatively. The s-southern islands of Japan have just recorded a 5.5 magnitude quake."

_Japan hit by 5.5_

"Enough to give everyone a fright, but not enough to cause major damage to a country prepared for seismic events," Scott mused. "But what about countries that don't experience a lot of seismic activity? Have any been affected."

Brains squinted at the computer screen. "Some."

"Damage?"

"No reports as yet."

_No reports of damage yet_

"Any reports of tsunamis?" Virgil asked.

Brains allowed himself a small smile of relief. "No. The epicentre was too deep and there was no subsidence to the seabed."

_No tsunami_

"H-I don' want ta worry h-anyone," Parker began. "But Mister Gordon's pitcha's doin' a fandango."

Parker's 'fandango' had taken the form of the P-wave on the last screen in the row becoming active in a way that brought alarm to those watching.

"Take cover!" Jeff ordered, forcing himself off his chair and under his desk.

There was barely time to react before the shock hit. It was as if a giant, wielding a supersized hammer, had sent the complex reverberating with a single blow to the side of the villa.

One of the oriental statues swayed, toppled, and fell with a crash.

The patio doors bowed; only their Thunderbird One-proof plexiglass construction keeping them intact.

The baby grand piano, its strings complaining discordantly, juddered across its platform until one leg slipped off the edge.

Alan's couch, designed to transport its human cargo to Thunderbird Three, dropped a few inches into the floor.

With an eerie rattle, Scott's pivoting door wobbled on its axis, flashing glimpses of a damaged Thunderbird One.

Virgil's rocket painting lurched backwards before its frame warped, trapping the picture at a 45 degree angle.

And then all was still.

John hesitated before sending a message, wondering if Alan needed to know this bit of news. Anxious, he watched as his family recovered from the quake.

Coughing against the plaster dust that filled the air, Scott uncurled himself from his protective crouch. "Is everyone all right?"

Virgil had dived underneath the piano at the first sign of trouble and had clung to the legs, following its path as it had walked across the floor. He pulled himself out from beneath the lopsided instrument. "Anybody hurt?"

"'Scuse me, m'Lady." Parker removed himself from where he'd thrown himself on her ladyship's personage to protect her. "Are you h-all right?"

"Thank you, Parker. I am perfectly fine." Lady Penelope accepted his hand and got to her feet. "And you?"

"Bloomin' loverly."

"Brains?" Jeff found himself almost nose to nose with his young friend as they crouched together under the desk. "Are you all right?"

"Y-Yes, Sir. And you?"

"I'm okay." Jeff allowed himself to be assisted from his shelter. "Gordon? Are you all right?"

"I'm fine…" Gordon coughed. "That's the closest I've ever come to literally bringing the house down." He stood gingerly and stretched.

There was a cry of alarm as Kyrano fell to his knees at his daughter's side. "Saya Anak Perempuan!"

Tin-Tin lay curled in a foetal ball, her arms clasped about her abdomen. She made a kind of retching noise.

"My daughter!" Her father gabbled something in Malay. "Tin-Tin!" He took her hand, needing to reassure himself that she was unhurt. "Bercakap! Speak to me."

"Bai...klah... I… 'm… all… right," she gasped.

"You are hurt," he insisted. "The baby…" He glanced wildly over his shoulder. "Mister Brains!"

"No…" Desperate to relive her father's anxieties, Tin-Tin struggled to a sitting position. "Tiada, *gasp* Bapa."

An aftershock ran through the complex, but no one reacted. Their concerns were focussed on the pregnant woman.

Scott crouched next to her. "Tin-Tin…"

She managed a weak smile. "The quake pushed me… hard… against the table… Winded me…" She rubbed her tummy, wincing at the bruise she felt. "Give me a… moment to…" she gulped, "get my breath back."

"I know you're going to call me a mother hen, but this time I'm making no excuses. Let Brains have a look at you."

"No," Tin-Tin repeated. "I'm fine." Determined to prove it she attempted to regain her feet.

"No, Tin-Tin!" Kyrano reached out to his daughter to stop her. "You must rest."

"Father…"

Tin-Tin would have protested more vehemently if Scott hadn't also placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Please, Tin-Tin. You've got us all worried."

"But…"

"If you're not willing to be checked over for your, or the baby's sake, then at least do it so we can reassure Alan that you're both okay."

Tin-Tin hesitated. She looked at her father's pleading eyes. Then she nodded.

Without waiting for permission, Scott picked her up as easily as he would a feather pillow. "We'll meet you in the infirmary, Brains. Would you lead the way, Kyrano?"

His expression that of a rabbit caught in the headlights, Kyrano nodded. He hurried ahead, glancing back frequently to reassure himself that his beloved daughter was safe and well.

But Brains didn't move.

"Brains?" Jeff queried. "Didn't you hear him? Scott asked you to join them in the infirmary."

Brains opened his mouth to speak, emitting a kind of croak. "Ti'-'in?"

Jeff touched him on the arm. "Are you sure you're all right, Son? You're looking pale."

"I… er…" Brains cast a wild look towards the door. "I… I don't think…"

The others understood his misgivings. "It's only Tin-Tin," Virgil soothed. "And she's one of the family. Just pretend it's one of us."

Brains looked at him as if he was mad.

"Don't think about it," Gordon suggested. "You did worse things to me the other day and didn't bat an eyelid."

Wishing that another quake would open up the ground beneath his feet and swallow him up, Brains turned his haunted look to him.

"Treat Tin-Tin like you would anyone else," Jeff instructed. "Start with the basics: pulse, breathing etc. You can handle that, can't you?"

Brains managed a slow nod.

"Perhaps I may be of assistance," Lady Penelope offered. "I do not have a lot of medical knowledge, but I can follow instructions."

Brains mouthed a "thank you". He swallowed.

"I realise that obstetrics is not exactly your area of expertise," Jeff soothed, "so don't be afraid to call in outside help. Tell the truth. We are living on this island and got caught out by an earthquake caused by International Rescue's Doomsday device." Another earthquake shimmied through the house. "No need to say that we're the ones who caused those quakes."

Brains nodded again.

"I'm sure the baby's fine," Jeff continued, reasoning that having supported his wife through five pregnancies he should be offer able to some comfort. He wracked his brain, trying to remember what he'd learnt all those years ago. "It's wrapped up in a shockproof cocoon custom-made to protect it. I'll wager that in there it's got more protection than anything any man's invented, including you."

His mind dwelling on where that cocoon was situated, Brains went even whiter.

"You might only have to listen to the foetal heartbeat and send a report through to the experts," Jeff concluded. "And I'm sure Lady Penelope can hold the stethoscope."

"I know I can do that." Lady Penelope extended her hand towards the door. "Shall we go?"

Scott stepped into the room, a small frown of frustration on his face. "Brains? Why are you still here? I thought you were going to meet us in the infirmary."

"We are," Lady Penelope confirmed, "and we should not keep Tin-Tin waiting any longer." She took the frozen scientist by the arm. "Come along, Brains," she said, her voice as gentle, but resolute, as her touch.

Scott stood aside as the pair left the room; Brains walking with the stilted steps of an automaton. "What's wrong with him?"

It was Gordon who offered the apology for their friend. "He's, er, worried that he'll have to boldly go where no man has gone before… Except Alan."

"What?" Scott's frown deepened before it cleared. "Oh… I see..." He shoved his hands into his pockets. "I'd feel the same way."

An aftershock rolled through the room.

"You'd boys had better start checking the complex," Jeff commanded. "See if there's any structural damage."

Already planning, Scott nodded his agreement. "The Thunderbirds are out of action anyway, so we'll leave their hangars until later…" He grabbed some tablet PCs, holding them out to his brothers. "Gordon: You take the recreation areas."

"F-A-B."

_Wellington New Zealand feeling minor quakes. Largest 3.9_

"Virgil: the laboratory and workshop."

"Right." Virgil made a note on his tablet.

_Anchorage Alaska reporting 3.6_

Scott turned to his father. "Do you want to inspect the living area?"

"I can manage that."

_Hawaii 4.4_

"And I'll check the runway and aircraft in case we need to evacuate."

_Okinawa hit by 4.9_

"'Ow about me, Mister Scott," Parker offered. "Can I 'elp?"

_Los Angeles 3.2_

"We'd appreciate that Parker. Can you check the kitchen? The cupboards will probably be a mess and there could be food everywhere. If we want to eat later we'll need to get that cleaned up ASAP. If you see any damage let Father know."

"Okie-doke."

"Pardon?"

"H-I said..." Parker raised his voice. "Not h-a problem!"

"Thanks."

All the way through the drama John had continued to send informative reports to Alan, while shying away from telling him what was happening at home. He wondered how he was going to explain what had happened without worrying the expectant father.

Jeff noticed his typing. "Have you said anything to Alan about Tin-Tin?"

"No. I've been trying to work out how to phrase it without scaring him."

"Don't say anything," Jeff ordered. "Not until we know a more about her condition."

"But I've got to say something about what's happened there. How about..." John bit his lip then started to type. _Island was hit by a 5.2. Investigations underway to ensure no serious damage_." He looked back at the video screen. "How does that sound?"

"Truthful without being overly alarming. Send it, John."

"F-A-B."

The message was beamed out into space...

_To be continued..._


	42. Chapter 42 - Brickbats and Bouquets

**Chapter 42: Brickbats and Bouquets.**

_Sunday 22__nd__ October 2079_

_International Rescue. Heroes or villains? That's what some seem to ask today. Now, barely 24 hours after the second of International Rescue's bombs detonated, igniting earthquakes right across the Pacific Plate and beyond, some are calling for International Rescue to be prosecuted for the damage that was caused as a direct result of their actions. Others are lauding the organisation, pointing out that the scale of damage inflicted is nothing compared to that which The World would have endured should Doomsday have been allowed to proceed unchecked._

_The question most often being asked is why wasn't The World given more warning? Why weren't the peoples of the Pacific told of the potential threat to life and limb? International Rescue had to have known their plans for at least two months before the World President made the announcement to The World. The World clearly wasn't given adequate time to prepare for the catastrophe that International Rescue must have known was going to befall them._

_It is those who live in the vicinity of the Mariana Trench who are the most concerned. International Rescue's bomb was reported to have been blasted into the bottom of the Challenger Deep, the deepest point in the world's oceans, ultimately exploding some forty kilometres below the seabed. The resulting earthquake, registering 9.3 on the Richter scale, was fairly benign on the surface; but locals fear that, based on past evidence, there will be a possibility of a magnitude 8-plus quake sometime in the next year. Should this massive aftershock be much shallower, it could cause a tsunami, wiping out many coastal settlements across the Pacific._

_On the other side of the globe, those who do not have to face the threat posed by International Rescue's efforts are applauding the success of their endeavours. The massive stresses that had been building up in the Pacific's Tectonic Plate have been released deeper inside the Earth's crust; or else broken down into smaller, less catastrophic events. Those who will not have to face the literal upheavals that are the direct result of International Rescue's actions are calling for the secretive organisation to be awarded the highest honours possible…_

Jeff Tracy sighed and laid down his newspaper. What did the people of "The World" want? To face almost certain annihilation? Or to be given the chance to live? Maybe International Rescue could have warned people earlier, but was giving out false hope any better than no hope?

And would people have listened? One of the most vociferous opponents to his organisation's efforts had been the Premier of a tiny landlocked country on the edge of the Pacific Plate. And this Premier, Jeff found it galling to even think about, had ignored the World President's warnings and, clearly thinking of the billions of dollars of aid that was bound to come rolling in, had done nothing to prepare his citizens for the potential catastrophe. Fortunately for those citizens, that part of the plate had remained relatively inert.

For the first time Jeff understood some of the frustrations that had caused his sons to shut down International Rescue all those years ago.

Strangely though, his sons didn't seem to be concerned that according to the press a large portion of the planet's population regarded them with almost revulsion. Nor did the fact that every so often their own home quivered and shook worry them. All they were fixated on was the fact that they'd succeeded in lessening the threat that was Doomsday, that there were still three ACGs to detonate, that one of those ACGs was probably a dud, and that most importantly…

Stretched out on a deckchair, in the shade of the palm trees by the water's edge, Tin-Tin was enjoying a moment's peace and quiet. She tensed when she heard footsteps before, telling herself to be polite to the intruder, opening her eyes. She recognised her visitor and, relieved, smiled. "Hello, Lady Penelope."

"Hello, Tin-Tin, dear. May I join you?"

Tin-Tin extended her hand to the deckchair next to her. "Please do."

"Thank you." Lady Penelope descended into the chair. "I know that it is only spring in this part of the world, and I suppose that I am yet to acclimatise, but there are times when I find the weather here abominably hot!"

Tin-Tin watched as the other lady made herself comfortable. At the beginning of their relationship she had found Lady Penelope unapproachable and, because of the other's reputation, almost frightening. As time had passed she had come to realise that this had been as a result of her own attitude towards someone of title, and that "'er Ladyship" was a person that she could talk to easily. And once Grandma Tracy's death had left them the only two female members who'd been admitted to International Rescue's inner circle, that bond between them had strengthened into a full-blown friendship.

Tin-Tin remembered the jealousy that she had felt towards her friend two months earlier and regretted it. In light of that jealousy this question was going to almost be rude, but there was no one else she could turn to. "May I ask a favour of you, Lady Penelope?"

"A favour?" Lady Penelope cooled herself with a delicate pink fan. "Of course you may, my dear. What is it?"

Tin-Tin sat up on the side of the deck chair. "The Tracys…" She made a sound of annoyance when her watch chimed. "Hello, John."

"Hiya, Tin-Tin. How are you feeling today?"

"I am feeling as well as I did when you contacted me this morning… And at lunchtime… And at afternoon tea time…"

Her sarcasm seemed to go over her brother-in-law's head. "That's good." John must have heard the sounds of the waves. "Are you down on the beach?"

"Yes."

"Do you need anything? I could send a message to your father or one of the others and ask them to bring it down to you."

"No. Thank you, John, but I am all right. And if I did want something I am capable of getting it myself."

"I just thought, you know, that I could save you the effort. You know the saying: _why have a dog and do the barking yourself?_"

"I know."

"As I don't have much else to do up here, I thought I could do the barking for you."

Tin-Tin didn't smile at his joke. "I appreciate the thought."

"So is there anything you need?"

"No, thank you. I have no need of anything. I will talk to you tomorrow. Goodbye, John." And before he had the chance to respond she switched off the watch.

There was a light laugh from her companion. "Is he being a little overprotective?"

"Not only him; all of them!" Tin-Tin exclaimed. "That is what I wanted to ask you. Would you mind talking to my family? Remind them that my obstetrician gave me a complete examination yesterday and has confirmed that my baby and I are both healthy. Tell them that I'm not ill. Tell them that I have nothing wrong with me and neither does the baby! Tell them that if I need their help I will ask them for it, but I don't need each and every one of them wrapping me in cotton wool for the duration of my pregnancy!" She realised that she was sounding slightly hysterical and took a deep breath. "They respect you, Lady Penelope, and they will listen to you."

"You gave them a fright the other day," Lady Penelope reminded her.

"I know," Tin-Tin sighed.

"And not only your family, but all of us."

"I know," Tin-Tin repeated. "And I was scared too. I was frightened that I had lost my baby; that Alan would never get to know his child! I was _terrified_!"

Lady Penelope reached over and touched her friend's hand. "I am sure you were," she agreed softly.

"I didn't want Brains to tell me the worst."

Lady Penelope hid a smile as she recollected that Brains had given every appearance of being just as alarmed, although for totally different reasons. "I can't imagine how frightening it must have been for you… But you can understand why your family are concerned for your welfare?"

"I can understand it," Tin-Tin admitted. "It's just that it was bad enough when Alan was here and we were trying to keep it secret from everyone else. He and my father were forever checking up on me. And now that Alan's gone I thought I might get some peace, but instead the pressure's increased tenfold…"

"Tin-Tin…?"

Tin-Tin grimaced. Then she plastered a smile on her face and turned to her three brothers-in-law approaching from the villa. "Yes, Scott?"

"It's been a warm day. Are you sure you're not too hot out here?"

"Quite sure, Scott."

"Are you too cold?" Virgil suggested helpfully. "One of us could get you a blanket."

"No, thank you, Virgil. I do not need a blanket."

"Would you like something to drink, or eat?" Gordon enquired. "We could be up to the house and back in a flash."

"Thank you, Gordon, but no. I am not hungry and I am not thirsty."

Scott seemed determined to be of assistance, despite Tin-Tin's equal determination that she needed none. "Is there anything else we can get you?"

"Perhaps once Tin-Tin and I have finished our conversation," Lady Penelope informed him, sitting up on her chair. "Now… Tin-Tin… What was it that your obstetrician said? It sounded positively frightful!"

The three Tracy men turned scarlet. As one they took a step backwards, before, almost as if it was a dance routine, they turned on their heels and walked away; Scott upsetting the choreography long enough to call over his shoulder: "If you need anything, Tin-Tin, we'll be on the beach."

Tin-Tin gave a sigh of exasperation. "See what I mean?"

"I do." Lady Penelope watched as the three Tracys retreated to the water's edge; far enough away to not be intrusive, but close enough that they could be at Tin-Tin's side at a moment's notice. "What is it about men that at the first hint of anything to do with the female body, so long as it does not involve their own pleasure, they run a mile?"

Tin-Tin giggled. "Oh, I so know what you mean. I learnt long ago that if I ordered in any 'supplies'," she waggled her fingers to indicate the quotation marks, "I had to get the store to disguise them by packing them in an unrelated box. One day, before we started operations, I went down to the hangar, only to discover the five of them standing around the pallet, looking at this solitary carton as if it were a bomb about to explode. It was almost as though they were trying to decide which one of them was brave enough to sacrifice himself and the Firefly to deliver the box to my room!"

"The fearless men of International Rescue," Lady Penelope laughed. "Do not worry, Tin-Tin. I will tell them that you are not about to get an attack of the vapours and collapse into a deep sleep, unable to be awoken until Alan returns and kisses you."

"Thank you."

Surprised by her friend's lack of appreciation of the humorous quip, Lady Penelope frowned. "Tin-Tin? What is wrong?" Despite the previous conversation, she felt a flutter of anxiety. "Is there something you haven't told us?"

Tin-Tin looked down at where her hands were lying in her lap. "I owe you an apology."

Lady Penelope raised a delicate eyebrow. "An apology? Why?"

"I… I don't want to use the fact that I was tired, and stressed, and my hormones were probably going crazy as an excuse, but there has to be some rational explanation, and that's the only explanation I can come up with, because I know I wasn't being rational." Tin-Tin stopped; unwilling to continue her confession.

The eyebrow had taken a graceful nose dive along with its partner. "I am unaware of anything that you need to apologise for."

"I… Oh, I know it was stupid and it had to be the hormones talking, but… A couple of months ago… I… I accused you and Alan of having an affair."

Both eyebrows headed skywards again.

"I am sorry."

"You accused me of having an affair with your husband?"

Tin-Tin, studying her hands, nodded.

"Nothing could be further than the truth." Lady Penelope cast her mind back to some weeks earlier. "Was this at a time when Parker and I visited you all here?"

Tin-Tin nodded again.

"I thought that something was not quite right between you and me, nor between you and Alan; but I could not put my finger on what it was. You and I didn't get the opportunity to talk because you were busy and I, ah, I had other things on my mind... But why would you think that I and Alan were having an affair?"

"I know now that he had asked you to find evidence against Marina to help Gordon divorce her, but at that time he was keeping it a secret from me." Tin-Tin bit her lip. "I thought that… with this…" she rubbed her belly, "I was becoming ugly and Alan didn't love me any longer. And then I saw things… And heard things… Not enough to learn the truth, but enough to put two and two together and get the wrong number. I should have trusted Alan." Contrite, Tin-Tin looked at her friend. "And I should have trusted you. Instead I let my imagination run away with me."

"Is Alan aware of your concerns?"

"Eventually… On the day he accused me of having an affair with Gordon."

"What!?" If anything Lady Penelope seemed more surprised with this revelation than she had been with Tin-Tin's other admission.

"Like you, I was helping Gordon," Tin-Tin admitted. "He needed someone to talk to about his life with Marina and he felt he couldn't share it with his brothers. I was a willing listener. I promised Gordon that I would not tell Alan what I was told, so I lied to him about our meetings; just as he lied to me about why he was so interested in you." Angry with herself, Tin-Tin clenched her fists. "Lying is wrong! I am never lying again!"

"Sometimes it is necessary to bend the truth in order to protect those you love," Lady Penelope reminded her. "In our case it is necessary to serve International Rescue."

"I know."

"Plus, there are those of us who need to lie to hide away who we really are and what we really do." Lady Penelope gazed out over the ocean. "Even if it means denying oneself the happiness that others are free to enjoy." She refocused on her friend. "Do not let what happened in the past worry you, Tin-Tin. Our friendship is strong enough to withstand the occasional misunderstanding."

Tin-Tin felt a profound sense of relief. "Thank you." She sighed.

"You are really missing Alan, aren't you?"

"I am. Sometimes I miss him so much that it hurts. I have to remind myself that he's doing this so that our child," Tin-Tin looked tenderly down at the slight bulge in her tummy, "will have a life. Then I feel so proud to be the wife of such a brave man that that hurts too."

Lady Penelope smiled.

Tin-Tin settled back into her chair. "Do you wish you had a man in your life?"

Lady Penelope's eyes twinkled. "You mean apart from Parker...? No, I have been master and mistress in my own house for too long to think about admitting a man into it." Her cell phone chirped and she withdrew it from her bag to read the text. "Ralph," she sighed. "He's checking up on me again."

Tin-Tin couldn't help but giggle at the idea of someone checking up on Lady Penelope. "He seems very fond of you."

Lady Penelope gave a light laugh. "Oh, yes. Off and on. For a time he'll idolise me until he realises that I only require his friendship, then he'll move on to another before, after what he considers to be a suitable period of time, he'll return to me again... Only to be disappointed."

"I am curious." Tin-Tin fanned herself with her hat. "Please, tell me about him."

"Well..." Lady Penelope took a moment to think. "His family and mine have known each other for generations; although not always from the same side of the political divide. There have been so many clashes in Great Britain and Europe over the years that it seemed that our families were destined forever to be at odds. That was until one of his ancestors married one of mine and brought the two families together. Of course family lore is that the marriage between our ancestors was not exactly a love match. But in those days family honour was more important than a woman's rights and Margerye Foxe had no say as to whether or not she was going to spend the rest of her life with Josias Croydorne. However they did, ah, 'made a go of it' and produced offspring which, with the help of several erroneous entries in parish registers, diverged into the 'Creighton' and 'Cockburn' lines."

Tin-Tin was surprised. "You are related?"

Once again Lady Penelope laughed. "Oh, yes. The European aristocracy is so interbred that it is a wonder that we don't all have a third ear growing out of the middle of our forehead."

Tin-Tin giggled. "Is he good looking?"

Lady Penelope's gaze drifted down to where the Tracys, muscles rippling beneath their shirts, were skimming stones. "It depends on your definition of good looking. He isn't your stereotypical _tall, dark and handsome_, although he does have attractive features." She thought for a moment. "He reminds me of a spider."

This piqued Tin-Tin's curiosity. "A spider?"

"Yes, a spider. Continuously circling my web and plucking at it in the hope of attracting my attentions. But never quite sure if, when I do notice him, I will make love to him or devour him."

"Maybe he sees a quality in you that you do not see in yourself?"

"I do not think so," Lady Penelope admitted. "Besides, I would not be good for him. Ralph would be quite horrified if he knew that I enjoy more active pursuits than needlepoint."

"He does not know about your true identity?"

"No. Ralph lives in his own little cocoon and ignores anything that happens in the outside world… Aside from Doomsday, of course. He has invited me to a party he is holding on November first to celebrate International Rescue's success. The theme is Chaos."

"Chaos?"

"The state of the universe before it was created, according to the ancient Greeks. Ralph's theory is that after the darkness of Doomsday, the world will be starting life anew. Parker's theory is that Ralph is hoping that I'll wear a short chiton so that he can," her voice slipped into a reasonable facsimile of Parker's cockney twang, "_'ave a gander at me legs._"

Tin-Tin laughed at her friend's unexpected change in vocal class.

"I am afraid that I had to scold Parker for being disrespectful," Lady Penelope stated, reverting back to her usual measured tones. "But he is quite right, of course."

"And you don't mind that?"

"I can handle Ralph. And my chiton shall reach my ankles."

Tin-Tin giggled. "So you do not want a spider. Then what kind of man would you like? A lion?"

"Dear me, no," Lady Penelope exclaimed. "Someone who lazes around, expecting me to do all the work; until the time arrives when a younger male arrives who threatens to usurp his place in my life? No, thank you. I do not need a man as a permanent fixture. I am a tigress, Tin-Tin. I parade through the jungle looking beautiful and graceful, but get too close to me and I'll bare my teeth and claws and rip you to shreds."

"It seems to me that Ralph has a better opinion of you than you have of yourself."

"Ralph doesn't have opinions."

"I cannot believe that you really wish to go through life alone." Once again Tin-Tin gazed down at the three men on the beach. Gordon sounded like he was planning a swim in the ocean, and Scott and Virgil, probably because of their brother's recent poor health and damaged eardrums, appeared to be trying to persuade him otherwise. All three, overcompensating for their temporary hearing loss, were talking at volume. "What about them? Couldn't you see yourself living out the rest of your days with one of them at your side?"

Lady Penelope regarded the Tracys. "I am of the opinion that both Gordon and Scott may be a little gun shy at the moment."

"You may be right." Tin-Tin gave a regretful nod.

"Do you know what happened between Virgil and Kasey?"

"No. Do you?"

"No."

"What about John?"

"What about him?"

Tin-Tin made an exasperated sound. "Could he be someone you can see yourself in a long term relationship with?"

The hint of a knowing smile touched Lady Penelope's lips. "I believe that he has another lady showing on his radar…"

"Really?!"

"And that she may feel the same way…"

Suddenly excited, Tin-Tin swung her legs around and sat on the side of the chair. "Who?!"

"It is not my place to say. What little evidence I have observed leads me to believe neither has been in a position to admit their feelings to the other… Of course it may well be that I am misreading the signs."

"Oh, I do hope that you are not wrong," Tin-Tin sighed. "John's spent too much time alone over the years. He deserves to have someone to share his life with."

"I agree. But it would be unfair to mention this to him when it is still some months before he will be able to take matters, and this lady, into his own hands."

"My lips are sealed," Tin-Tin promised. "But I hope this woman does feel the same way about him. I mean, who wouldn't? He's like his brothers and look at them." She indicated the men on the beach. "Brave... Intelligent... Caring..." Gordon had won his argument and the three Tracys stripped off their shirts in preparation for a run into the sea. They, even Gordon, were fit and toned, and now that they weren't trapped inside all day their skin had lost its grey pallor and was glowing with health. "Sexy..." she breathed.

"Tin-Tin!" Lady Penelope pretended to be shocked. "You should be ashamed of yourself! May I remind you that you are a happily married woman and, not only that, a pregnant one!?"

Tin-Tin pouted. "A cat can look at a king!"

"Indeed..." Lady Penelope took a moment to enjoy the sight of half-naked Tracys playing in the water. "Mee-ow," she purred.

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

_Thursday 26__th__ October 2079_

Scott awoke with a gnawing sensation in his stomach. It was something that had troubled him for the last week, and if he'd been in Alan's shoes he might have thought that he was afflicted with couvade syndrome: the result of Lady Penelope ordering them in gentle, but unequivocal tones to (in her words), "treat Tin-Tin with the respect customarily accorded to a mature, independent woman and not cosset her as one would an invalid child".

Backing off and giving Tin-Tin the space that she desired hadn't been easy. Perhaps his subconscious mind was trying to compensate for his thwarted need to watch over his sister-in-law while his brother was unable to?

Scott dismissed the idea. He was pretty sure that that wasn't the cause and was hopeful that today would be the last day that he suffered from the condition.

Of course, he reflected, today might also be the start of a bigger headache.

Now that Gordon's ACG had done its job, International Rescue, and the people of "The World", had a better idea of what to expect from the next detonation. In the intervening week all the negative talk about International Rescue had been squashed by the majority's view that, while it hadn't been an ideal solution, it had worked and that was all that mattered. International Rescue was to be lauded and anyone who didn't agree could crawl away into a volcanic crater someplace and moan to their heart's content.

Despite this, Scott felt a profound relief that the Antarctic Plate was largely uninhabited. The Bentley Subglacial Trench detonation may startle a few penguins, but at least penguins didn't live in flimsy buildings likely to collapse on them in a major jolt.

He threw the bedclothes off, threw some exercise gear on, and headed down into the gym.

When he emerged an hour later the gnawing feeling had gone; only to be replaced by a nagging worry that maybe his ACG wasn't going to be as successful as Gordon's. They knew it was drilling through the Earth's crust; the ACG had been sending back reports without a hiccough. And they knew it was closing in on its point of detonation.

But what if something had gone wrong? What if, like Thunderbird One, the thermal shock of the rapid temperature change between rocket heat and glacial ice had damaged some tiny, but vital component? What if the ACG reached the point of detonation and carried right on drilling? What if the explosion, miles from any fault lines, had no positive effect whatsoever? What if…?

He was so wrapped up in his thoughts and queries that he acknowledged those at the breakfast table with little recognition of who was there.

"What would you like for breakfast, Mister Scott?" Kyrano enquired.

"Huh? Uh... Just some toast thanks, Kyrano. Guess I'm not hungry."

Scott Tracy not being hungry would normally be the signal for the rest of his family to start flapping about him and asking after his health. But none of them gave any sign of having heard what he'd said.

They were just as concerned about the Bentley Subglacial Trench deployment as he was.

Recognising the reason behind his younger friend's uncharacteristic lack of appetite, Kyrano made no comment as he placed the toast on the table. Scott responded with an automatic thank you, which was nothing to do with gratitude.

Not eating, he toyed with his breakfast.

The Earth-based branch of International Rescue had done all they could do to save the world. Now all they could do was wait.

And the wait was excruciating.

Trying to take their minds off upcoming events, they'd spent the last week working on their various Thunderbirds.

Despite his family's concerns that he was overdoing it, Gordon had thrown himself into fixing Thunderbird Four. No one queried why he had the need to repair the redundant submarine; they just accepted that he felt that it had to be done, that he was the one who had to do it, and left him to it. He would only ask for help when he needed it, which, during these early days of his recovery (and much to his frustration), was quite often.

Thunderbird Two's repairs had proven to be comparatively minor, and had been completed by the rest of the team in short time. Once they were convinced that the transporter was as ready to fly to the rescue at a moment's notice as she'd ever been, they had offered to help Gordon. An offer which was gently rebuffed. So they'd turned their attention to Thunderbird One.

The scarred and scorched body of the rocket plane had been more of a challenge. The wing's material could only be sourced from one of Jeff Tracy's companies, and that company had been temporarily mothballed by its philanthropic boss. It had taken a little skulduggery, a midnight raid, and some creative accounting to release it so Thunderbird One could be readied in case International Rescue's services were needed as a result of one of their explosions.

And it would be a few days before One would be ready, Scott reflected. His only comfort was that he couldn't see a situation where his aeroplane would be needed in the next few days.

Unless today's Bentley Subglacial Trench explosion proved to be more catastrophic than anyone expected.

Brains picked up his tablet PC, examined its readout closely, and then placed it back next to his plate, where he glanced at it and glanced at it again.

The rest of the family didn't even notice.

Not until he made a sudden announcement. "F-Fifteen minutes to detonation."

"What!" Scott's head snapped around to stare at the engineer. Then, before Brains had the chance to repeat his statement, he was out of his chair and running for the lounge. The scraping of chair legs and sounds of hurrying feet told him that he wasn't the only one.

It was not in Lady Penelope's makeup to hurry unless absolutely necessary and, despite the magnitude of what was about to happen, she saw no need for now to be any different. If they had fifteen minutes, then, in her opinion, there was no need to expend unnecessary energy getting there in fifteen seconds.

Parker held her chair for her and she thanked him as she stood, surveying the empty dining room. "They seem rather anxious."

"H-I'll say," her associate agreed. "That's the closest H-I've h-ever seen Mister Scott get into a tizzy. H-Even Mr Tracy got a bit of a run on."

"It is a red letter day for International Rescue and the whole world, Parker."

"Yeah, and H-I 'ope they do it in all. But there don't seem to be much point in building h-up a sweat h-over h-it."

"I agree entirely. Let us proceed to the lounge."

"What's going on?" Tin-Tin had asked as Scott had pushed past her. "Is it about to detonate?"

Scott had left Kyrano to explain. He couldn't afford to wait. He needed to know that his trip to Antarctica had been successful.

But now he had no choice but to wait as he cooled his heels and watched the dual lines crawl across four bland portraits.

"Which seismographs have you patched into this time, Brains?" Jeff asked, taking his seat at his desk.

Brains was bending over the digital table fiddling with something. He straightened. "I-I beg your pardon, Mr Tracy?"

Jeff indicated the plain white picture frames. "Which seismographs do they represent?"

"Oh… Each one represents an adjacent plate to the Antarctic Plate," Brains explained. "E-Except yours, Scott. That is a link to the seismograph situated at Byrd Station in Marie Byrd Land. It's the closest Antarctic r-research station to the Bentley Subglacial Trench."

"So that's the one that'll bear the brunt of any seismic activity that happens," Scott hypothesised. "Did all the scientists evacuate?"

"Yes," his father confirmed. "They weren't happy because it's coming into their summer season when they are able to do the most research, but they understand why it's necessary."

"Good."

Brains pushed a button on the control panel of the digital table and smiled when a three-dimensional, brightly coloured sphere appeared above it. "Ah… It works."

Curious, Gordon stepped closer. "What is it?"

"This is the world as it appeared before the ACGs started detonating." Brains reached out to the sphere and, with a touch of his hand, gently sent it spinning.

The others stood around the table examining the turning globe. It didn't look like any conventional atlas; instead most of it was covered with hot colours of various shades of intensity. Only in a couple of places was it the traditional cool blues and greens.

"Let me explain." Brains began. "The hotter the colour: the more devastating the predicted impact of Doomsday. Those areas that are blue weren't due to be affected directly; but, of course, any event of this scale is going to have a global effect."

"The old atlases that depicted the British Empire's domineering spread across the world in red were much more pleasing to peruse than this." Lady Penelope pointed to a deep yellow area in the north Atlantic. "Poor old England looks quite vulnerable."

"It was. But, everything going to plan, that should change." Brains indicated an area that upon closer inspection showed itself to be the Pacific Ocean surrounded by land. Around much of the outside circumference, edging alongside various landmasses, the colour was a fiery red. But the colours closer to the centre of the ocean were a cooler orange, all except for one central spot, which was as scarlet as the ocean's exterior.

Brains pointed to it. "That is Hawaii," he explained. "Prior to our intervention it was due to experience major seismic and volcanic activity, as was New Zealand, Japan, Alaska, the western seaboard of the United States, and various other countries.

Tin-Tin indicated a tiny orange smudge. "Is that Tracy Island?"

"Yes," Brains nodded. "It is." He pulled the globe around until South America was facing him. The left side of the continent was scarlet and the colour bled across the landmass until the middle of the Atlantic Ocean was an orangy-yellow. "Here you can see the South American Plate. Now… If we fast-forward to Braman's triumph…"

Everyone watched fascinated as, starting with the area of the Yelcho Rift, purple tendrils spread across South America, gradually fading to green and blue, except for the area surrounding La Serena, which remained a muted yellow.

"Wow!" Gordon carefully spun the globe around until he could see the western shores of the Pacific. "Can we watch the Mariana deployment?"

"Of course." Brains tapped a few keys and what initially looked like yellow flame blossomed out from the vicinity of the Philippines. There were brief bursts of orange measles flaring up across the surface of the Pacific Plate and beyond, but slowly the colours cooled to the blue associated with the deepest of the world's oceans.

"Lumme," Parker muttered.

"And now," Brains tipped the globe so the southernmost point was visible to them all, "we can watch the Bentley Subglacial Trench deployment in real time."

They found their eyes glued to the base of the long peninsula that pointed towards the tip of South America; a slither of red highlighting the gap between them.

And they waited.

Trying to fill in the time, Tin-Tin glanced at the blank portraits on the wall. "You said that the other portraits represent seismographs on other plates, Brains. Where are they located?"

"Virgil's is a seismograph on South Georgia Island, south of South America."

"But we've already released the pressures in the South American Plate," Scott pointed out. "We need it to target areas we haven't touched." He reached out to the angry red splodge south of the cooler greens of the South American Plate and north of the Antarctic's oranges. "Like this one."

"That is the Scotia Plate," Brains reminded him. "I am hopeful that the depth and position of the detonation of your acoustic concussion generator will, ah, dissipate much of its energy."

"But what about this side of the Antarctic Plate?" Lady Penelope pointed the opposite side Antarctica where the orange area including Australia and the southern Indian Ocean appeared to be riddled with red measles. "Surely we cannot expect the force of the explosion to travel right across a continent to the other side?"

"We c-can't expect it," Brains confirmed, "But we can hope that it will start a, ah, chain reaction that will at least alleviate some of the pressures the Indo-Australian Plate is experiencing. The Mariana deployment has already lessened the effect of Doomsday in that area, showing us that there was some validity to my hypothesis that the release of energy in one plate would help to alleviate the pressures in adjoining plates." He turned his attention back to the wall. "Gordon's portrait is a seismographic readout from Saint-Paul Island on the Southeast Indian Ridge, which marks the boundary between the A-Antarctic and Indo-Australian Plates."

On the globe, from that point at the base of the Antarctic Peninsula, a yellow starburst appeared.

Brains let out an excited yelp as the twin black lines on Scott's portrait shot off the screen and back again. "It's detonated early!"

"It's what?" Desperate to discover if his trip to the ice had been successful, Scott crowded closer to the globe. "It's too early, isn't it?" He watched as the starburst, followed by a slower moving secondary echo, slowly spread out across the map.

Brains seemed more intent on watching the monochromatic squiggles where the portraits used to be than the kaleidoscopic globe. "No… Not really."

"But when we were at the table you said it had fifteen minutes till detonation," Gordon reminded him. "It's only been about ten."

"Is it going to be deep enough, Brains?" Lady Penelope enquired.

Brains glanced at her. "Oh, yes."

"Are you sure?" Scott pressed. "All our plans were based on the ACG reaching 50 kilometres."

"D-Do not worry yourself, Scott. It is deep enough. 50 kilometres was only a rough estimate. As the Mariana detonation showed, several kilometres either way won't make a difference." Brains grunted in satisfaction when the lines on Virgil's portrait twitched and juddered. "Good."

Everyone else was clustered around the globe as the starburst's tendrils reached the Scotia Plate, intensified, and then paled, appearing to suck the fire from out of the tectonic zone.

"Look!" Virgil exclaimed. "It's working."

"Do you think the shockwaves will have the strength to reach the other side of the continent?" John asked, concerned that the secondary waves seemed to be falling far behind the leading primaries.

"W-We will find out sooner rather than later."

It was a nail biting wait as the yellow starburst, its colour fading the further it got from its epicentre, crept across the Antarctic Plate. It reached the boundary line with the Indo-Australian Plate and appeared to falter.

But Brains, intent on watching the seismographs on the wall, seemed happy with its progress. "Ah, good."

"Good?" Gordon queried. "It's stalled."

"N-N-No." Brains indicated his friend's portrait. "The Indo-Australasian Plate is showing signs of activity, which will, h-hopefully, release the Doomsday pressures of those plates."

"You mean Scott's ACG has caused the entire Antarctic Plate to move?" John clarified.

"Yes."

"Releasing the pressures around Australia that we weren't able to release directly?"

"Yes."

"Great. I'll let Alan know."

Scott felt as if pressures of his own were being released from his body. "So it's working?"

"It is working. In conjunction with the Yelcho and Mariana deployments, Doomsday is losing its grip on the Earth." Brains smiled in delight. "The Southern Hemisphere is almost a, er, Doomsday free zone."

Virgil clapped his brother on the back. "There you go, you can relax now."

"Not quite, Virg," Scott reminded him. "We've still got two detonations to go."

Virgil lost his smile. "You mean one."

"I mean two," Scott corrected. "We can't discount the Dead Sea ACG yet; can we, Brains?"

But Brains didn't respond.

_To be continued…_


	43. Chapter 43 - Detonation

**Chapter 43: Detonation!**

_Friday 27th October 2079_

With nothing else to occupy them, Tin-Tin and Lady Penelope were enjoying a quiet discussion in the lounge, while Jeff was working on Tracy Industries business at his desk. They all glanced up when someone dressed for a swim walked through the room.

"You have the right idea, Gordon," Tin-Tin fanned herself with her magazine. "It is hot."

He bowed low before her and Lady Penelope, and with a dramatic sweep of his hand asked: "Then perhaps you ladies would care to join me in the pool?"

Tin-Tin giggled.

"Thank you, dear boy," Lady Penelope replied. "But not now. Perhaps later?"

"Sure," he responded with an easy smile. "What about you, Tin-Tin?"

Tin-Tin considered the suggestion and then sighed. "I don't think my swimsuit will fit me."

"No worries." Gordon grinned. "Wear your bikini."

"No, thank you!" Tin-Tin made a face. "It would look terrible!"

"Don't be silly, dear girl," Lady Penelope admonished. "Swim if you wish. Do not let the way you look stop you."

"Yeah," Gordon chimed in. "You're not that big. Besides, no one here cares how you look; right, Dad?"

Jeff laid down his pen. "Gordon's right, Tin-Tin. All that matters is that you're healthy and your baby's healthy."

"See, Dad agrees with me, and it's not as if I'm inviting you to take part in a swimsuit competition... Come on, Tin-Tin, you know you want to."

Tin-Tin made her decision. "Thank you for the offer, Gordon, but no." She started to lever herself out of her chair. "However I think I will get myself a cool drink."

Gordon shrugged. "Suit yourself. You can join me later if you want."

He was just about out the door when his father's voice pulled him up short. "Gordon."

He turned back towards the desk. "Yes, Dad?"

"Get Tin-Tin her drink."

Tin-Tin had made it to her feet. "I can get it."

"No, Tin-Tin, Gordon can get it."

"Gordon is going for a swim. I don't mind."

"Gordon," Jeff ordered. "Get Tin-Tin her drink."

Tin-Tin felt a flash of anger towards her father-in-law. "I can get my own drink!"

"Gordon will do it for you," Jeff corrected. "Go on, Gordon."

But Gordon had frozen, his eyes darting between the three other occupants in the room. He wanted to help Tin-Tin, felt he should obey his father, and had been told in no uncertain terms by Lady Penelope that when Tin-Tin required his assistance she would ask for it and he was not to interfere at any other time. He felt like he'd been caught in the Tracy Island version of the Bermuda Triangle. "Erm…"

"Go and have your swim, Gordon," Tin-Tin instructed.

Gordon cast an almost frightened look at his father, waiting to see what the next move was going to be.

That next move came from Lady Penelope. "Yes, Gordon. Go and enjoy your swim." She unfolded herself from where she was sitting, stood, and took a step towards the desk. "Tin-Tin, I too have decided that I am thirsty. Perhaps while you are getting your own drink, you would be willing to get me a glass of something refreshing?"

Tin-Tin bobbed her head. "Yes, Lady Penelope."

"But take your time, dear. Mr Tracy and I are going to have a little talk."

Tin-Tin heard Jeff's bewildered "Mr Tracy...? Talk?" as she hurried towards the door.

When she reached the hall she was surprised to discover that she wasn't alone. "What are you doing, Gordon?!" she asked as the door closed between them and the occupants of the room. "I thought you were…"

"Shhh!"

She lowered her voice to a whisper. "…going for a swim."

"Are you kidding?" Gordon pressed his ear against the door so he could listen. "The immovable object is about to meet the irresistible force and I want to hear what happens."

Tin-Tin considered telling him off for eavesdropping, and then decided that she was too curious about this potential clash of wills to be critical of his behaviour. Besides, she reasoned, there was no point getting the drinks until she and Lady Penelope were free to sit in the lounge and enjoy them together…

"Now, Mr Tracy…" they heard Lady Penelope begin.

"Mr Tracy?" Jeff joked. "That's a bit formal, isn't it…? Lady Penelope."

"We all know, Mr Tracy," Lady Penelope continued as if he hadn't spoken, "that even before she was married to Alan, you regarded Tin-Tin as a member of your family. You treated her as if she were your niece, or even a surrogate daughter."

Tin-Tin could imagine Jeff's frown as he wondered where this was heading.

"And I have no doubt that you feel somewhat guilty that Alan is not here to protect his wife while she is carrying your grandchild."

"I don't feel guilty," Jeff corrected. "I wasn't involved in the decision to send Alan away. If I'd known, and," there was a slight hesitation, "and I'd been well enough, I would have offered to go myself so he could stay here with her."

"I have no doubt that you would," Lady Penelope conceded. "But you, like your sons, feel a need to watch over Tin-Tin now that Alan is unable to."

Tin-Tin listened to the exchange. Lady Penelope was calm and quiet, but she had an impression that the aristocratic spy was stalking her prey; crouching low as she gathered herself together ready to strike. Her friend's assertion that she was a tigress, Tin-Tin decided, wasn't too far from the truth.

"Well…" The eavesdroppers heard a more pronounced hesitation as Jeff considered her ladyship's statement. "Yes."

Lady Penelope continued stalking him. "You have been through a similar situation five times before and because of that experience you believe that you know better than anyone what is best for Tin-Tin."

"That is true."

Lady Penelope pounced. "That is incorrect."

"What?!"

Tin-Tin glanced at Gordon to see his reaction. Rarely in his life had he heard someone contradict his father, and the couple of instances when he, out of cocky teenage arrogance, had attempted it himself, he'd wound up very much the worse for wear. Now he was listening in wide-eyed wonder as someone explicitly told Jeff Tracy that he was wrong. "She's fearless," he hissed.

Tin-Tin had to agree.

"Lady Penelope…" There was the sound of moving furniture and Tin-Tin and Gordon had the impression that Jeff Tracy had pushed his chair back to get to his feet. Once upon a time that would have been an imposing sight, almost guaranteed to start a subordinate or young son quivering; but now the effect had been diluted by Jeff's illness. "As you have just said, I _have_ been in this situation before, unlike you. And I _know_ what's best for Tin-Tin."

"I am sorry to contradict you, Mr Tracy, but you do not."

"I beg your pardon."

"You clearly do not know what is best for Tin-Tin."

Tin-Tin couldn't believe Lady Penelope's audacity. Nor could Gordon.

"As you said, Lady Penelope," Jeff rumbled, "I have been in this situation five times before."

"As an outsider."

"Outsider!? _My_ wife was pregnant with _my_ sons!"

"And as a result you are someone with good, but overbearing, intentions."

"Overbearing!?"

"And I feel obliged to point out that you are incapable of experiencing a pregnancy from Tin-Tin's point of view."

"I was at my wife's side through all five of her pregnancies!"

"24 hours a day, seven days a week?"

"Well…" the eavesdroppers heard Jeff hesitate again. "No. I had to work. But Mother helped."

"And a more sensible, level-headed woman than your mother I have yet to meet. Moreover, she had carried a child, you; and if she were here now she would tell you that you are to allow Tin-Tin some independence."

"Independence? Tin-Tin is an independent, intelligent young lady."

"Exactly. She is not helpless. She is not suffering from some debilitating disease. She does not need you, or any member of her family, holding her hand every second of this pregnancy. She is not a child! She is with child!"

Tin-Tin, upon hearing Lady Penelope describe her in such a fashion, had to clap her hand over her mouth to stop herself from laughing out loud.

"I'm not treating her like a child." Jeff sounded put out... And on the back foot. "I'm treating her like..."

"Like a member of the weaker sex!" Lady Penelope interrupted. "One of the many things that I've admired about you, Jeff Tracy, is your ability to treat all as equals. But you are not permitting Tin-Tin to be the independent, intelligent, strong, young woman that she is!"

There was silence as if Jeff was trying to marshal his arguments and they were deserting him.

"Now, I am going to give you the advice that I have given the other male members of this household. Do not forget that Tin-Tin is the same person that she always was. She is perfectly capable of asking for help if she requires it... Also there is nothing to stop you from asking her if she requires your assistance, but you are not to act like a belligerent dictator if she does not accept your offer."

Tin-Tin, straining her ears, was sure that she heard Jeff mouth the words "belligerent dictator?"

"Do you understand me, Mr Tracy?"

There was a further pause before those at the door heard a chastened, "Yes, Penn... Lady Penelope."

"Good. I am glad we had this discussion, Jeff. Now, if you will excuse me, I think I might join Gordon for that swim."

Eager to avoid the accusation that they'd been eavesdropping on the private conversation, Tin-Tin and Gordon fled.

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

_Saturday 28__th__ October 2079_

"I hate snow," Virgil grumbled.

"Under normal circumstances hearing you say that would be funny," Gordon admitted. "But I've got to agree with you this time. It's like looking through a blizzard."

The snow they were talking about wasn't some meteorological oddity, either through Brains' handiwork or a freak of the weather. Nor was it some other non-icy natural effect that had been dubbed "snow" by scientists or layman. The 'snow' that Virgil and his family were complaining about was the static that interfered with their conversations with Alan.

With only two days until he was due to hit the magnetosphere and lose all communications, the interference was becoming intense. So much so that any speech was lost in the hiss of static and Alan was a ghostly outline in his portrait. Only the text running across the bottom of the screen held any degree of legibility, and even that was becoming increasingly garbled.

_Wads the whether lick_ the screen enquired.

There was a pause while Alan's family tried to work out what he'd said.

"Getting warmer," Jeff responded. "But we had showers yesterday."

Nobody bothered to ask Alan what his weather was like. There didn't seem to be much point when he didn't have any.

"Sick of your diet yet?" Scott asked.

"Trust you to think of food," Gordon teased.

_Eye ought ewe chaired should you dye add you were donkey about year _the screen replied._ It's shell bluebell._

No one had clue what he said.

_Wars tincture_

"Huh?" Virgil scratched his head. "Anyone able to translate?"

_Meers shin shim_

"Erm…?" Scott looked between the others to see if any of them had an idea what Alan was trying to communicate. "Sorry, Alan, we can't understand you."

_My why were is sheen_

Despite their frowns of deep concentration, nobody could respond.

They were surprised when the eyes in John's portrait flashed.

"Go ahead, John," Jeff instructed.

John smiled down at them. "I've just got a text message from Alan. He wants to know where Tin-Tin is."

"Oh…" It was like a collective light bulb going on.

"She's preparing another hologram for you, Alan," Jeff told the snowman in a blizzard. "She wants to make sure that she's able to send it before we lose all contact."

_Wood_

The communal frowns were back on their faces.

John chuckled, amused by his family's reaction even though there was nothing funny about the reason why they were confused. "I'll send him a text." A few seconds later he received a response. "He says to tell her he's looking forward to it."

"Tell him we're glad he's got something to look forward to," Jeff ordered, "because we're not looking forward to losing contact with him sometime over the next couple of days."

The response came back. "He's not looking forward to that either, although he says that we're almost in that situation now."

"Alan," Scott said.

_Yes_

"Keep safe, Alan" Scott instructed. "Don't do anything stupid. We'll look after Tin-Tin and the baby. And we'll be thinking about you all the time until we hear from you again. Don't forget that."

He wasn't sure if Alan had understood his words or if John's typed interpretation had been necessary, but they all understood Alan's response. _Tanks. Weld o. Ill miss chew awl. Out._

And his screen went blank.

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

_Sunday 29__th__ October 2079_

Virgil looked at the calendar before letting it drop back onto the wall. Brains had theorised that the Dead Sea ACG was due to reach its destination on Saturday 28th and today was the 29th. He was going to have to accept what they already knew, that the ACG deployment that could have claimed his life had been a complete waste of time.

Determined not to dwell on it, even though he couldn't help but feel that he'd failed every person on the planet, he wandered through into the kitchen. "Any word from the Kola Borehole yet?"

Jeff looked up from his cereal. "Morning, Virgil. No, not yet."

A lot of the tension that had been weighing down the family over the last two weeks appeared to have been lifted. It was almost as if they all thought that success at the Kola Superdeep Borehole was a foregone conclusion. One more explosion underground, a few minor seismic disturbances at the surface and it would all be over. Alan would nullify Arnie and return home, International Rescue would be lauded once again, and they could all go their separate ways as they reverted back to their normal lives.

Whatever they were.

For the first time Virgil found himself contemplating his future and wondering what to do with the rest of his life. Whatever it was, he was determined that painting wasn't going to have a central role in it. "Any word from Alan?"

"John received a text message, which he said looked like had been through a shredder," Scott told him. "But he managed to piece it together."

"What did it say?"

"Just that Alan had had a good night and wished us luck with the Kola explosion. John sent a reply, but he's not sure if Alan will receive it."

"Six weeks in space is a long time to be without contact," Gordon said. "I hope we've sent him enough holograms."

"It'll give us time to come up with some more for his homeward journey," Tin-Tin reminded him.

"He won't recognise you by then," Gordon snickered. "We'll have to roll you into the studio."

Tin-Tin stuck her tongue out at him.

"Say, Tin-Tin…" Virgil opened the email client on his tablet PC. "I've had an email from the Bowmounts. You know, my friends Opal Rua and Garret Bowmount?"

Tin-Tin nodded. As an avid reader of entertainment magazines she had no trouble in identifying the names of the famous makeup artist and hair stylist.

"They say…" Virgil started reading. "_Sorry for the short notice, but any prior plans seemed premature and we wanted to get in before everyone else on the planet went crazy. Since International Rescue are going to 'save the day once again'_," Virgil used his fingers to put the quotation marks around the quote, "_we wanted to celebrate before everyone else. So you, and the partner of your choice, are invited to a combined 'Death to Doomsday' / Halloween party on __October 31st__. I'm working on a horror movie at the moment and I'm all monstered out, so it's not fancy dress. Please say you'll come. We want someone intelligent to talk to._"

Scott took a bite out of his toast. "Are you going?"

Virgil shrugged. "Depends."

"Oh, you must!" Tin-Tin exclaimed. "Their parties are legendary!"

"If you believe the women's magazines…" Virgil gave an indifferent shrug. "They're not too bad…"

Tin-Tin gaped at him. "You've been to one?"

"Several."

"But I've never seen you mentioned in any articles, or seen your photograph."

Virgil laughed. "I'm the out of focus one in the background… So…" He started typing into the tablet. "Do you want to go to it, Tin-Tin?"

"Me?" Tin-Tin squeaked.

"Yes. These things are always better if you have a partner to talk to, and you said you wanted to meet the Bowmounts; not to mention all the other famous people there."

"But… But…" Tin-Tin looked dazed. "I can't."

Jeff frowned. "Why not?"

"Because I'm pregnant! I look like a football."

Scott laughed. "Hardly, Tin-Tin."

"I'll have nothing to wear! I'll be at least ten dress sizes bigger by then!"

"In two days?"

"Don't be silly," Lady Penelope scolded. "You have excellent dress sense. I'm sure between the two of us, and a few judicially placed calls to some of the best couturiers, we can procure the perfect outfit for such an occasion."

"But I'm Virgil's sister-in-law! It'll look odd if I go with him and not my husband."

"So?" Virgil shrugged. "We can make up some story. Alan's away on business, which is true."

"But everyone knows he's a racing driver. They'll know he's been off the circuit for months."

"Then Virgil can ask his friends if they'd mind inviting Alan too," Lady Penelope suggested. "Unfortunately he'll come down with an illness at the last minute, but, being the loving husband that he is, he'll insist that you go anyway."

"Yes," Virgil agreed. "The Bowmounts won't mind."

Tin-Tin frowned. "More lies."

"Oh, well. In that case…" with exaggerated movements Virgil carried on with his typing. "I guess I'll have to decline… Unless you feel like going to a party, Penny?"

"I'd love to, dear boy. What date was it again?"

"31st."

"You'd be pushin' h-it, m'Lady," Parker advised. "That's close to Lord Ralph's party on the first."

"Dear me, you are right. And at such an inhospitable hour." Lady Penelope appeared to be disappointed. "I am so sorry, Virgil, but I shall have to decline due to a prior engagement."

"Pity…" Virgil continued typing. "I'd like to see them again… Tyla Godbehere's probably going to be there. And Antonio Vivace," he added, listing some of Tin-Tin's favourite movie stars. "And Johnson Holdsworth. Of course, there's nothing that says that I have to take a woman with me." He showed his father the email. "You wouldn't like to come would you? A famous astronaut would fit right in with all the movie stars, musicians, entertainers…"

"Hmmm…" Jeff appeared to consider the invitation as Tin-Tin fidgeted. "Thanks for the offer, Son, but I don't think I've got my legs under control enough to go dancing yet."

Tin-Tin fidgeted some more.

Virgil casually ignored her. "It's no fun going alone, so I'll have to send them my apologies." He despatched the email as Tin-Tin gave a squeak of frustration. He laid the tablet on the table. "Have you ever met Alice Ross, Scott?" he asked as he reached for his breakfast.

"No. Have you?"

"Yep. Opal and Garret introduced me. You know that movie she starred in where she played a welder who falls for a Hollywood tycoon and winds up as a big move star?"

"Um… Wasn't it called _Star Light_ or _Solid heavy _or something?"

"_Gas light_," Tin-Tin squeaked.

Scott pretended not to hear her. "I took Farrah to see it. Lousy movie, but Alice Ross was by far and away the best thing in it."

Virgil poured milk on his cereal. "I taught her how to weld."

"Yeah? I thought she looked like she knew what she was doing."

"Unless she's got a prior engagement she's bound to be there. It would have been good to catch up with her again."

Gordon leant forward. "Is she as gorgeous in the flesh as she is in real life?"

"Even more so," Virgil admitted. "Opal always likes doing the makeup on her movies because Alice needs so little work to look naturally beautiful." He gave a wistful sigh. "Oh, well. Guess I'll be stuck back here looking at all of you."

"Virgil…" It was obvious to all that Tin-Tin was trying to look disinterested when in actual fact she was practically jumping out of her skin to attend. "Do you really want to go?"

"It doesn't bother me either way. I'll catch up with Opal and Garret some other time." Virgil helped himself to a spoonful of cereal.

"You say that, but you don't mean it," she insisted. "If you really want to go, then I guess I can go with you."

He pretended to be surprised. "Are you sure? What are we going to tell them about Alan?"

"Well… I suppose that if we say… at the last minute… that he's been indisposed, that's not really lying."

"He's not indisposed," Gordon sniggered, "he's indeepspace."

"But what about your dress?" Scott asked her. "You haven't got time to make one. The party's in two days."

"Oh!" Tin-Tin frowned at him as if he were just making trouble. "I've got the time and I've got the material, and with some guidance from Lady Penelope I'll be able to design something wearable."

"Will you be able to fit your new dress in two days?" Gordon asked her. "Maybe it would have been better if it was fancy dress, then it wouldn't matter."

She pouted. "I'm not going to grow that much!" She turned back to her brother-in-law who seemed more intent on finishing his breakfast rather than listening to the conversation. "Virgil! Send them an email straight away and say you've changed your mind! Go on, before they invite someone else in your place!"

The tablet PC at Virgil's elbow beeped and he picked it up. "It's from Opal. She says that she'd _love for Tin-Tin to come. We're sorry that we won't get the chance to finally meet one of your brothers, but I know that we didn't give Alan much notice to join us and we understand that he's bound to have other appointments. We'll have to make a date some other time to meet your whole family. Tell Tin-Tin that there's a simply wonderful shop nearby that sells clothes that are so gorgeous that I'd almost become pregnant just so I could wear them. If she wants to know more let me know __right away_ _and I'll get them to email her a catalogue. Also Garret says that if it's not an imposition he'll style her hair for her and of course I'd love to do her makeup. From the photos you've shown me of her, I'm sure she's as wonderful to work on as Alice Ross._"He grinned at his sister-in-law. "So? Is it a date?"

"Oh… You!" she snapped. But her eyes were alight with excitement.

Jeff smiled. "Looks like you are going to a party, Tin-Tin."

"I'd better go and start getting ready." She stood.

"Remember, Virgil," Gordon waggled his finger at his brother. "Make sure you get Cinderella home by midnight; else she might turn into a pumpkin…" He glanced at his pregnant sister-in-law. "Oops… Too late."

With a vicious scowl, Tin-Tin rounded on him. "If your grandmother was here she'd box your ears!"

There was a loud slapping sound.

"Ow!" Gordon rubbed his head where it had come into contact with his brother's hand. "That hurt!"

Scott smirked. "Tin-Tin's right. Grandma would box your ears, and since she's not here I did it on her behalf."

Gordon glared at his big brother. "Grandma never did it that hard."

Scott treated him to a beatific smile. "That's because _she_ loved you. Now, apologise to Tin-Tin."

Gordon rubbed his head again. "I'm sorry, Tin-Tin," he apologised. "I shouldn't joke about your pregnancy. You're not fat." He turned to Scott. "Now, are _you_ going to apologise for giving me concussion?"

"I was just channelling Grandma," Scott informed him. "And she was punishing you for a few years' worth of misdemeanours."

"I'm sure that Grandma thinks that having being married to Marina was punishment enough."

Everyone laughed.

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

No one was laughing later in the day when John sent through a message that the Kola Superdeep Borehole's detonation was due in fifteen minutes. Despite their almost relaxed mood that morning they all knew that success wasn't a foregone conclusion.

Brains seemed especially nervous. "I-I-I wish we'd had more time to test the ACGs," he muttered.

"It's been three out of three so far," Gordon reminded him.

"Three out of four," Virgil corrected.

"That's still 75 percent. I think the odds are in our favour."

"But this one was m-made differently from the others. I-It was deployed differently. It's smaller…"

"And it hasn't missed a beat," John interrupted. "Relax, Brains. It may never happen."

"Th-That's what worries me."

Jeff regarded the spinning globe. The Eurasian Plate which housed the Kola Peninsula, and which covered much of Europe, Asia and Russia, was a deep yellow with smudges of orange. So was the Turkish Plate, which was sandwiched between the Arabian and Eurasian Plates. The African Plate, one of tectonically active zones that had helped create the Dead Sea transform, was a comparatively mild yellow, having lost a lot of its Doomsday energy after the Yelcho deployment.

But Jeff had to admit, if not out loud, that the aggressive orange colouring of the Arabian Plate (which included the highly populated countries of Saudi Arabia, United Arab Emirates, and Israel amongst others), was of some concern. He could only hope that, just as the Bentley Subglacial Trench explosion had shifted the Antarctic Plate enough to reduce the energy stored in the Indo-Australian Plate, so would any displacement to the Eurasian Plate discharge the Arabian one. If it didn't, the presses' knives would be out for International Rescue again.

With nothing better to do they waited and watched as the globe spun lazily around its axis; the passing colours becoming almost hypnotic in their repetition.

The computer was ticking down the ACG's depth, but by now Brains only regarded those numbers as a guideline, not an indication of time of detonation; so, when the ACG registered 25,000 metres he made no comment. It was only when the seismographic printout on Alan's portrait jumped into action that he showed some interest; breathing a sigh of relief. Something was happening.

Everyone else had preferred to watch the more graphically interesting and colourful globe and they cheered when a pale yellow flower blossomed from the centre left of the Eurasian Plate and spread its petals widthways across Russia and Scandinavia, leaving behind a pale green mat that smothered each square inch of land and sea. The yellow petals headed north, infusing the Arctic with its yellow hue before the ocean reverted to an icy green.

But something different was happening south. The yellow rays that had been a symbol of hope to the north, west and east, smothered Turkey before ramming into the Arabian Plate and stalling. There they deepened, darkened, and turned scarlet before flowing across the Earth just as lava had followed a fleeing Thunderbird Two a little under a month earlier. The angry hue pooled in the centre of the Dead Sea, its blood red tendrils bleeding out across the plate, Turkey, India, and northeast Africa.

In shock, everyone stared at the globe.

"Brains…" Jeff began.

Brains, enjoying the sight of the various seismographs dotted around Europe and Asia dancing up and down the screens, wasn't aware of the anomaly. "Yes, Mr Tracy?"

"I think… I hope we're getting an incorrect reading here."

Brains frowned. "An incorrect reading?"

"There seems to be some energy build up in and around the Arabian Plate."

Everyone stood back to allow Brains the room to move closer to the globe.

"Energy build up?" Brains peered short-sightedly at the 3D representation before, with a wave of his hand through the image, he replaced it with a 2D map on the digital table. "Oh."

"Oh?" John queried. "What's going on, Brains?"

"M-Mr Tracy is right. There has been an increase of energy in the area of the Arabian Plate."

"H-I don't h-understand," Parker admitted. "Why h-are the seisamagraphs doin' what they are doin'? An' why h-are you 'appy about that, but this thing's sayin' Arabia's got trouble?"

Brains glanced up from the table. "The seismographs are showing present energy output as felt at the surface. This," he indicated the pastel coloured map with its one glaring anomaly, "is the energy build up waiting to be released…" he checked a readout, "between the 4th and 8th of November this year."

"When they were predicating Doomsday to hit in the first place," Virgil ran his hand through his hair. "So we've made it worse, not better."

"Worse for the, er, this area." Brains drew a circle around the scarlet blemish. "The rest of the planet no longer has any fears from Doomsday."

"I'm sure that's a relief for everyone living on the Arabian Plate!" Virgil snapped. "Africa and India didn't have any worries until ten minutes ago! Now they're going to have to deal with massive earthquakes, tsunami, volcanoes, and who knows what else!"

Scott put a hand on his frustrated brother's shoulder. "It's not your fault that your ACG didn't detonate, Virg. You couldn't have done any more than you did."

"He's right, Son," Jeff agreed. "And we have no way of knowing what would have happened if things had proceeded as planned. Even if the Dead Sea ACG had detonated yesterday, this may still have happened today. We can't blame anybody for what's happened."

"_We're_ not going to," John agreed, "but how about the rest of the world? They're going to want someone to blame and International Rescue's going to be the most obvious target."

"How many people are going to be affected?" Lady Penelope queried. "At least they will have advance warning."

"Billions," Scott reported. "There's no way that an evacuation of that scale could be undertaken. And even if the authorities had the time, where would they put them all?"

Each member of International Rescue was silent as they contemplated this new threat. This time it seemed that even their organisation didn't have an answer to the world's problems...

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

_Monday 30__th__ October 2011_

At a loss as to what else he could do, and intent on doing as much work on Thunderbird Four as his healing body would let him, Gordon was heading towards the bay that currently housed his submarine. As he crossed Thunderbird Two's hangar he became aware of something out of the corner of his eye. "Virgil?"

Virgil, seated on a workbench with his back against the wall and his legs drawn up so they could brace a tablet PC, glanced up at him. "Hi." He resumed his scribbling on the tablet.

"Why are you moping down here?"

"I'm not moping."

It looked like moping to Gordon. "Then what are you doing?"

"Trying to work out how many trips would be needed to airlift everyone in the red zone to safety. If we used every spare millimetre of Thunderbird One and did some modifications to Thunderbird Two to increase her passenger capacity I thought we might be able to do some good, but..." He sighed and indicated the giant aeroplane. "She's not big enough."

Gordon regarded the object of their discussion. Normally, saying that Thunderbird Two wasn't big enough was like saying Brains wasn't clever enough. But this time he had to admit that Virgil had a point. Despite both Thunderbirds Two and One being ready for action at a moment's notice, it would take more resources and time than they had available to them to airlift the threatened population out of the danger zone.

"It felt good that for once International Rescue was able to do something to prevent a catastrophe," Virgil was saying. "And now we're back to being the ambulance at the bottom of the cliff. Waiting for the call to come and pick up the pieces. And even then how much will we be able to achieve with only three of us and two aircraft?"

Gordon empathised, but he wasn't about to let their powerlessness get him down. "Cheer up," he suggested. "Any quakes may happen deep underground and no one will feel them."

"Or they may happen on the surface and destroy everything." Virgil tossed his tablet to one side.

"You're going to be in a real party mood tomorrow night, aren't you?"

"I don't feel like going. I think I'll send my apologies to Opal and Garret."

"Tin-Tin's going to be disappointed."

"She could still go. Why don't you take her?"

"Me!?"

"An Olympic champion would fit in well with that crowd. You might meet a movie producer who'll want to film your life story. From the heights of Olympic glory, to nearly losing your life in a high speed accident, to working your way back to total recovery."

"And total anonymity," Gordon reminded his brother. "And I aim to keep it that way."

"Then don't mention it to anyone when you're there."

"I'm not going. You're the Bowmounts' friend and you're the one they've invited. Besides, Alan might have something to say about _me_ taking Tin-Tin out on a date."

"He'd understand. He was tired and stressed, and he overreacted."

"Maybe, but I don't think Tin-Tin would be too happy. She's still mad at me for that pumpkin joke yesterday."

"Well, you did ask for it." Virgil managed a grin. "I think Scott saved your life. The way she was looking at you I thought you'd just eaten your last meal."

"That's why I made such a fuss," Gordon chuckled. "That slap didn't really hurt; it sounded worse than it was, but after putting all that time and energy into stopping Doomsday, I wanted to ensure that I was going to live to enjoy it."

"At least we get to enjoy it. What about those people on the Arabian Plate? How many aren't going to get the chance to live?" Virgil picked up his tablet again and started sketching. "These past four months of my life have been like the last seven years: a total waste of time."

"Come on, Virgil. That's not true."

"Isn't it?"

"No…" Gordon watched as Virgil drew with short angry strokes. "You haven't shaved today."

Virgil didn't look up. "I couldn't be bothered."

"You don't have to hide behind a beard again. You're not a failure."

"Aren't I?" There was a sudden, unexpected, venom in Virgil's reply. "All that effort into deploying that ACG into the Dead Sea, and for what?! Nothing! I didn't save any lives that day!"

"Well, that's nice…" Gordon pretended to be hurt. "Don't I count?"

Virgil's drawing slowed. "Yeah… I guess so…"

"That's one life… And I couldn't have got to the Mariana Trench alone. If it wasn't for you and Thunderbird Two, the Pacific Plate and everyone on it would be shaken to pieces."

Virgil doodled slow, round circles.

"And there's the Yelcho deployment. You had a big hand in that, especially in getting us all out safely… And what about all the work you did on the Thunderbirds?! None of us could have done anything without your help… Think about it, Virg. There are only nine of us, eleven if you include Penny and Parker. Eleven people and we've managed to save the world! Eleven people and we've saved billions of lives! The way the odds were against us I think we can be excused one failure, no matter how hard it is to take."

Virgil was still staring at his tablet, but he'd stopped drawing and appeared to be considering this comment.

Gordon put his hand on his brother's shoulder. "We're all upset that we couldn't do more, but that doesn't mean that we should be beating ourselves up over it. We've achieved something monumental. We saved the world!"

Virgil sighed. "You're right."

"Aren't I always?" Gordon treated him to a cocky grin. "So what if half the world's press are trying to disembowel International Rescue? That's one advantage of being a top secret organisation. No one can find us to do it for real."

Virgil put the tablet next to him and sat up, swinging his legs off the workbench. "I'm not achieving anything here. Do you want a hand with Thunderbird Four?"

Normally Gordon would have said he didn't need any help, but he recognised Virgil's need to do something practical to take his mind off things. "I'd appreciate that."

They wandered through to the submarine's bay. She'd been stripped of her outer shell and Gordon was in the process of giving her engines an overhaul; evidenced by the fact that parts were strewn all over the floor in various stages of assembly. It was the type of project that Virgil enjoyed and the two brothers settled in for a morning of grease, nuts, gears, and other mechanical bits and bobs.

It was almost lunchtime and they were close to considering having a break when they were interrupted by Scott. "I guessed that I'd find you two down here."

Tired from his labours, Gordon ran his hand over his forehead, leaving a smear of oil. He leant against a workbench. "Yeah, we've been playing hide and seek. Want to play? Since you were the one to find us it's your turn to hide."

Scott smirked, a gleeful gleam in his eye. "Maybe after lunch."

"Is lunch ready?" Virgil wiped his hands on a rag. "We were just about to wash up and come on up."

"Nearly ready. Kyrano decided to change the menu at the last minute." Scott picked up a greasy tablet PC from its charger and started browsing through it. "We thought you guys might be interested in looking at this first." He held the tablet out to Virgil.

Virgil took the computer and stared at the screen. "What is it?"

Gordon looked over his brother's shoulder at the blotchy blues and greens. "Looks like someone stood on some of your paints and they've been squished all over the floor."

Scott grinned, the gleam intensifying. "No. It's not a mess that we're going to have to clean up. Quite the opposite in fact."

Gordon, tired and hungry, was past the point of wanting to play games. "So what is it?!"

"Can't you guess?"

"I wouldn't ask if I could!"

"Well…" Scott was clearly enjoying spinning out this little mystery. "See that line there… That marks the border between Turkey and Syria. There's Yemen and that's Georgia. There're Pakistan and India. That's Iraq and Iran and Egypt and Sudan…"

Virgil pushed his brother's finger clear of where he was pointing out each country. "This isn't the area around the Arabian Plate?"

Scott's grin broadened. "Yes it is."

"It can't be Brains' SHAKER's graphical display."

The grin became that little bit wider. "It is."

"Dated when? A year ago?"

"Nope." Scott's grin had become almost maniacal. "This is real time."

"Real time?" Gordon queried. "You mean as in right now real time?"

"I mean as in right now; this very minute; only the tiniest split-nanosecond difference between when the signal was sent out and this tablet received it real time. You can't get a much realer real time than the real time that that's showing now."

Virgil looked up at his brother, not quite willing to believe what he thought Scott was telling him. "Has Brains changed the colour scheme?"

"Nope." Scott gave his brother an affectionate punch on the arm. "Your ACG detonated."

"What?!" Disbelieving, Virgil stared at him. "You're kidding?"

"He's not, Virgil," Jeff confirmed, coming out of the shadows followed by the rest of the team. "The Dead Sea ACG detonated about ten minutes ago. That is the result."

Virgil zoomed the picture out until he could see the whole world. Apart from the odd patch of seismically-active dark yellow, the entire planet was coloured with soothing blues and greens.

"Here! Let me see," Gordon pulled the PC from his brother's unresisting fingers. "This is a joke, right?"

Brains' grin was almost as wild as Scott's. "N-No, Gordon, this is not a joke. My readings tell me that the, ah, acoustic concussion generator detonated at about 55 kilometres deep."

"It's been burrowing the entire time, but for whatever reason wasn't sending back a signal," Jeff explained.

"M-My theory," Brains continued, "is that it got caught up in the magma that nearly trapped you, Virgil, and was dragged downwards to a depth where it could do the most good with the, er, least disruption."

Tin-Tin, her smile as broad as the rest of the family's, slipped her arm through Virgil's. "We were going to radio Penelope and Parker straight away, because we thought they might like to hear the good news on their homeward trip, but we thought you both deserved to know first."

"So no one's going to die?" Virgil queried, still not quite ready to believe what he was being told.

"Nope," the tablet in Gordon's hands changed to an even more real time image of a beaming John. "Not from Doomsday anyway. I've sent a message to Alan, but I doubt he'll get it. We'll have to make sure it's one of the first things we tell him on the return journey."

Suddenly Gordon, his earlier exhaustion forgotten, let out a cheer. "We did it, Virgil!" he crowed. "We are International Rescue and we rescued the international! We saved the world! Not 75 percent of it! Not 80 percent of it! But one hun-dred per-cent!" Overcome with joy, he planted a kiss on his brother's cheek, before screwing up his face. "You need a shave." Then not giving either brother a chance to protest he grabbed Scott and kissed him before, forgetting that Alan might disapprove, planting one on Tin-Tin. His father was next before finally, just so that he wouldn't feel left out, he kissed Brains, who immediately turned bright scarlet.

For once no one felt like complaining about his ridiculous behaviour.

"We've saved the world!" Virgil whooped. "There were only eleven of us and we saved the world!" He gave his sister-in-law a hug. "We're off to the Bowmounts!"

She laughed, as ecstatic as the rest of them. "Not until you've had a shave."

"Deal!"

That was the moment when they all let rip. It was time to celebrate and celebrate they did. The world might not be out of danger yet, and their family wasn't yet complete, but still they knew they'd achieved something monumental. It was time, no matter how briefly, to acknowledge their work and congratulate themselves for achieving the seemingly impossible.

Jeff cheered and hugged his sons as well as Brains. The engineer, keeping well clear of Gordon, did the jig he reserved for when International Rescue achieved miracles, before almost fainting when Tin-Tin kissed him on the lips. The Tracy boys leapt about in jubilation, high-fived each other, and hugged and kissed anyone and everyone.

"We're going to a party!" Virgil picked a now giggling Tin-Tin up and spun her about. "And we are going to celebrate!"

_To be continued…_


	44. Chapter 44 - Celebration

**Chapter 44: Celebration**

"Saved!" newspaper headlines blared.

"We will live!" others trumpeted.

The World went mad as it celebrated International Rescue's success. Parties and festivals were held to celebrate deliverance from certain death. World presidents and monarchs and nations' leaders acknowledged International Rescue's efforts and spoke of their country's thanks as the organisation was toasted and lionised by peoples from all walks of life. There were calls for awards and knighthoods and Orders of Merit to be bestowed upon each and every member of that fantastic, secretive group.

Much of the planet's population decided that the Americans had it right for once and decreed that Thanksgiving was a holiday worth observing; although waiting for the third Thursday in November was a wait too long and that Thursday November 2nd was a better option.

And so The World gave thanks for delivery from the threat known as Doomsday.

But what most of the people of the world didn't know was that Planet Earth wasn't yet safe and that International Rescue's work wasn't done. They didn't realise that there was one family who, after a brief celebratory luncheon, still waited for news from the depths of space. A family who continued to hold fears for the life of one of their own and for the planet they called home…

-F-A-B-

_Tuesday October 31__st__ 2079 – morning_

John Tracy stood at one of the many windows that encircled Thunderbird Five and looked down onto his home planet. He wondered what he would have seen in four days time if his brothers hadn't managed to combat Doomsday. Would he have seen nothing? Would he have seen clouds of dust obscure many of the landmasses and the oceans swamp them? Would he have seen a great rift open up revealing the Earth's red-hot molten core as the planet split into two?

And what would have happened to him? Would Thunderbird Five have stayed here, hanging in geo-stationary orbit? Would she have felt a shudder run through her as the ground far below suffered its great upheaval? Would she have been flung away from home; sent on a never-ending journey with no guidance or gravitational force to keep her in check?

John was glad that he was never going to know the answer to these questions.

But still he felt a sense of disquiet. He was alone and he was going to remain alone for many more months. He'd shared his family's jubilation at their success, but there'd been that nagging knowledge that he had no one to share _his_ joy with. No one he could hug, no one he could slap on the back, no one he could shake the hand of…

John felt lonely… And redundant.

For the time being he had no official duties. There were no Thunderbirds on Earth that he needed to keep track of. None of his brothers were in trouble (assuming that Gordon was remaining in Tin-Tin's good books). Doomsday was all but forgotten and no longer required constant monitoring, and Alan was going to be out of radio contact for the next two months. To cap it all, John had been superseded at Tracy Industries. Not that he begrudged handing over the reins to his father. He'd been looking forward to having a life of his own; but, at the moment, it was almost as if he didn't even have a life to have.

He was feeling so superfluous that when he'd got up this morning he hadn't been able to face his uniform. Instead he'd thrown on a t-shirt and some trousers.

The question was; what was he going to do with the rest of his day? Never mind that; what was he going to do until Alan came back into range?

He had been busy straight after the fifth and final ACG detonation. All of a sudden Thunderbird Five's control room had been abuzz with noise as reporters had sought to gain an elusive interview with the mystery men of International Rescue. He'd quickly cut each and every one of them off. To the seven enterprising children from various parts of the globe who had called him up to help with their school projects, he had parroted the same words; that International Rescue was pleased that they had succeeded, that they'd never been sure that they would, that International Rescue were grateful for the support and thanks that they'd received from around the world, and that he hoped that the child in question got good marks on their project.

Then he'd shut down Thunderbird Fives receivers from everywhere except for Tracy Island and the depths of space.

His original plan, when he was down on Earth, had been to follow his little brother through his optical telescope. He'd known there'd be a delay between when the light of the sun highlighted Thunderbird Three and then bounced back to hit the magnifying lens, but at least he could have gone some way towards monitoring Alan's progress while Jupiter's magnetosphere had made all other forms of communication obsolete.

But now his telescope was useless. When Thunderbird Five had done her best to save his life, she'd switched off the heating to the observatory and the precision lenses had fogged up and cracked. John had tried cleaning them and had even attempted to grind the faults out of the glass, but it had been useless. What had promised to be a clear view of Jupiter and beyond had become a hazy blur. He did have other telescopes; lesser models that worked well, but didn't have the power or precision of this main unit.

Since he didn't feel like observing the stars through the lesser equipment, John considered calling up his family. But who on Earth (literally) could he talk to? Virgil and Tin-Tin were already on their way to a party in New York and he didn't want to interrupt their flight, or for his depression to upset their celebrations.

A glance at the console told him that Scott was already in communication with someone, probably Stewie. The Big Brother and his 'little brother' had a lot of catching up to do and John guessed that in the not too distant future Scott would head out to the States himself. He wondered if he should remind Scott of his promise to Howard.

Gordon was working on Thunderbird Four and by now would be tired and scratchy and wouldn't appreciate any interruptions.

Kyrano was out in the garden tending to his plants and was probably harvesting fresh vegetables for the family's dinner that evening. The very thought of eating something that wasn't freeze-dried made John's mouth water. A real meal was top of his list of things to do when he returned home.

Brains, despite having just spent months in virtual slavery trying to combat Doomsday, was already wrapped up in another project. The "do not disturb" light on Thunderbird Five's console told John that all contact with the lab had been blocked. Thunderbird Five had the power to override this programme, but Brains would have been more than a little annoyed if John had used the facility for something as trivial as a chat.

Jeff was working on some Tracy Industries business and John briefly considered offering to help him. Then he decided against it. He didn't want his father thinking that he didn't trust him with the company he'd nurtured for seven long years.

Thinking about Tracy Industries dragged John's thoughts back to the inevitable subject of Emma. What was she doing? Was she happy? Was she thinking about him? Maybe she was going to cut short her enforced vacation and return to Tracy Industries? Maybe she already had?

John decided that there was one sure way of finding out.

At first Emma looked stunned to see him; then pleased. "This is a welcome surprise, John. How are you?"

"Redundant," he admitted without thinking.

"Redundant?" she echoed. "Why?"

"Oh… Er…" John hadn't given any thought as to what he was going to say to her. "Uh… My telescope's not working." He cringed at how lame that sounded.

Lame to anyone except a fellow astronomy fan. "Oh, no!" Emma exclaimed. "What happened?"

_My space satellite killed it to save my life._ "Erm… We had a storm…" _Metaphorically speaking._ "The lenses got damaged. I've tried to repair them, but I don't have the facilities."

"But surely you can get replacements sent to you?"

_Yes, well, that would be the logical answer, if I wasn't 36,000 kilometres above the planet._ "It's a bit hard to get replacements."

Emma looked bewildered. Surely the son of a multi-billionaire and the former CEO of a multi-national conglomerate could get anything sent to him, no matter where he was. "Why?"

"The observatory is quite isolated, which is great because it means it hasn't got any light pollution issues, but it's a bit limited in transportation facilities. I've got to wait until the 'ship returns." _And Alan and I can return home together._

"Oh…"

Emma looked like she was about to ask another awkward question, so John jumped in first. "But enough about me and my problems. What have you been up to?"

"Nothing much," Emma admitted. "I know most people would think I was crazy, but I'm dying to go back to work. Do you think your father would be mad with me if I contacted him and offered?"

John noticed the way her face had lit up; her smile sending his heart thudding. _Are you looking forward to returning to the job, or to Dad?_ "No. I'm sure he'd be glad to hear from you."

"And what about you, John? Are you going to leave on that next ship and return to work?"

"I am planning on returning home on the 'ship, but I'm not sure about work. Dad's happy now and he's where he should be, at the head of his business. I was really only the caretaker."

"You were more than just a caretaker. Until Doomsday forced him back into the role I'm sure Jeff regarded your position as permanent. Didn't you?"

"Well… Yes…"

"Then I'm sure he'd welcome you back as his 2IC. Wouldn't you like that?"

Now that John had time to think he was starting to consider that very question. "I don't know."

Emma looked surprised, and, John was gratified to see (unless it was his imagination), a little saddened. "You don't know?"

"No. Don't get me wrong; there were aspects of it that I enjoyed. Things like the challenge of rescuing the business and resurrecting it. And working with people I respect and admire…" _Dare I say it?_ "…like you." _Is she blushing?_ "And I've developed a greater admiration of Dad for how he managed to run the business and have a rewarding life. That is where I failed. Now I realise that sitting in an office all day getting overweight and unfit isn't me. It's not only something that I don't think I want to do anymore; I doubt that I can go back to it for my own health and sanity."

Emma listened to his speech, her expression unreadable. "What would you do instead? Another role within the company?"

John inclined his head in a gesture of acknowledgment. "Probably. Maybe in a research and development role. Now I've got the time to think, the ideas are starting to flow again. I'm sure I can come up with new products for Tracy Industries."

"Just like you 'came up with' the Weiciao?" Emma enquired. "How many years did we work together, with me complaining about having to use it while you just rattled off whatever language it was fluently, and you never once told me you invented it?"

"I didn't want to sound like I was boasting."

"Oh, John…" Emma's mouth twisted in a wry smile. "Is that what arm of the company you'd like to work in? Communications?"

"I'm not sure. My real passion is astronomy."

"That was something else you never boasted about. If I had several astronomical finds to my name I'd have the certificates or newspaper clippings all over my walls."

"It didn't seem that relevant in a business situation."

"So you'd go back to being a full time astronomer?"

"I don't know, Emma," John sighed. "I love it as a hobby, but as a full time job? After what I've achieved in the past...? At least if I work for Tracy Industries I'd be able to keep my finger on the pulse in case something happens to Dad again."

"John," Emma warned. "You've just said that for your own sanity you can't go back to being a desk jockey; don't talk yourself into it now."

"Maybe... I've still got plenty of time to think about my future."

"When does the ship arrive?"

"Ship?" John looked blank until his brain kicked into gear. "Oh… Er… I don't know. There are so many variables involved."

"Variables?"

"You know. Things like the ast… I-I mean, rocks… Communications issues… storms. The state of the crew…"

"You make it sound like a long treacherous voyage in a sailing ship instead of a cruise between islands," Emma told him. "Well, whenever you make it back to civilisation, if you want to talk about your future some more, come and see me. Maybe bouncing a few ideas off someone will help you crystallise your thoughts."

John looked at her gratefully. "I would appreciate that. I'm sure my family would understand and want to help, they've said that I should have done more for 'me' these past few years, but talking to an outsider could be what I need."

Emma appeared disappointed. "Is that what I am? An outsider?"

"No, of course not. But you're not a member of the family. You don't have to deal with upholding the Tracy name. You can look at my life objectively." John felt that he was digging himself into a hole. "At least now you can tell any head hunters that I'm not interested in working a desk job for any other companies. Have you been approached again?"

"Not for weeks… Not until yesterday."

John saw that scared look in her eyes again and wished he was at the same longitude, latitude and altitude as she was so he could protect her. "Yesterday?!"

"I suppose that he thought that now that International Rescue have stopped Doomsday, you might be in a better frame of mind to consider his proposal."

"Did he say anything?"

"He asked me if I'd heard from you. I told him to leave me alone or I'd call the police."

"Do that next time, Emma," John advised. "Call the police and then call Lady Penelope. Don't take any chances."

"Lady Penelope? But she's in England. What can she do?"

"You'd be surprised. Promise me you'll call the police and then her?"

Although she seemed reluctant, Emma agreed. "I promise, John."

"And then call me. Whatever the day or the time."

"Call you?" For some reason Emma became flustered. "Ah… Okay… Yes… I will." Then she changed the subject: a bit too quickly for John's liking. "Talking about International Rescue; aren't they wonderful…?"

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

_Tuesday October 31__st__ 2079 – 9:00 am – New York_

Virgil opened the door to his old apartment and, carrying his and Tin-Tin's bags, walked in. It seemed weird to be coming back here after all this time. Almost as if he was intruding into another person's, a stranger's, private space.

Tin-Tin, however didn't have any such inhibitions or associations. The few times she'd visited, it had been to see Virgil Tracy, not Gustav. "I love your place… It's so bright and airy."

"It's good for painting," he admitted, lowering her suitcase onto the bed. "I've been away for so long I hope that I can remember where everything is. Now… Where's the camp bed?" Carrying his own bag, he headed into the workroom off to the side.

She followed him to the door, struck once as she always was by the juxtaposition between the openness of the artist's studio and the clutter of the engineer's workroom. "Can I help?"

The camp bed had been tucked away behind a well-stained cupboard, and Virgil pulled it out and started assembling it. "Nope."

"Let me sleep on it. I don't mind."

Virgil snapped a leg into place. "Tin-Tin, even if you weren't pregnant that wouldn't be an option. You're a guest here and you're going to have the most comfortable bed. I'd do the same for anybody…" Another leg snapped into position. "Except probably my brothers."

"Then where are your sheets? The least I can do is make both beds."

Virgil shoved the camp bed against the wall and tossed his bag onto it. "We'll worry about that later. Let's go and meet Opal and Garret now and you can find out what time they expect you for your hair and makeup. Then we can come back here for a coffee and sort everything out."

Tin-Tin examined her reflection in a piece of shiny stainless steel. "I hope I look all right."

"You look fine. They don't have any airs and graces."

They were about to leave the apartment when Tin-Tin stopped. "Virgil…?" She stepped over to a pile of canvases shoved haphazardly into a corner. "What is this?"

"That's Gustav's last exhibition," he admitted, wanting to leave so that he could forget about that part of his life. "I'll clear it away when we come back…"

But Tin-Tin had picked up one of the paintings. "You weren't happy being a full time artist, were you?"

"No."

"I can tell. This doesn't have the spontaneity of your earlier pieces."

"You sound like an art critic."

She regarded her brother-in-law with an earnest stare. "You don't have to know about art to see that these are darker, more… mechanical. You weren't painting them for your enjoyment like you did when we all lived on Tracy Island. You were painting them for someone else's benefit."

Virgil took the painting from her. "This one was anyway. I painted it because I knew Mrs Pullman would like it."

"Mrs Pullman?"

"She regards herself as a patron of the arts, and does have a lot of influence in the art world. In certain circles if you don't have her backing you don't have a hope of succeeding. And there were only two ways of getting her backing. One is to create something like this monstrosity…" Virgil looked at the painting again and then tossed it face down back onto the pile. "And the second… Well, let's just say that I was more comfortable prostituting my art than anything else."

Tin-Tin's hand flew to her mouth. "You are joking… Aren't you?"

"No. There's a reason why there are more men than women in her portfolio."

"And she gets away with it?"

"When you're an artist and your paintings are your only source of income, you become desperate for someone to sponsor you so that you can make a living. I was fortunate that I wasn't reliant on this to survive," Virgil nudged the pile with his toe, "but I still wanted to be accepted. She was taking an interest in me so I gave her one of the things she wanted."

"But only one?" Tin-Tin queried.

Virgil gave a mirthless chuckle. "Yes. I hadn't quite lost my pride… or knowledge of who I really was." He turned his back on the pile of canvases. "That's all in the past and it can stay there."

"You missed being an engineer, didn't you?"

"Yeah," Virgil admitted. "I did... Eventually."

"You know you could have joined Alan's racing team."

"He never asked me, so what was I going to do? Say that I was a failure and I needed his help?"

"You weren't a failure, Virgil," Tin-Tin protested. "And they would have appreciated the services of a top rate engineer."

Virgil looked at his sister-in-law. "They already had one."

"If you mean me, I wasn't working for them."

"There's no way I could either. Imagine taking orders from your kid brother. It would never work."

"You've taken orders from Alan before," Tin-Tin pointed out. "When you were on a rescue and he was manning Mobile Control."

"That was different. We were equals in the team working together for something bigger than all of us. If I was part of Alan's racing team I would have been working for him and him alone. Forget it, Tin-Tin, I'll admit that I've made mistakes in the past, but now it's time to move on." Virgil took her by the arm. "Come on, I want you to meet a pair of real friends..."

The Bowmount's apartment was in the same building as Virgil's and Tin-Tin soon found herself waiting nervously outside another door. "Are you sure I look all right?"

"Relax," Virgil told her. "They won't attack y…" The door was practically ripped off its hinges, before his arm was almost yanked out of its socket as he was pulled inside.

"Thank heavens you're here, Virgil!" the frazzled-looking woman exclaimed. "That husband of mine thought he could mend a dripping tap and now the kitchen's awash! I need someone with _some_ practical skills to sort him out before we all drown! Go, I'll look after Tin-Tin." Without giving him a chance to respond she pushed Virgil in the direction of the kitchen; sending him to the rescue. Then she turned back. "Hello," she smiled. "I'm Opal."

"Oh…" Having only seen Opal Rua's glamorous photograph in the society columns of magazines, Tin-Tin had not expected the renowned makeup artist to the stars to be dressed in an old t-shirt and faded jeans, wearing no makeup, and with her dark hair pulled back into a severe ponytail. "Nice to meet you, Mrs Bowmount… I-I mean Ms Rua."

Opal laughed. "Call me Opal, it's easier. Rua's my maiden name and I've kept using it for professional purposes, but legally I am Mrs Bowmount." She scowled at the kitchen. "Although there are some times when I wonder why. Garret has no practical skills whatsoever."

"You knew that when you married me," Garret Bowmount rejoined as he wandered into the lounge, drying himself off with a towel. "Nice to meet you, Tin-Tin."

Garret Bowmount looked less like a hairstylist than it was possible for Tin-Tin to image. He was tall (she assumed taller than Virgil), and broad with muscular chest and arms. But, what Tin-Tin found fascinating, was that, oddly for a man whose career was devoted to taming the manes of the rich and famous, he was totally bald.

"Why didn't you stay in the kitchen?" Opal was asking. "Maybe you can learn something from Virgil?"

"I already have," he admitted. "Like when you've got a geyser gushing out of the faucet, to throw a towel over it to stop it from spraying everywhere. I'll remember that for next time."

Opal's eyes narrowed. "There had better not be a next time." She turned back to her guest. "Did you find an outfit you liked in that store I suggested, Tin-Tin?"

"Yes," Tin-Tin nodded, "I did. Virgil suggested that I go and collect it after he'd introduced us and worked out what time and where you wanted to do my makeup and hair… That's assuming you still want to," she added hastily.

"Of course we do," Opal laughed. "In that case, while we leave the menfolk cleaning up, why don't you and I go and get your dress and I can start deciding what colours will go with it. All right?" Taking a coat off the rack just inside the door, she called over her shoulder. "We're going out, Boys. Try not to have flooded the place by the time we get back... Now, Tin-Tin, when's the baby due...?"

Tin-Tin had arrived at the apartment expecting to be overawed by Opal Rua, but by the time they'd reached the maternity-wear shop she'd found her so engaging that she'd relaxed in the other woman's presence.

There was a discreet chime as they stepped over the threshold. A shop assistant appeared from behind a curtain. "May I help you ladies?" she enquired. Her question was directed towards Tin-Tin.

"Yes. I am here to pick up my dress," Tin-Tin admitted. "My name's Tin-Tin Tracy."

"Ah! Of course. Just one moment." The assistant disappeared out back for a moment, returning with a black piece of material. "If you wouldn't mind coming with me, Mrs Tracy, I will ask you to try it on in one of our fitting rooms."

Tin-Tin did as she was instructed, emerging a few moments later to show it off. "How does it look?" she asked, spinning about slowly. "Is it all right?"

"Well…" Opal appeared unsure. "It might look better once you've got the right shoes on… And your hair up… And a touch of makeup. The important question is: how do you feel in it?"

The truth was that Tin-Tin wasn't feeling particularly glamorous. But then, she told herself, she wasn't at a particularly glamorous stage of her life.

The assistant had taken a step back to better examine the fit of the garment. "If I may enquire, Mrs Tracy," she began. "Is this your first child?"

"Well," Tin-Tin ran her hand over her slightly bulging belly, "yes."

"I thought so. We often find that first-time mothers are almost ashamed by the way their bodies are changing shape and try to hide, which is why this dress is one of our more popular lines. Now… If you will permit me to give you the advice of someone who has been dressing expectant women for longer than I care to admit…"

Tin-Tin nodded. "Please do."

"Be proud of the shape you are now and the shape you will become. It is what your body is designed for and even though it's changing it won't let you down. That child of yours is a gift. Treasure it. Shout out to the world: _I am a woman! I have created new life!_"

"She's right, Tin-Tin," Opal agreed. "It'll only last nine months. Make the most of it. There are too many who won't get the opportunity."

Tin-Tin felt embarrassed. "I know you are right," she admitted. "But this is a new experience for me. Once I could wear anything. Now almost nothing in my wardrobe fits me."

"Don't worry, we can solve that little problem…" the assistant went to a nearby clothes rack. "Will you be wearing your dress at a formal occasion?"

"Yes," Tin-Tin and Opal chorused, and laughed.

"Leave yourself in my hands, Mrs Tracy, and I will find you something that will have heads turning… I think…" the assistant withdrew a shimmering mint-green gown, "this will be more flattering to your figure."

Doubtful that any dress could flatter her ever expanding figure, Tin-Tin accepted the garment and disappeared back into the changing room.

When she reappeared Opal clapped her hands in delight. "Now, that is more like it! Better than that tent."

The assistant tried to hide her smile, but Tin-Tin had the impression that her original choice had received that very nickname by the staff. She was circled by the woman, who lifted the dress's shoulders, tightened its back, raised the hem and made other adjustments, talking to herself the entire time. "Yes, it is an improvement. However I believe that we can do better."

It was at that point that Tin-Tin discovered that she'd kind of lost control of proceedings. She placed herself in the hands of the other two ladies as both Opal and the assistant critiqued each garment, appraised its merits, suggested accessories and lingerie styles, and then found something that was better. They foraged through shoes, underwear, overwear, eveningwear, daywear and searched everywhere around the shop until Tin-Tin had enough outfits to last the next few months.

And Tin-Tin loved it. Having spent the last four months working almost exclusively in the company of men, she was revelling in the feminine banter and the chance to try on the many beautiful clothes. She was so wrapped up in the experience that she even requested that the assistant (please call me Adele) call her Tin-Tin rather than "Mrs Tracy" – a name she always associated with Grandma rather than herself.

Standing in front of the dressing room mirror she slipped an eggshell-blue gown (overlaid with a shimmering layer of translucent material, and adorned with a spray of delicate silver pearls in the shape of a sprig of jasmine at the shoulder) over her head and let it cascade down her body. She caught sight of herself in the mirror and, pleased with the effect, smiled. This was the way to spend a morning.

"Well, Tin-Tin?" Adele called. "What do you think?"

"I love it," Tin-Tin stepped out from behind the curtain. "I think this is the one."

Opal's jaw dropped. "Now that is it. Definitely _it_! You'll outshine every woman at the party, Tin-Tin. It might be my party, but there'll be no point in my attending because no one shall pay any attention to me. They'll all be admiring you!"

Tin-Tin giggled. "Thank you."

"All the woman shall be hopelessly jealous of you," Opal continued. "And all the men will be jealous of Alan."

"I wish he was here to see it," Tin-Tin admitted, feeling flattered, gratified, and happy that she'd taken the other ladies' advice. "This dress feels and looks wonderful."

"Good," Adele approved. "That is what we aim for."

"Once you're fully made up we'll have to take your photo so we can show Alan," Opal declared. "He'll be kicking himself that he had that other appointment."

Tin-Tin felt a stab of sorrow at how long it would be before Alan would get to see the photograph.

"This is an excellent choice," Adele was saying. "It is one of our better designs and will grow as you grow, while not losing its charm."

"I don't know when I'll get to wear it again," Tin-Tin admitted. "I don't get invited to many parties nowadays."

"Then you'll have to get Alan to take you out for one last date before the two of you become three," Opal instructed. "You'll have to show him… Tin-Tin…? What's wrong?"

What was wrong was that Tin-Tin was missing Alan so much that the sensation had nearly overwhelmed her. "It is nothing," she sniffed, waving away her newfound friends' concerns. "It is my hormones running wild."

Adele, obviously used to working with emotional pregnant women, had produced a box of tissues out of nowhere. "It's all right," she soothed. "We understand."

"Perhaps we'd better head back," Opal suggested. "Have you got everything you need?"

Dabbing her eyes with a tissue, Tin-Tin nodded.

She managed to hold it together long enough to get back to the Bowmount's apartment. There the two women found Virgil and Garret, soaking wet, but quietly triumphant, enjoying a cup of coffee.

Tin-Tin took one look at her brother-in-law, let out a long wail, and ran into his arms.

Virgil, startled and not quite sure what he should do under the circumstances, gave her a weak hug. "What's wrong, Tin-Tin? Didn't you find a dress you liked?"

"We found the perfect dress." Opal indicated the bags she was holding.

"Then what's wrong?" Virgil repeated as Tin-Tin sobbed into his chest. "Watch out, you'll get my clothes wet."

His attempt at humour had the opposite effect. "I miss Alan," Tin-Tin wailed.

Now that it all made sense, Virgil willingly wrapped his arms about his sister-in-law and held her tight. "I know you miss him," he whispered, as he tried to calm her down. "We all do. But we all know he'll be back soon," he added, hoping that he sounded convincing. "Right?"

"But what if he gets sick?" Tin-Tin howled against his shirt.

"He won't," Virgil stated, trying to sound as if he believed it himself. "Apart from the couvade syndrome. And he hadn't had any symptoms for weeks."

There was a muffled sob. "I love him!"

"I know…"

"What if I never see him again?"

"You will…"

"If something goes wrong he could be lost forever!"

Aside from the obvious discomfort of wet clothes and the unusual situation of a clinging sister-in-law, Virgil was growing uncomfortable. As much as he trusted and respected the Bowmounts there were some things he'd never tell them; and Tin-Tin, wrapped up in her misery, seemed close to revealing just why Alan was unable to attend the party. "I, uh, I think we'd better go back to my place," he suggested, looking over the top of Tin-Tin's head. "We had a long flight here and she's probably tired."

Opal nodded her understanding. "You can leave your things here for later, Tin-Tin."

Virgil thanked her, apologised to both of his friends, and, Tin-Tin not letting go of him, guided her back to his apartment.

Once there he closed the door behind them. "Do you want to lie down?" he suggested.

Tin-Tin shook her head. Her wails had subsided, but she was still distressed. "Hold me, Virgil," she begged. "Please… I need to feel someone hold me."

"Come here, Honey." Virgil wrapped his arms about her and held her close with the love of a brother for his sister. He remained silent, stroking her hair, wishing he could do more, and letting Tin-Tin sob all her fears and anxieties away.

Finally she felt strong enough to step away. "I'm sorry." She dabbed at her red and puffy eyes with a tissue.

"What for? You haven't done anything wrong."

"I've made a fool of myself in front of your friends."

"They'll understand. And I guarantee that they won't think of you as a fool."

Tin-Tin gave a shuddering sigh. "I was having such a wonderful time with Opal."

Virgil smiled. "I'm glad. They've both been good friends to me."

She blew her nose. "Thank you for being understanding, Virgil."

"Don't worry about it; I'm glad I could help. In fact I've been wondering how you were managing to keep it together so well. It's a relief to know you're not simply Superwoman."

Tin-Tin managed a giggle. "No. I definitely do not have any super powers. If I did, Alan would not be to flying to Jupiter and none of you would have had to risk your lives the other week."

"You mean I'd have missed out on being trapped underground in the Mole? Spoil sport."

Tin-Tin giggled again.

"Are you sure you're going to be all right?" Virgil checked. "We don't have to go to the party if you don't want to."

"I do want to," Tin-Tin asserted. "I've found the perfect dress and I want the chance to wear it." She treated him to a weak smile. "I'm all right now. I think I needed to get it out of my system."

"Like sweating out a fever," he suggested.

"Yes." She cleared her throat. "I'm hungry. What are we going to do about lunch?"

"There's nothing worth having in my pantry," Virgil admitted. "We could go out or order in. What would you prefer? Any cravings?"

"Don't be cheeky, Virgil," Tin-Tin scolded. "Although, thinking about it, I'd love some pizza."

"Are you supposed to eat pizza in your condition?"

"Father has been ensuring that I've only eaten food that is good for me so far. Once won't hurt."

"Okay." Virgil scrolled through the phone list on his videophone to find his favourite pizza delivery service. "What toppings to you want?"

"Oh…" Tin-Tin thought. "I don't know."

"How about I order the speciality of the house?" Virgil suggested.

"That's a good idea… With a hard cheese, not soft cheese though."

"Why?"

"Some soft cheeses are made of raw milk," Tin-Tin told him. "They aren't safe to eat when you're pregnant."

"Okay," Virgil agreed. "No soft cheeses."

"And make sure the meats are well cooked."

"Understood."

"And I want it covered with marshmallows."

Virgil stared at his pregnant sister-in-law. "I beg your pardon?"

"Marshmallows. I want marshmallows on my pizza."

"Marshmallows? Tin-Tin, I don't think that marshmallows are a standard ingredient on one of Antonio's pizzas. And, if I'm honest, it's not a combination I'm keen to try. Why don't I just go down to the store and get some and you can eat as many as you want."

Tin-Tin pouted slightly. "I was looking forward to having them toasted."

"On a pizza?! I'll bring my Bunsen burner out here. You can toast them to your heart's content."

Tin-Tin laughed.

Virgil ordered the pizza and then, as Tin-Tin made the beds, made his promised trip to the store to get the marshmallows. The pizza arrived and they settled down to a distinctly unhealthy, but delicious meal.

-F-A-B-

_Tuesday October 31__st__ 2079 – 4:00 pm – Kent_

"H-If you don't mind me sayin' so, m'Lady, but h-it seems h-a bit daft to be goin' to bed h-at four h-o'clock h-in the h-afternoon."

Lady Penelope, one elegant foot on the first of the stairs leading up to her room, regarded her butler. "I will admit that it is unorthodox, but under the circumstances, I feel that it would be prudent to get some rest now. It is going to be a long night."

"Tell me h-about h-it. What's 'e think 'e's going to h-achieve starting the shootin' match h-at midnight?" Parker moaned. "H-I mean, H-I h-understand the symbolism h-of watchin' the sun come h-up h-after the months when most h-of h-us thought the world was doomed, but h-us old codgers would rather be h-in bed watching the h-inside of h-our h-eyelids."

"I daresay that it was suggested to Lord Ralph by Kerwin Cousins and the idea appealed to him."

"But why not see h-in the new day like we see h-in the New Year?" Parker asked. "Then we could watch the clock tick h-over past midnight, say h-ain't h-it grand that we're going to live, h-and 'ead h-off 'ome to get some kip. The sun 'ain't gonna come up 'til seven!"

"I am not about to question Lord Ralph's motives," Lady Penelope told him. "I intend to get some rest so that I can enjoy Kerwin Cousins' celebration. And I might suggest to you, Parker, that if you wish to approach this evening's festivities in a better frame of mind than you are displaying at present, that you do the same."

And with that, she turned her back on him and ascended the stairs.

Parker sighed. He wasn't happy, and he wasn't totally sure that it was only because of the party's odd hour. Not once had Lord Ralph Cockburn-Saint-John taken notice of those 'below stairs', and yet here he was treating the servants of the local big houses to a knees up. Something didn't ring true.

-F-A-B-

_Tuesday October 31__st__ 2079 – 12:45 pm – New York_

Lunch finished, Virgil helped himself to a pizza-free marshmallow. "What do you want to do now?"

Tin-Tin covered a yawn. "I think I'll have a sleep. I want to be fresh this evening." She glanced over at the bed in the main living area. "You don't mind, do you, Virgil?"

"No, of course not. I can entertain myself in the workroom."

Virgil took care of the dishes and then disappeared into the area where he'd been at his happiest for the last seven years. He had a few things he could do, but before that he wanted to make a couple of phone calls. The first was to his friends in town.

Opal smiled at him through the videophone. "How's Tin-Tin?"

"Okay now. She's had something to eat and now she's having a nap. She and Alan have barely been apart since they were married; and I guess what with him being away, the baby, the stresses of Doomsday, the excitement of meeting you guys, and tonight, it all got too much for her. She came back here, had a good cry, and cheered up."

"That's good," Opal enthused. "Everything's ready for tonight, so if you can get yourself down here on time..."

"Me?!"

"Yes, you! Virgil Tracy. I know what men are like about getting themselves dressed up. Just remember that it's going to take longer for Tin-Tin to get ready than it will for you. So don't go turning up here with ten minutes to spare and thinking that you've got plenty of time. Okay?!"

Virgil laughed. "Okay. See you later, Opal..."

His next call was to Tracy Island. "Hi, Kyrano."

Kyrano smiled. "Hello, Mister Virgil. Did you have a good flight?"

"Excellent, thanks."

"What can I do for you?"

"I just wanted to give you a heads up. She seems to be okay now, but Tin-Tin had a bit of a meltdown before. What with missing Alan, and everything else, I guess it all got too much for her. You don't need to worry about her, but I thought you should know."

Kyrano had looked alarmed at the words _bit of a meltdown_. "You are sure that she is well?"

"As sure as I can be. She's taking a nap now, but she's still looking forward to the party. Apparently the dress she's got is something special."

Virgil's friend's eyes lit up, but typically his smile was restrained. "You will take photographs for me?"

"Of course. We'll see you tomorrow and Tin-Tin can tell you all about it."

"I shall look forward to it." Kyrano smiled his quiet smile. "Enjoy your party, Mister Virgil."

"Will do. See you tomorrow..."

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

_Tuesday October 31__st__ 2079 – 5:30pm – New York_

Tin-Tin had woken in plenty of time to get ready and this time she and Virgil were admitted to the Bowmount's apartment with more restraint than on their previous visit. She tried to apologise for her earlier behaviour and was told not to worry about it.

Opal was already made up, a protective cape covering her gown. "You're too late, Virgil. You've just missed Alice."

Virgil looked a little disappointed. "Is she going to the party too?"

"Oh, yes." Opal's eyes crinkled. "She told me to tell you that she expects at least one dance out of you. She seemed quite disappointed to discover that you were coming with a partner, until I explained that Tin-Tin's your sister-in-law."

"Watch it, Virgil," Garret warned. "I know what it means when Opal's got that look in her eye."

"Alice?" Tin-Tin regarded her brother-in-law with open curiosity. "Who's Alice?"

"Alice Ross," Opal explained. "I've just completed her makeup, but I've warned her that even she's going to be overshadowed this evening… Come on, Tin-Tin. Let's get you dressed then we can show those stars what real beauty is." She guided Tin-Tin into another room and in front of a large mirror. "Here," she took Tin-Tin's dress down from where it was hanging on a rack, "once you've got this on, put this cape over it," she indicated several floor length garments like the one that protected her own outfit, "and then I'll get Garret to do your hair before I add the finishing touches."

After so long without being pampered, and weeks of feeling fat, blotchy, and unlovely, Tin-Tin lay back in the chair and enjoyed the sensation of Garret Bowmount massaging her scalp as he washed and conditioned her hair. For all his size and muscle, he was quick, efficient and gentle. Before she knew it he'd finished and was fastening a protective cover over her new hairdo. "We don't want Opal's powder getting all over it, do we?" he laughed. "You'd end up looking like Lily Munster."

"We've got time for a break before I start," Opal added. "You can stretch your legs first if you want."

Tin-Tin obeyed, wandering back into the lounge, where she found Virgil was already dressed in his tuxedo. He cast a wary look in her direction, taking in the shapeless protective gown and concealing hair cover. "If I were Gordon I'm sure I could come up with something funny to say about your outfit."

"You'd better not," Tin-Tin retorted. "Otherwise I'd ask Scott to box both your ears."

Virgil grinned. "Just as well I'm not Gordon then."

"And what about you, my friend?" Garret clamped him on the shoulder. "Are you letting your hair grow again, or do you want a trim?"

"This," Virgil ran his hand through his hair, which hadn't been cut since a few days before Thunderbird Three had blasted off from Earth, "is already too long. I am definitely not letting it grow again."

"How short do you want it?"

Virgil eyed his friend's bald dome. "Not as short as yours."

"That's not a bad choice," Garret admitted. "Even this takes work... I shave it," he explained to Tin-Tin, "because after spending all day coiffeuring a bunch of Prima Donnas who can't have it looking this way because _it is so last season, darhling_..." he batted his eyelashes and Tin-Tin giggled at the big man's impersonation, "or because _so and so has that style and she is just so... you know_..." he made a dismissive gesture before reverting to his own voice, "that the last thing I want to do is look in the mirror and see even more hair that needs work." He ran his hand over his head.

"Fortunately he doesn't seem to mind working on mine," Opal added. "Otherwise I'd look like a witch."

"Some clients are more pleasing to work with than others..." Her husband gave her an affectionate look. "Plus you give me a chance to practise my techniques."

"Strangely enough he won't let me practise my craft on him." Opal gave him a loving pat on the cheek.

"I thought that wasn't makeup he wore last Halloween," Virgil teased, and easily ducked a friendly punch.

Opal laughed. "Time for the finishing touches, Tin-Tin."

This time Tin-Tin found herself sitting in front of a mirror with one of the top makeup artists in the country working on her face with a feather-light touch. "You're going to need a lot of makeup," she noted. "Since I became pregnant, my face has become all blotchy."

"Don't worry," Opal reassured her. "It's not the first time I've concealed a pregnancy mask. I could name a few actresses who I knew were expecting before their producers, and sometimes even their husbands, did. By the time I've finished even you won't know they're there."

Tin-Tin relaxed. "How did you meet Virgil?" she asked.

"He came to our rescue," Opal chuckled. "I was running late for a major photo shoot, and Garret was helping me carry all my paraphernalia down to the car. He was in the elevator when there was a power cut to the whole building. The doors were jammed shut and nothing he did would open them. I called maintenance, but they were too busy trying to work out what had gone wrong with the electricity to respond. Fortunately International Rescue turned up..."

"What!?" Tin-Tin's start caused Opal to smudge the skilfully applied blusher.

She reached for a tissue to repair the damage. "Garret and I call Virgil 'International Rescue'. Every time we have a problem he seems to arrive out of nowhere and fix it... Anyway, he'd only recently moved into his apartment and was heading out to set up his first exhibition when he found me panicking because I was going to miss the shoot. Calm as you like, he got his pocket knife out and fiddled with something that opened the door. It was almost as if he'd done it before..."

Tin-Tin refrained from saying that Virgil had... Many times.

"Then he helped us carry my gear downstairs and I made it to the location with seconds to spare. Because he'd been so helpful we went to the opening of his exhibition to support him. We liked what we saw." Opal pointed to a painting on the wall. "We must have been one of his first clients. We've been friends ever since."

"I get the impression that he's needed your friendship," Tin-Tin mused.

"I got that impression too. It was almost as if it hadn't been for us and the New York Hawks he wouldn't have had any friends in New York. The art crowd he hung out with barely qualified as acquaintances."

"But, what about Scott? He lived in New York too."

"You're the first member of his family we've met. Virgil would often talk about you all, we knew what you were all doing and how you were getting on, but, and forgive me for saying this, Tin-Tin, it didn't seem that any of you were particularly close. From what Virgil told us you all had your own lives and you didn't have time to spare for each other."

Tin-Tin reflected for a moment. "It is sad, but I think that was true, in that we all had our own lives. We were close when we lived together on Tracy Island, but after Mr Tracy's stroke and Virgil's grandmother's death, we drifted apart. It took Doomsday to bring us together again."

"Good. Because I didn't like the direction he was heading. I was happy to help with the makeup and everything, but I didn't like the way that Gustav was taking over his life. And as for that Kasey person…" Opal gave a dramatic shudder.

"I only know her from what Virgil, and Scott, have told me," Tin-Tin admitted. "What was she like?"

"Not Virgil's type," Opal said promptly. "She took more out of that relationship than she gave. Even with her 'help', he was never going to fit in that world, no matter how hard he tried, and I'm glad that he's finally realised it and found his way home. And…" Opal carefully blended together two shades of eye shadow. "I hope that means you're not going to be a stranger, Tin-Tin… Now don't blush. You'll spoil the effect I've just created. There…" she took a step back and gave a satisfied nod. "You'll do. Now it's time for the grand unveiling." Taking care not to damage her carefully crafted makeup, or her husband's creation, she removed the head cover. "Now, out of that cape and you'll be ready for the ball, Cinderella."

Tin-Tin stood and allowed Opal to unfasten the gown at her neck. "Does that mean I'll have to be home by midnight?" The cape fell clear and she turned to admire herself in the full length mirror. "Oh, Opal…" she breathed. "You've done magic!"

Opal laughed. "Hardly. It always helps when you've got a good base to work with. Come on; let's see what the men think."

What the men thought was immediately obvious. Virgil, his hair now short and neat, stared at his sister-in-law. "Wow, Tin-Tin. You look amazing…" he breathed. "I wish Alan was here to see you."

"Now don't you start blubbing," Garret teased.

And was promptly scolded by his wife. "Garret Bowmount! That is an insensitive thing to say."

"Huh? Oh… Sorry, Tin-Tin. I didn't mean…"

Tin-Tin laughed. "Don't worry, Garret… Have you got your camera, Virgil?"

"If he hasn't, we've got a professional attending," Garrett told her.

"Professional?" Startled, Virgil turned to him. "A professional photographer?"

"Now don't go all coy," Garret told him. "We know all about your phobia."

"It's not a phobia," Virgil protested. "It's…"

"Don't panic. This is only for the benefit of a strict few, and those who get copies are under instructions…"

"You mean they'll have to sign a legally binding contract preventing them from publishing them," Opal amended.

"Which I think is overkill."

"This is a celebration for our closest friends and a few select others, _not_ fodder for the gutter press!"

"And if we can't trust our closest friends…"

"Whoa!" Virgil stepped between the bickering couple. "I don't want you two spoiling your evening on my account."

"It's not only for you that we're doing this," Opal told him. "For once we want our private party to remain private… Those women's magazines seem to get a lot of enjoyment out of publishing photographs of me looking at my worst," she confided to Tin-Tin. "This time I decided that it wasn't going to happen. We'll be vetting every photograph before it's released." She'd already slipped out of her cape. "Now, I'm going upstairs to check that everything is proceeding as it should. You two don't have to join us," she told Tin-Tin and Virgil. "The party's not due to start for an hour."

"We'll go back to my place, drop our gear off and I'll get the photo," Virgil suggested. "Then we'll see you up there to give you a hand."

Garret shook his head. "Oh no you don't. You're our guests."

"Garret's right," Opal agreed. "You can arrive at the time on your invitation…"

-F-A-B-

_Tuesday October 31__st__ 2079 – 10:00 pm – Kent_

"M'Lady..." There was a discreet tap on Lady Penelope's door. "H-Are you h-awake, m'Lady? H-It's ten h-oh clock."

Her robe wrapped about her and her hair dishevelled, Lady Penelope opened the door, offering him a glimpse into her spacious bedroom. "Good evening, Parker. You have the same splendid timing as my alarm clock."

"D'ya want me to h-ask Lil to give you h-a 'and with your costume?"

"That won't be necessary," Lady Penelope admitted. "Madame Griechisch's costume is a simple affair. I am sure that Lil would like to concentrate on getting ready herself."

"_You'll look a darn sight better than 'er,_" Parker thought, suppressing a grin. "Do you require my h-assistance, m'Lady?"

"No, thank you, Parker. You may go get into your costume."

"Yes, m'Lady." As he wandered back to his quarters, Parker thought of the sheet that Lil had sewn into a toga style arrangement for him. Much too exposed for someone of his age. He remembered the pair of new, white, long johns that he'd purchased ready for the upcoming winter. He could wear them underneath the sheet and still look the part.

-F-A-B-

_Tuesday October 31__st__ 2079 – 6:45 pm – New York_

"I hope we haven't spoilt their evening," Tin-Tin commented when Virgil had finished taking the required photographs.

He started downloading the photos to his computer. "They'll be fine. They always have at least one major blow-up before a party. They say that if they do it before the festivities then they've got it out of their system and won't do it while the guests are there. It's the artistic temperament."

"They didn't strike me as being particularly temperamental."

Virgil grinned. "Believe me they can be. If someone, who they feel doesn't know what they're talking about, criticises their work, they'll get so wound up they'll almost be threatening swords at dawn. They're the best and they know it." He looked at his watch. "We've still got 45 minutes. Is there anything you want to do while we wait?"

"Is it that long?" Tin-Tin sighed. "No."

"We could head up there and see if they need a hand with anything."

"But I thought they said that we weren't to get there early."

Virgil laughed. "Something nearly always goes wrong beforehand and they usually need my help sorting it out. As great as they are, they haven't got a practical bone in their bodies."

"So that's why they call you International Rescue."

Virgil laughed again. "They told you that, did they? I wonder what they'd say if they knew the truth."

"Probably _thank you_."

"At least they'd understand why I don't like having my photo taken." Virgil extended his arm. "Are you ready to go to the ball, Cinderella?"

The party was being held on the top floor of the apartment block. The entire floor, with the exception of the kitchen, was open and offered sweeping views across the city.

They'd no sooner stepped out of the lift when Opal had grabbed Virgil by the arm and started dragging him across the floor to the bar. "Thank goodness you're here! The ice maker has stopped working. We can't get any ice cubes!"

"Can't the barman fix it?"

"He's even more hopeless than we are," Opal admitted. "Please do something, Virgil. We can't serve drinks without ice."

Virgil appeared to be reluctant to help, but Tin-Tin could tell that he was teasing his friends. "Okay," he sighed. "Let's have a look…" He started out by pushing a few buttons to see what would happen. "The motor's running overtime, but nothing's happening." Pulling the power plug out from the wall, he spun it around on its table as the machine wound down. "You two do realise that I'm probably about to void the warranty?"

Opal twisted her hands together. "I don't care. I'll buy them a new one. Just get it working!"

"Has it frozen up?" Tin-Tin suggested. "Perhaps the cut-out switch isn't working and it has made too much ice."

Virgil had already retrieved his pocket knife from his pocket and was unscrewing the back. "You're better at electrical engineering than I am," he admitted, handing her the knife. "Do you want to see if you can work out what's wrong while I try to defrost it?"

"In other words you've given yourself the easy job," Tin-Tin accused. "It would be easier if I had the proper tools instead of this," she indicated the knife.

"Okay, I'll go get my stuff in a minute. You see what you can do with that in the meantime." Virgil turned to the barman. "Have you got something we can use as a drip tray?"

"Uh… There's this?" The barman produce a platter.

"Drip tray?" Garret stared at the platter. "Oh. To catch the ice as it melts."

Opal made an exasperated sound. "Of course it's to catch the ice!"

Virgil had finished his examination. "You're right, Tin-Tin. It is frozen solid. We're going to have to find a way of heating it without damaging the machine."

"The kitchen's got a couple of those little flame thrower things," the barman suggested. "You know, they use them for browning stuff off."

Tin-Tin negated the idea. "The heat's too focused and the flame will damage the casing."

"What we need," Virgil began, "is something that generates a lot of heat, but not too much."

"Like what?" Opal asked.

"Like something capable of consistently blowing hot air."

"Do you have something?" Garret asked.

"No. But you do."

Garret looked bemused. "I do?"

"One of your tools."

"My tools?!"

"Yes."

"But I don't have any tools." Garret frowned. "Except for the tool kit Opal bought me as a present once. I never opened it. Would that have something?"

Opal made an exasperated sound. "What a waste of money that was."

"You must have known it was going to be a waste when you bought it for me."

"I thought it might inspire you!"

"Inspire me to do what?! Build a house?! I'm a hairstylist not a carpenter!"

"Stop it for a minute you two," Virgil instructed, "and think! Now that I'm back living on the island permanently, I'm not going to be here for you to rely on and I'm trying to get you to fend for yourselves." His friends looked abashed as he continued on in a patient voice. "Now… Garret… We want to melt the ice, and we want to melt it quickly, right?"

"Right."

"So we want something that generates heat, but is gentle enough that it won't burn plastic or metal."

"Right," Garret said again. "And it's a tool I've got?"

"Yes. Something that blows hot air."

"Something that blows hot air…?"

"Yes. Something portable."

It was all Tin-Tin could do to stop herself from laughing as Garret repeated: "Something portable…? Something that blows hot air...?" Then the big man thumped himself on his bald forehead. "You mean a hairdryer, don't you?"

"I do. And you'd better hurry and get it before your guests arrive."

Opal glared at her husband as she pulled him towards the door. "You idiot, Garret! You should have thought of that!"

"I should have thought of it?! I don't see you rushing off to get it."

"Rush? I've done enough rushing about this evening. I am not going to spoil my outfit just because of a stupid ice machine!"

"Stupid ice machine? You were the one who was crying that the party was ruined because there wouldn't be ice in the drinks..."

The door swung shut behind the bickering couple muffling their argument.

Virgil rolled his eyes before grinning at Tin-Tin. "They'll be happy now. They've had their disaster and the party will be perfect. And to make sure it is I'd better go get my tools for you." He turned to leave.

"Virgil?"

Surprised, Virgil stopped and looked at his sister-in-law. "Yes?"

"You said that you were living on the island permanently."

"Did I? I was trying to get them to use their brains. They're not as stupid as they..." The door opened and a graceful, beautiful woman entered the room causing Virgil's face to light up in a beaming smile. "Alice!"

Tin-Tin was surprised to realise that the newcomer was none other than the famous actress Alice Ross. She was even more astonished when Virgil welcomed the movie star with an affectionate greeting. _That_ was no Hollywood air kiss.

"You're early," Virgil told the actress. "Come and meet Tin-Tin." Taking Alice Ross' arm, he guided her to the ice machine.

"Well, this is a Bowmount party," Alice said. "Which means two things. One: something 'catastrophic' will happen before the guests arrive, sending Garret and Opal into a spin; and two: you'll come to their rescue..." She smiled at the awestruck woman standing behind a dismantled ice maker with a pocketknife in her hand. "Hello, Tin-Tin. Nice to finally get the chance to meet you. I've heard so much about you."

"Uh... And I-I you," Tin-Tin stammered. "But not from Virgil..." She turned scarlet. "I-I mean..."

Alice laughed and it sounded genuine, not an act. "Virgil told me that you follow all the gossip in the magazines."

"I, er..." Tin-Tin glared at her brother-in-law.

Who seemed oblivious to the daggers heading his way. "If you two ladies will excuse me a moment, I've got to get my tools. Back soon."

Alice smiled at Tin-Tin who didn't know whether to pretend to be delving deep into the mysteries of the ice maker or to attempt some small talk.

Alice seemed intent on small talk. "I hope we don't all disappoint you," she was saying. "I remember the first time I met a famous actress. I was only a shy young bit player then and as far as I was concerned she was a goddess. I'd read all about her in the magazines and I thought she was wonderful. I couldn't believe that I was lucky enough to be working in the same studio as her, let alone the same movie. Finally, one day on set I finally plucked up the courage to talk to her and she completely ignored me. As far as she was concerned I was so far beneath her that she wouldn't even acknowledge my presence."

"That's awful!" Tin-Tin exclaimed.

"I was crushed and disillusioned, but it taught me a lesson. I vowed that no matter how successful I became I wouldn't let myself behave like her… The irony is that I've since 'starred'," Alice mimed the quotation marks and the corners of her eyes crinkled up in laughter, "alongside this particular actress and because I'm now 'famous'," the quotation marks and crinkles reappeared, "she's suddenly decided that she and I are best friends. I was tempted to treat her the way she did to me all those years ago, but what's the point? It won't change her."

"Who was the actress?" Tin-Tin enquired.

Alice laughed. "That's not important. What's important is that we don't disillusion you tonight, Tin-Tin." As Tin-Tin reflected that this was one particular star who wouldn't do that, Alice indicated the icemaker. "What is wrong with it?"

"It's frozen," Tin-Tin explained. "I think that possibly the cut-off switched is jammed somehow, but until I get some proper tools I won't be able to do anything about it."

"So that's where Virgil's gone," Alice said. "And where are Opal and Garret?"

"Getting hairdryers to defrost the machine."

Alice nodded her approval. "Could we make a start defrosting it?" she suggested. "What if we were to wrap hot towels around it?"

"That is a good idea."

While they waited for the barman to obtain the necessary equipment, Tin-Tin regarded her companion. Alice Ross appeared to not only be beautiful and charming, but intelligent and practical as well. Just the kind of woman she could imagine Virgil Tracy with.

Not that Alice was aware of her thoughts. "You're an engineer aren't you?"

"Yes. I studied mathematics as well."

Alice took the hot towels from the barman, and with no hesitation and using the supplied tongs, started wrapping them about the ice maker's casing. "I wish I'd studied something."

"You do?"

"Yes. With the hiatus caused by Doomsday I've had time to think about what I want to do with the rest of my life, and I don't think acting's it. I'm giving serious thought to quitting."

"You're quitting acting?!"

"Did one of your magazines tell you how I fell into it?"

Tin-Tin nodded. It was well known that as a young woman still trying to find her place in the world, Alice Ross had filled in her long hours of unemployment by acting in amateur productions. One of her fellow cast members had had a cousin who was something big in Hollywood and had suggested that she watch the young, beautiful woman who was the lead in the show. The Hollywood bigwig had been so impressed that she'd offered to get her an agent and open a few otherwise tightly sealed doors. Alice, with no other ideas of what to do with her life and no immediate prospects, had accepted the offer. Soon she was in the background of major films, then she had bit parts, supporting roles; until now she was once again the lead with Hollywood at her feet.

"I became an actress because I didn't know what else to do and I didn't have the skills to do it. Then when I filmed _Gas Light_ and did some welding training, etcetera, I discovered that I quite enjoyed it… Of course," Alice giggled, "it might have been my tutor that made it so enjoyable." She looked back towards the door. "He's been working out, hasn't he?"

"Yes, he has." Tin-Tin wondered if it was her place to enquire further. "So, what do you want to do? Become an engineer…?" She requested that the barman bring them more hot towels.

"I don't know," Alice admitted. "I was wondering, and this is if you don't mind, could I pick your brains later? It would be good to talk to a woman who's made it in the field. You know… Find out the joys and pitfalls. Not now," she added quickly, "you're here to enjoy yourself, not talk shop, but maybe later?"

Tin-Tin felt a flutter of excitement and pride. Alice Ross wanted to ask her advice! "Of course, Ms Ross. I'd love to."

Alice beamed at her. "Thank you. Virgil can give you my number. I've got nothing on the books at the moment, so call me whenever you're free. But when you do, you're to call me Alice. Okay?"

The doors to the room swung open and Virgil reappeared, carrying a small case. "It's been so long since I've stayed there, I'd forgotten where I'd put everything." He handed the case to Tin-Tin, who immediately delved into it for the tools she required. "Aren't Opal and Garret back yet?"

"No, they're probably in such a flap that they'd forgotten where they put the hairdryers," Alice chuckled. "Were they still talking to each other when they left?"

"Yes, but they were at the snapping stage. They're probably giving each other the silent treatment now, which is why they're taking so long to come back."

"Well, while we wait, would you mind if I watched you work, Tin-Tin?" Alice asked.

"Not at all."

Virgil took the new tray of steaming hot towels off the barman and started removing the old ones. "This was a good idea. Whose was it?"

"Alice," Tin-Tin admitted, and couldn't help but notice the way Virgil beamed at his friend.

"I told you, you were too practical for the movies," he said.

Opal and Garret finally returned, each carrying two hairdryers, and with their lips tightly clamped together as they studiously ignored each other. Tin-Tin was astonished to witness, without being asked and with no comment to her friends about their behaviour, Alice Ross took one of the hairdryers, fired it up, and aimed it at the ice machine.

Tin-Tin decided that she would definitely be suitable as a sister-in-law.

-F-A-B-

_Tuesday October 31__st__ 2079 – 11:50 pm – Kent_

Lady Penelope stood in front of her mirror and admired herself in her costume. It gave the impression of being little more than a flimsy piece of material, but in reality it was a carefully crafted dress, well sewn together and designed to resist the grasping paws of male members of the aristocracy.

She felt along the gathering at the waist, feeling for the long thin strand that had been sewn into the costume, not by Madame Griechisch, but by herself. Even tonight, at a function put on by a long-standing friend, the spy in her felt the need to ensure that she was never too far from her protective gadgets and security devices.

She took a step back from the mirror so she could see her full outfit, held her arms out and spun around slowly, admiring her reflection again. "_Yes,_" she thought in satisfaction. "_Ralph will be in raptures tonight, but he will have to worship me from afar. He is not the man for me._"

She picked up one of her many jewellery boxes and made her selection.

-F-A-B-

_Tuesday October 31__st__ 2079 – 7:45 pm – New York_

"You are a dark horse, Virgil Tracy."

The party, with a band playing and people talking and laughing, was in full noisy swing. Banners proclaimed "Death to Doomsday". The Bowmounts, showing no hint of the 'calamity" that had happened before, swept graciously between their guests, exchanging pleasantries with their friends and each other. They had just thanked Virgil and Tin-Tin for their help for what seemed to be the hundredth time, reminded them to relax and have a good time, and had moved on to greet a celebrated music producer.

"I'm a what!?" Virgil leant closer to his sister-in-law. His burst eardrums, having had less than two weeks to heal, were compromising his hearing in the rowdy room.

"You are a dark horse," Tin-Tin repeated. "You never said anything about you and Alice Ross."

Virgil looked confused as he tried to work out if he'd heard what he thought he'd heard. "Me and Alice? There's nothing to say."

"It is obvious she's sweet on you…" Tin-Tin narrowed her eyes as she looked at him. "And you on her."

"Don't be ridiculous. I taught her how to weld, that's all." Embarrassed Virgil watched the ice cubes swirl in his glass. "We're friends."

"If you ask me, she would prefer to be more than friends."

Virgil looked up. "Do you think so?"

Tin-Tin was about to say that she knew so when she saw him pale. "What is wrong?"

"It's Mrs Pullman!" he hissed.

"Who?"

"Mrs Pullman! I told you about her. That woman Gustav did the painting for!" Virgil tried to hide behind his sister-in-law. "What's she doing here?"

"She was probably invited by the Bowmounts... Where is she?"

"Over there."

"Where...? Virgil..." Exasperated, Tin-Tin tried turn to around so that she could confront him. "Let go of me! I am not a shield."

"Don't let her see me!"

"Virgil! Has she ever seen you as you?"

"Erm..." He stopped to think. "No."

"Then how would she recognise you? You don't have the blue hair or the beard anymore. You are not Gustav!"

He looked even more embarrassed than he had done when they'd been talking about Alice. "You're right."

"Of course I am right. Now remember that you are Virgil Tracy and relax."

Virgil made an obvious effort to do so. "I've only met her at exhibitions, although she's attempted to get me back to her place more than once for something more 'social'. I guess that after all this time I'm programmed to keep clear of her when I don't have to be nice to her."

"All right, now so that you don't have to meet her socially, point her out to me so I know who to keep clear of."

"That's her, talking to the barman." Virgil pointed to a part of the room that they knew well.

Tin-Tin stared at the lady in question. She'd expected an elderly lady, the proverbial 'mutton dressed up as lamb' trying to relive her lost youth by hunting down handsome younger men. Instead she found herself looking at a woman of indeterminate age, elegantly dressed, and with not unpleasant features. "She doesn't look like a man-eater."

"Trust me, she is." Virgil looked at his empty glass. "I'd offer to get you another drink if she wasn't at the bar."

Tin-Tin indicated her orange juice. "It doesn't matter. I haven't finished this one yet."

"Virgil!"

They both looked around at the tall brunette who was sashaying closer, her curves accentuated by her figure-hugging sequined gown, and Tin-Tin felt a surge of excitement. It was one of her idols, Tyla Godbehere; an actress whose star had risen even higher than Alice Ross'. Tin-Tin had long harboured secret dreams of meeting Tyla Godbehere. Now it seemed that that dream was about to come true.

Tyla was greeting Virgil like a long lost friend, while he, Tin-Tin noticed, seemed less enthusiastic about the meeting. "Hi, Tyla."

"I couldn't believe my luck when Opal said you were coming. It's been too long."

Not long enough judging by Virgil's expression. "Let me introdu..."

Tyla cut across him. "I'd been looking for a man to protect me from Doomsday," she purred, moving closer and running her hand down the lapel of his tuxedo. "Where have you been hiding these last few months, Virgil Tracy?"

Virgil stepped backwards. "Back at home with my family. Speaking of which..."

Tyla pouted, a gesture which Tin-Tin guessed was supposed to be endearing. "Leaving me to face Doomsday alone." She moved closer.

Virgil took another backwards step. "Doomsday's been nullified, so you don't need to worry about it anymore."

This close to Tyla Godbehere, Tin-Tin could see that her beauty was due to Opal's craftsmanship rather than any natural attributes. She came to the opinion that the actress' features couldn't even be classified as 'pleasant' with her sharp nose, thin lips and low chin. She suddenly felt sorry for the woman.

"That doesn't mean you have to be a stranger." Tyla had decreased the distance between herself and Virgil again. If they kept up this backwards shuffle much longer, Tin-Tin decided, they'd wind up in the hors d'oeuvres.

His hand at the small of her back, Virgil guided his sister-in-law forward, his arm slipping further around her waist. "Let me introduce you to Tin-Tin, Tyla."

Tyla's smile froze. Her eyes went from Tin-Tin's face to her swollen belly and stayed there. "Oh… Hello," she said to the bulge.

"Hello, Ms Godbehere." Tin-Tin hoped she didn't sound gushing. Her idolisation of this woman was rapidly being replaced by equanimity. "It is a pleasure to meet you."

"Yes…" Tyla appeared confused. "Yes… Of course it is."

"Tin-Tin's a fan of yours," Virgil told her. "Possibly one of your biggest."

"I can see that."

Tin-Tin didn't know whether to be annoyed, disappointed, or amused and wondered if this was the actress who had disillusioned Alice. "I've loved all of your films," she admitted, wondering why.

"Of course you did." Tyla's eyes climbed back up Virgil's arm to his face. "It must be months since I last saw you."

Tin-Tin was astonished to see a hint of a smirk play around his lips. "Oh, yes. It has been."

"And, er, what have you been doing all this time?"

"I've been…" Virgil let what Tin-Tin could only describe as a pregnant pause hang in the air, "busy."

Tyla's eyes zoomed back down to Tin-Tin's tummy again. "Yes, I see you… I'm sure you have been. Oh look! There's Evan Myers. I simply must go and say hello to him!" Without another word the actress swept away.

"She can't stand Evan Myers," Virgil confided. He released Tin-Tin and increased the space between them to a respectable distance.

Tin-Tin scowled at him. "Is that the reason why you invited me?! To frighten her off?"

"No!" Virgil looked shocked at the idea. "No way! I invited you because I knew you'd like the opportunity to meet the people here. Most of them are good people, but Tyla… well… She's a star and she knows it. She's used to being able to snap her fingers and get what she wants."

"And she's been snapping her fingers at you?" Tin-Tin queried.

"Yes… I'm sorry, Tin-Tin, I didn't intend to use you, and if she'd shown you some courtesy I would have told her our relationship."

Tin-Tin sighed. "You've lived with Gordon for too long, Virgil. You've picked up his bad habits."

"Never mind Gordon; if Alan had been here he would have decked me… Come on. I'll introduce you to Patrick Aldridge. You'll like him..."

-F-A-B-

_Tuesday October 31__st__ 2079 – Some indistinguishable minute in an interminable journey_

Alan stood motionless, his back to the wall, waiting, every muscle in his body taut; unaware of the cold chill that ran down the length his spine. He was poised, ready to run, knowing that he had limited options in this sealed environment and many obstacles in his path.

"You – have – ten – seconds." He'd been expecting that warning, but even so he shivered at the disembodied voice's announcement. "Nine… eight… seven…"

He rubbed his bare arm and braced himself for the moment when he'd make his dash for the door. If he was going to succeed he was going to have to run faster then he'd ever run in his life.

And if he was honest with himself his chances of success were slim.

"Three… Two… One… Go!"

Alan pushed himself off the cold metal wall and ran, his bare feet slapping against the even colder floor.

"Ten."

Once he'd dodged the control panel, taking care not to touch it in case he did something disastrous to Thunderbird Three's flight, he threw himself into the lift and the agonising beyond-his-control seeming-to-be-a-crawl descent to the storeroom below.

"Twenty."

The lift's door had barely opened when he'd dashed through and towards the central storage unit. After a quick circuit of that, hugging the unit in an effort to keep his speed and balance, he was back into the lift and dropping down to the next level.

"Forty."

This, the sleeping quarters, was partitioned with bulkhead doors and he hurdled each of these, grazing his knee and almost losing his balance against the metal edge. Ignoring the pain and desperate to beat that nagging voice that chased him throughout his craft, he carried on running, returning to the lift and his final descent to the lounge deck.

"Sixty."

He hurdled the couch that was a sometime resident of his home on Tracy Island, bounced off the far wall, dodged the couch again, and threw himself back into the lift, giving himself a moment to catch his breath as it sped back up to the flight deck.

"Seventy."

The door opened onto his 'natural environment' and he pushed off the lift's back wall, launching himself back into the room for one final circuit of the control panel before he slammed back against the wall where he'd started. "Done!"

He waited, gasping as he tried to catch his breath, for the computer to make its announcement. "Time – elapsed. Eighty – seconds. One – point – three – three – minutes."

"Yes!" he punched the air with his fist before, ignoring the blood that was running down his leg, doing a little dance. "That's point zero one faster." He picked up his tablet PC and recorded the time.

He'd started this game, challenge, whatever you wanted to call it a few weeks ago. It had started out as a way of keeping fit and entertained that didn't involve the gym and had evolved into a quasi-scientific experiment. By following the same route each time he ran it, he was able to compete against himself. In time this palled until he came up with the idea of changing the various variables involved. Air speed and temperature were constants, so he looked elsewhere for things to change.

His first theory was that his International Rescue boots, not built for running in tight confined spaces on smooth floors, were slowing him down. So he tried the same route wearing the various other footwear that he'd brought with him on the journey.

Then he arrived at the hypothesis that any type of footwear would slow him down, and so he'd done a couple of laps in bare feet, managing to shave point zero three off his time.

If bare feet made him faster, Alan had theorised, then were other items of clothing slowing him down? Was the material of his uniform adding an element of drag? If professional athletes wore skin tight clothing to help them gain that extra nanosecond of speed, then what would no clothing achieve? Was a naked body faster than a clothed one?

Today he'd come to the conclusion that: yes, it was.

He knew that it would take more tests to prove that this one race wasn't a fluke, but he didn't mind that. It helped to satisfy his competitive spirit and filled in a few minutes of his inexhaustible days.

Besides, he thought as he pressed a tissue against his bleeding knee to stem the flow, who was going to see him naked? It wasn't as if someone was about to radio in…

There was a distinctive chime and he looked up from his knee to see who was visiting him. He was standing in the right place to get the full 3D effect.

The expected chair arrived with its occupant sitting gracefully in it; her pale pink, knee-length-skirted shapely legs delicately crossed at the ankles; her blouse cut, not low, but feminine; her blonde hair framing her face in which blue eyes twinkled. "Hello, Alan…"

"Penelope!" Acutely aware that he wasn't wearing a stitch of clothing, Alan once again ran for his life, taking refuge behind his control panel.

"…Your family have kindly permitted me to send you a little message and I do so hope that it won't bore you. Now… What does one say in this situation? I suppose I should start with the usual pleasantries. You are looking well, Alan. Dare I say, even in the pink of health…?"

Alan reached over the control panel and slammed his hand down on the button that paused the hologram. Lady Penelope froze, staring into nothingness, her lips slightly apart as a word lay silent on her lips.

He took a deep breath. This was silly! He was alone, thousands of miles away from anyone, let alone Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward, and it wasn't as if she could see him. Peeping over the control panel he took in her glassy stare aimed somewhere between him and the door. He could walk across quite casually and she wouldn't bat an eyelid.

But something deep inside him refused to let him take that simple stroll. Some puritanical voice railed against parading naked in front of her ladyship.

Equally he couldn't bring himself to turn the hologram off. It seemed disloyal, as if he didn't value her presence. He also had the idea, even though he knew it was stupid, that wiping the hologram would erase a tiny piece of her soul from existence.

This left Alan in a dilemma caused by two equally powerful and irrational emotions. He couldn't streak in front of Lady Penelope. Neither could he murder her.

Alan sat on the cold floor and thought. If it had been his father or brothers it wouldn't have been an issue; there was nothing that they hadn't seen before. Tin-Tin? He certainly wouldn't have any problems exposing himself to her!

Thoughts of his wife and his present state of undress drifted to a hologram she'd smuggled up to him of her wearing little more than black lacy negligee. He'd almost worn that one out - The video, not the negligee. He hadn't had the chance to run his hands over that piece of lace yet...

Alan pulled himself together.

Brains: He'd seen it all before too, but in a medical context. Still, Alan wouldn't have been ashamed to stand in front of his hologram.

Kyrano: While it would have felt odd to be naked in front of his father-in-law, Kyrano had been a part of the Tracy family long enough to have assisted Alan with getting dressed during his childhood years. Alan could have stomached sneaking past him.

Parker: Parker was a good sort. He probably would have raised one eyebrow, smirked, looked along his big nose and said: "Watcha doin' wivou' h-any tar on, Mister Alan…?" or something along that line.

But Lady Penelope… Lady Penelope was a member of the English Aristocracy! Lady Penelope was a family friend, who'd never seen him wearing anything less than his bathing trunks! Lady Penelope was a woman he'd had a crush on when he was younger!

Alan peeped over the console. Lady Penelope was still staring at nothing.

Then he spied the solution to his problems. On the far edge of the console was the tablet PC that he'd been using to record his running times. Reaching it meant standing; which he did with some odd contortions to ensure that what needed to be hidden stayed hidden, but soon he had the device in his hand.

Praying that it was big enough, he held the tablet down low like a shield and dashed across the floor to the door. He threw himself into the lift, banging his knee again in the process, and breathed a sigh of relief when the door closed behind him.

Five minutes later he was back, wearing his full uniform including hat. Then he placed his chair in position, told the computer to rewind to the beginning, and sat down to enjoy Lady Penelope's visitation…

-F-A-B-

_Tuesday October 31__st__ 2079 – 11.55 pm – Kent_

"The car's 'ere, m'Lady," Parker announced. "It's one of them _chaufar_ h-ones."

"Thank you, Parker." Lady Penelope swept from her room. She stopped when she saw him bedecked in an old sheet, long johns, socks and sandals. "May I say that you look just the part," she told him, managing, with her usual cool resolve, to not laugh at the sight.

He was a lot more appreciative of her costume. "So do you, m'Lady. You'll knock Lord Raif's socks h-orf."

"Is Lil ready?"

"She's been ready for the last 'our." Parker tried to hold back a yawn. "She says she's ready to party the night h-away, but H-I doubt H-I'll be stayin' h-up to see the sun rise."

"Did you get some sleep, Parker?"

"Not much," he admitted. "I-I was scared H-I'd h-oversleep."

"Never mind, at least you are close to home if you do decide to leave early."

"Yeah. H-And since Lord Raif's supplied us with the chaufar you won't be relying h-on me to bring you 'ome… Course, h-if you did want me to come h-and get yer, m'Lady, you know you h-only need to call. H-I promise H-I won't 'ave too much to drink."

"Thank you, Parker, but this is an evening of celebration and relaxation for us both. I will not be requiring your services tonight."

Parker gave a little bow. "Very good, m'Lady." Following a respectful one step behind his mistress, he and Lady Penelope joined Lil the cook, also in fancy dress, in the hall. The footmen, housemaids, tweenies, and other servants had already left to make an early start to the revelry.

"How wonderful that you are able to be in costume too," Lady Penelope told Lil. "Tonight promises to be a night of fun and frivolity, and I trust that you will both enjoy yourselves. Now, you said our car had arrived, Parker?"

"Yes, m'Lady." Parker threw open the front doors to the Creighton-Ward manor revealing a long, luxurious vehicle.

It had no driver.

"I thought yer weren't drivin' tonight," Lil said.

"H-I h-am not," he corrected. "This car h-is h-a chaufar."

"Chaufar? Oh… Yer mean one of those that drives themselves?"

Instead of confirming the cook's supposition Parker opened the car's door for Lady Penelope before he and Lil claimed the seats where the driver would have been if he hadn't been a computer under the bonnet. He'd never quite trusted these self-driving vehicles and wanted to be in a position where he could grab the steering wheel if things looked like they were going haywire.

"We are ready," Lady Penelope announced. "Drive on."

The car acknowledged her command with a discreet chime through the speakers and eased away from the manor. It was, Parker had to admit, a smooth ride, more like they were gliding on air than rolling over pebbles and onto tarmac.

In no time at all they were pulling up in front of Templar Manor. Backlit by the bright moon, the 19th century building loomed over them, dark and forbidding. All except for the room to the left of the entrance, which was brightly lit and welcoming. Silhouettes of the dancing revellers inside were visible against the drawn curtains and the jaunty music spilled out of the open windows.

Lady Penelope allowed a small frown to crease her forehead. "Dear me, it appears that we are late. Do you have the time, Parker?"

Parker rolled back the sleeve of his long johns and looked at his watch. "Not midnight yet, m'Lady. H-If h-anything we're h-early."

"Watcha got yer watch on for?" Lil asked. "Those ancient Romans didn't have watches."

"Greeks," Parker corrected. "H-And H-I h-always like to know the time…" He looked back through the window. "'Ere's Lord Raif now."

Lord Ralph Cockburn-Saint-John, with his chitin billowing behind him and closely followed by a heavyset manservant, bounded down the steps like an eager puppy.

"'E looks like h-an h-unravelling bog roll," Parker whispered to Lil. She giggled at his wit.

Despite it being his night off, he automatically went to exit the car so he could assist Lady Penelope, only to find that Lord Ralph's manservant had reached there first. The big man held the passenger door open, standing in front of the 'driver's' door in such a way that Parker couldn't get out.

"Bloomin' cheek," Parker muttered, but, despite his irritation he was relieved to see that Lord Ralph's butler appeared to have been given leave for the evening/morning. Dion had said that all the staff had been encouraged to attend the party, but Parker wasn't prepared to believe it until he'd reached the home farm, had a glass in his hand, and was having a good chinwag with his friend.

"At last! You are here!" Ralph gushed, extending both hands to her ladyship.

"At last?" Lady Penelope queried. "Am I late?"

"Dear me, no," Ralph exclaimed. "These are all early revellers," he indicated the silhouettes on the window. "Keen to start the celebrations. But now that my guest of honour has arrived, my party can begin in earnest."

Both her hands in his, Lady Penelope alighted from the car. As she did she caught an unexpected whiff of latex rubber.

"You look simply gorgeous," Ralph gushed, and as they moved closer together his aftershave overpowered every other scent. Fortunately it was an attractive perfume. "Once again you will be the belle of my ball."

The manservant leant towards the car's window. "You may go," he growled.

Parker glowered at him, not bothering to hide his indignation. "Ta, Mate," he responded sarcastically.

Lil, however, was keen to get moving. "We are ready. Drive on," she said, in an approximation of Lady Penelope's cultured voice.

After the chime, the car set off, moving of its own accord towards the servants' venue.

"Oh, this is fun," Lil watched as the steering wheel turned as if operated by a ghostly hand. "You'd better watch it, Nosey. You could be out of a job."

"Oi! 'Oo said you could call me Nosey?" he growled. "'Sides, 'her Ladyship relies on me for more than drivin'."

"Well, since you don' 'ave to drive..." Looping her arm through his, Lil snuggled closer to Parker. "We don't 'ave to go to tha party y'know. We could take this car and go somewhere more private..."

Parker had no intention of going anywhere different. "The last time Lord Cow-barn Saint Ann Boleyn gave h-anyone of our class h-anything, 'e'd soiled 'is nappy h-and h-expected 'is nanny to change h-it. For once the ol' skinflint's show'n' some generosity h-and H-I don' h-intend ta miss h-out."

He relaxed back into his seat.

-F-A-B-

_Wednesday 1__st__ November 2079 –12.01 am – Kent_

Her hands warm in his, his heart beating a tattoo in his chest, so loud that he was sure that she must hear it over the music, Lord Ralph Cockburn-Saint-John led Lady Penelope across the gravel and up the steps into the foyer. There stood a dark-skinned young woman, wearing the traditional maid's outfit and holding a tray containing a single elegant glass.

Releasing Lady Penelope's left hand, Ralph picked up the glass and gave it to his guest. "Let us share a drink before we enter," he suggested, taking his own half-empty glass from the manservant. "A toast to our friendship."

"Thank you, Ralph." Looking back later Lady Penelope was to remember the maid's scared expression and the way she'd almost imperceptibly shaken her head. But for now she had no concerns. This was Ralph and whatever plans he had for her this evening, she could handle him... "To our friendship."

Lady Penelope sipped from the glass.

-F-A-B-

_Wednesday 1__st__ November 2079 – 12.05 am – Kent_

The home farm where the 'staff' party was being held had been decorated in such a way that the building's original purpose was well hidden. An earlier Cockburn-Saint-John had converted the block into an indoor/outdoor flow entertainment area that had retained its original name, and it hadn't taken too much effort to set it up for tonight's festivities.

Already there was a crowd enjoying themselves. A group of younger servants were having a raucous time, their costumes more revealing than the older set thought wise.

"Looks like this knees-up's been goin' for some time," Parker commented as he and Lil walked into the building. He jumped when a balloon popped.

"You know the youngsters," she responded. "They ain't got the patience to wait. Young Arthur's been 'ere since ten."

"Shall I get you a drink, Lil?"

"Love one," Lil told him. "You know what I like."

He treated her to a roguish wink. "Oh, yes. H-I know."

He was back soon with a milk stout. "Don't drink it too quick, else you'll be tipsy before the sun comes up."

She giggled and sipped at her glass.

-F-A-B-

_Wednesday 1__st__ November 2079 – 12.05 am – Kent_

Taking her glass, Ralph Cockburn-Saint-John placed it back on the maid's tray and took Lady Penelope's hand. "Shall we go through to the ballroom?" Leading her by both hands he escorted her through the double doors to where she knew the party was in full swing.

But the room was empty. A projector beamed silhouettes onto the curtains and a stereo pumped out the sounds of music, talking and laughter.

"Ralph?" Lady Penelope turned to him. "What is this?"

"This is a celebration, Penelope," he told her. "Tonight, with the help of my friend here," he indicated the manservant who curled his lip in disgust at the description, "you will be mine."

"No." Lady Penelope tried to take a step towards the door, but the room spun about her. Her brain feeling like it was pushing through Lil's porridge, she reached out to steady herself and Ralph took her arm. "What havv you done, Raf'?"

"Just a mild sedative, Penelope." Taking both hands again, Ralph guided her to a high-backed, manacled chair. "You see, you and I are going on a little journey." Holding her arms against the chair's armrests he allowed the shaking maid to slip the handcuffs over Lady Penelope's wrists. When the task was completed he reached out to caress her cheek and Lady Penelope barely had the energy to roll her head away from his touch. "When you awaken we will be in paradise."

The room was growing dim and Lady Penelope was powerless to do anything about it. As the last of her consciousness slipped away she was aware of the maid's look of absolute terror and the feeling of sick horror as the manservant peeled off his face...

_To be continued..._


	45. Chapter 45 - Revelation

**Chapter 45: Revelation**

_Tuesday October 31__st__ 2079 – 9:45 pm – New York_

Tin-Tin sat off to one side of the room and watched the people milling about, laughing, and having fun. While she had enjoyed herself and had thrilled to meet so many famous people, she had to admit to a vague feeling of disappointment. She hadn't met anyone else as disillusioning as Tyla Godbehere, but neither had anyone, except for Alice, Opal, and Garret, met up to her expectations.

It wasn't as though she'd been a complete stranger to the world of Hollywood "A-listers", as occasionally one would turn up at Alan's racetrack to meet and greet and have their photo taken with the drivers. At this time the wives and girlfriends were usually hustled to the background and expected to keep a low profile.

Alan had never been a fan of these events…

Tin-Tin sighed; missing her husband.

"Are you all right, Honey?" Virgil asked. "You look like you're miles away." His brown eyes became grave. "Maybe thousands of miles?"

"I do wish Alan was here," Tin-Tin admitted, "but I'm also tired. I'm tired of meeting people and having them stare at nothing but my baby bump. It's almost as I have a target painted on my tummy." As Virgil chuckled she stood. "I've had a wonderful time, Virgil, but it's been a long day. If you don't mind, I think I'll go back to your place."

He frowned. "Are you sure you're all right?"

"Perfectly sure. Do not think that you have to come with me. You can stay here and enjoy yourself."

"No… I think I'm ready to leave too. I'm getting sick of talking to someone and missing half the conversation."

Tin-Tin understood. She'd noticed that he'd been straining to listen over the hubbub sometimes. And when the world famous acts had performed she could only imagine his frustration at the way that his damaged eardrums were distorting the music. "You will have to make sure you attend their next party."

"Yep. And next time both you and Alan can come with me. Now…" he scanned the crowd. "Where are our hosts?"

Tin-Tin, however, had spied someone else. "Virgil… Isn't that Farrah?"

"Farrah? Farrah who?"

"The woman who betrayed Scott."

She saw his face harden as he looked across the room. "Yes, it is."

Tin-Tin watched as a man took Farrah's glass and made his way towards the bar. "Who is he?"

"Roger Buck: her husband… The one who committed suicide after Doomsday was announced."

"Suicide?" Tin-Tin watched Roger Buck who seemed very much alive. "Where did you learn that?"

"From the email she sent to Scott a couple of months ago; trying to worm her way back into his affections once she heard that International Rescue were going to 'save the world'…" Virgil started striding across the room.

"Virgil!" Horrified, Tin-Tin hurried after him. "It has been such a wonderful evening. Please don't cause a scene!"

His deafness appeared to be acute, but she was sure that this was because he was deliberately ignoring her pleas. Finally he stopped in front of Farrah Buck and Tin-Tin, having hurried to keep up with his long legs, waited in trepidation for the explosion.

"Farrah! What a surprise!"

Shocked at the mildness of her brother-in-law's tone, Tin-Tin wondered if something had happened to _her_ hearing.

And her sight too, judging by the way that Virgil was smiling at the adulteress. "Scott told me he got an email from you."

Farrah looked startled, and then scared. "Oh… er… V-Virgil…" she stammered as her eyes darted across from his to Tin-Tin's to her husband at the bar. "Ah… T-T-Tin-T-T…"

From the corner of her eye Tin-Tin saw Rodger Buck hurry back. She noted that he was glaring at Virgil.

But it didn't appear that Virgil had seen the approaching husband. "I was really sorry to hear about Roger committing suicide," he said loudly. "It must have been a dreadful shock to you."

Farrah looked even more frightened. Her husband scowled, his anger now directed towards his wife.

Tin-Tin caught her brother-in-law's arm. "Virgil…" she hissed.

"Oh, sorry." He looked surprised. "Was I shouting again?"

"Yes, you were."

"Sorry," Virgil repeated, not really reducing his volume. He offered Farrah a disarming grin. "I burst both eardrums the other week and my hearing's not as good as it was. Tin-Tin will tell you that I don't always realise that I'm shouting, especially in a noisy environment like this. Anyway," he continued blithely on as if he wasn't aware that his voice had risen again and was carrying to several interested parties nearby… including Roger Buck. "He told me you wanted the pair of you to get back together, but I guess he told you that he's found someone else?"

Farrah's mouth opened and closed as if she were trying to vocalise, but nothing came out. Her wide eyes darted between the two Tracys and her husband, and Tin-Tin realised, with some amusement, that she'd finally found the one person in the place who didn't find her "baby bump" more interesting than she was.

"She's perfect for him," Virgil blathered on. "Isn't she, Tin-Tin?"

Tin-Tin was too embarrassed and confused to get involved. Nevertheless she attempted an intelligent response. "Ah… Y…?"

Much to her relief she realised that Virgil wasn't intending to put her on the spot. Instead he carried on playing his deafness card by talking over her. "Absolutely perfect," he continued. "It's great to see him so happy. The pair of them are made for each other, aren't they, Tin-Tin?"

"Ye…"

"Something had knocked his faith in people, but you'll be glad to know he's got it back. He trusts her implicitly. We're so happy that he's happy. Right, Tin-Tin?"

"Yes." Tin-Tin noticed that this time he took a breath long enough to let her say that one word of truth. She looked at Roger Buck. His knuckles were so white that she was frightened he'd break the two glasses he was holding and cut himself.

Roger appeared to notice too. "Your drink… _Dear_…" He thrust a glass at Farrah with a glare that turned her face crimson.

Virgil looked at him as if he expected an introduction.

"Erm…" Farrah squeaked. "Th-This is m-my, ah… erm… ah..."

"Your husband…!" Roger Buck growled.

"Your husband?!" Virgil pretended to be surprised and pleased. "Congratulations!" He grabbed the other man's hand and pumped it up and down. "That's wonderful news. I guess that the death of Doomsday has meant a new life together, huh? That's really wonderful," he continued happily.

Tin-Tin, despite trying not to, yawned.

Virgil noticed it. "I'm sorry, Honey," he said, and this time she could tell that he meant what he was saying, principally by the fact that he was no longer yelling. "We were supposed to be heading back so you could get some rest."

Tin-Tin tried to suppress another yawn. "That's all right."

"We were about to leave when we saw you," Virgil admitted to the Bucks. "But we've got to say goodbye to Opal and Garret first. Do you know where they are?"

Roger pointed down to the far end of the room as if he was directing them out of his wife's life.

"Thanks. Lovely to see you again, Farrah. Nice to meet you," Virgil gave Roger Buck a cheerful wave, and walked away with a relieved Tin-Tin by his side.

"Like I said before, Virgil Tracy," she hissed. "You've lived with Gordon for too long."

"I couldn't let her get away with the way she hurt Scott," he protested. "And I'm assuming that Roger's just as much a victim as he was. He needed to be warned that she was up to her old tricks."

"By embarrassing the poor man?"

"What was I supposed to do? Say to him _I'm the brother of the man you took a swing at for unknowingly having an affair with your wife and she's told him that you committed suicide so that she can lure him back again?_"

"That may have been kinder."

"But do you think he would have believed me? He didn't believe that Scott didn't know she was married."

"I suppose so..." Tin-Tin thought for a moment. "Were you thinking of anyone in particular when you said Scott's found a new girlfriend?"

Virgil grinned. "Yep."

"Who?"

"Can't you guess?"

"No."

"I'll tell you later…"

"Look!" Tin-Tin pointed off to one side. "There's Alice. You can't leave without saying goodbye to her."

Virgil gave a dramatic sigh. "If it'll make you happy."

"No. Because it will make you both happy and let her know you're interested…"

"Tin-Tin!"

"Come on…" Tin-Tin took him by the arm and dragged him back across the room. "We have come to say goodbye, Alice," she announced.

"What?" Alice Ross looked disappointed. "Already?"

"What with the pregnancy, and travelling so far this morning, and all the excitement, I'm exhausted. I've told Virgil he doesn't have to escort me back to his place, but he's too much of a gentleman to stay and enjoy himself while I'm sleeping."

Virgil rolled his eyes.

"But I had to say goodbye to you first," Tin-Tin continued. "And I haven't forgotten to ring you sometime soon. And if I do forget I'm sure Virgil will remind me. Any time I should avoid?"

"Nothing concrete." Alice smiled. "This isn't the place to talk shop, but I've been talking to Mr Anderson, who's one of the executives of Century 22 Studios. They are thinking of making a docudrama about how International Rescue saved the planet and they want me to consider one of the leading roles. They want to get it out in the cinemas before any of the competition offer up similar offerings, so it's going to be a very quick shoot with not a lot of time for pre or post-production. They could start filming at any time."

Virgil opened his mouth to speak, but was beaten to the punch by Tin-Tin. "What role have they offered you? Victim? Scientist? Engineer? Operative?"

"One of International Rescue's boffins," Alice admitted. "International Rescue's operatives were always reported as being men, so the scriptwriters have decided that they must have a bit of what they called 'feminine glamour' behind the scenes."

Virgil's intended comment was overridden by Tin-Tin offering him up on a plate. "Well, if you need more training, I am sure that Virgil would only be too willing to help."

Alice beamed at him. "I'd appreciate that. Not that I think I'll be doing much on screen engineering work. These days they don't seem to be able to produce a movie without some kind of romance and I daresay my character will be the love interest of one of the operatives." She flung her arm to her forehead in a dramatic gesture. "Probably my character will be bravely carrying on while in reality she is frightened that she is going to lose her lover when he embarks on his most dangerous mission ever." She laughed.

Virgil, finally managing to get a word in, decided against suggesting that Tin-Tin could offer firsthand experience of such a role. "So, you're going to take it?"

"I don't know. I'm over acting, but, if this movie is done properly, it could be my way of acknowledging what International Rescue have done for us all. The problem is that no one knows anything about them, meaning the story's going to be mainly fiction, so I'm concerned it'll just be a shallow fluff piece… Besides," she treated them to a disarming smile. "I'd rather fly one of the Thunderbirds than be stuck in the lab."

Tin-Tin couldn't resist. "Which Thunderbird?" she asked, watching her brother-in-law out of the corner of her eye.

Alice's smile widened. "Oh, Thunderbird Two, of course. With all those pods and everything it seems to be so much more interesting than any of the others."

Tin-Tin fancied that she saw Virgil puff up slightly._ That is my cue to leave_. "The baby is telling me to have something else to eat before I go, so if you will excuse me, I am going to pay one last visit to the buffet table." With a final goodbye to Alice Ross she slipped away, positioning herself at the buffet in such a way that she could observe the couple's interaction. She saw Virgil lean closer and hoped that he was moving in for a kiss, and was disappointed when she realised that he was once again straining to hear. He appeared to confirm her diagnosis when he made a gesture which seemed to indicate his ears. Alice looked horrified and, Tin-Tin was gratified to see, reached up to stroke him on the side of the face. What followed was an altogether too chaste kiss for Tin-Tin's liking, before Virgil turned and walked away.

"You're hopeless!" Tin-Tin scolded.

"And you're obvious," he retorted. "Come on. I thought you wanted to get out of here. Opal and Garret are this way."

After pushing through the crowd, they reached their goal. "Congratulations on another excellent party," Virgil began. "But we're leaving before I get cited in divorce proceedings."

"Oh, yes…" Opal's eyes were laughing. "Tyla told us what 'you two had been up to' on that remote island of yours. You're wicked, Virgil."

Virgil grinned. "That wasn't the divorce I was talking about, but now isn't the time or place to explain. I'll call you later and tell you all about it."

"It's really my fault that we're leaving," Tin-Tin admitted. "This has been a wonderful evening, but I'm tired."

"Do you have to leave now?" Garret asked. "Byzig Batten are performing later."

Tin-Tin knew that this was one group that Virgil would love to hear. "You don't have to come with me now," she reiterated. "Or if you do, you could come back later."

Garret nodded. "That's a good idea. We'll give you a call when they're about to start playing."

"Thanks, but I can't hear well enough to enjoy it," Virgil admitted. "Hopefully next time."

Opal lost her smile. "You can't hear it?"

"I'll explain later," her husband offered.

"I would like to stay," Tin-Tin admitted. "But…" her eyes followed a waiter as he wandered past carrying a tray of delicacies. "Especially with the delicious food you are offering us…" She stood her ground for a minute before her resolution faltered. "I can't resist. I'll be back in a moment."

"Tin-Tin…!" Virgil watched her go with an expression of affectionate exasperation. When he looked back to his friends he realised that Opal and Garret were smirking at him. "What?"

"So that explains it," Opal said.

Virgil frowned. "That explains what?"

"Why you persisted with that sham relationship with Kasey when Alice was waiting for you."

Virgil scratched his head. "What are you talking about?"

"We often said to each other that there had to be someone somewhere else back home." Opal nodded over towards the buffet table. "Now we know who."

"What? Tin-Tin…?! No way!"

Garret laughed at his friend's reaction. "Probably just as well you didn't hook up with Alice. The tabloids would have a field day with gossip about the famous movie star and the schizophrenic son of a billionaire."

"Schizophrenic!?"

Opal gave Virgil a condescending pat on the arm. "Unrequited love can eat away at a man, Virgil. Tin-Tin's obviously very much in love with Alan, and it's time that you accepted that and moved on."

"I can't believe I'm listening to this." Virgil banged himself on the side of the head. "My hearing must have really gone on the fritz. You've both got, not only the wrong end, but the wrong stick! Tin-Tin's always been like a sister to me. I couldn't think of her in any other way!"

He received another condescending pat. "Of course…"

Tin-Tin arrived back with a full plate.

"Tin-Tin!" Virgil exclaimed, desperate to make sure that the Bowmounts didn't let slip with their unsubstantiated theory. "You know what Gordon would say if he could see you. He'd say that you _will_ end up looking like a pumpkin!"

"It is only one evening…" Tin-Tin popped a delicious morsel into her mouth and chewed happily. "And these are sooo good!"

Opal laughed and beckoned to a waiter. "Will you get some more for Mrs Tracy to take away with her?" she asked.

He smiled. "Certainly."

"I can't do that," Tin-Tin protested.

"Don't be silly," Garret scolded. "There is no chance that we'll run out just because you've taken some home with you. Enjoy it!"

"I shouldn't…" But still Tin-Tin accepted the bag when it was handed to her. "Thank you."

"I'll take that..." Virgil pulled it out of her hands, helping himself to one of the bag's contents. "You're right. These are good."

"Virgil!"

"I'll give it back to you when we get to my place. You've got to pace yourself." When Tin-Tin pouted Virgil laughed. "I hope you'll invite her sometime when she's not pregnant," he said to his friends. "Then she won't eat you out of house and home."

"That's a promise," Garret told him. "And this time the invitation will be for you and Alan, Tin-Tin. Not to Virgil Tracy and A.N. Other."

"What about to Virgil Tracy and A. Ross?" Opal asked.

"Yes!" Tin-Tin nodded enthusiastically.

Virgil groaned. "I'm leaving before you all gang up on me. I'll call you tomorrow, okay?" He and Tin-Tin finally said goodbye and started pushing their way through the crowd towards the door, dodging an elegantly made up woman. "Goodbye, Mrs Pullman."

Bemused, the art patron watched the couple leave. "Do I know him?"

They escaped into the lift and Virgil pushed the button that sent them down to his floor. He let out a breath of relief at the relative silence, relaxed against the wall and closed his eyes.

"Virgil."

"Mmmn."

"Alice is nice."

"Mmmn."

"She likes you."

"Mmmn."

"And you like her."

Virgil was silent.

"You'd be happy together."

Virgil grunted

"You have got a lot in common."

"Like what?"

"She likes Thunderbird Two the best."

He appeared surprised. "Who wouldn't?"

"I was thinking. It is not late. I could sleep in your workroom and you could invite her to your place. I'm sure she'd leave the party to spend some time alone with you. I wouldn't disturb you." Happy at the prospect, Tin-Tin started planning. "All you'd need was some romantic lighting..."

"Romantic li...?"

"Have you got any candles?"

"Candles?"

"And some romantic music..."

"Romantic music..."

"You must have a wonderful sound system."

"I..."

"Oh! And you need some romantic..."

"Tin-Tin!" Virgil looked exasperated and a touch annoyed. "My ears are ringing more than the Riverside Carillon and I'm not in the mood for romantic anything. All I want to do is relax in peace and quiet until my head settles down again."

"Oh..." Disappointed and a little ashamed at not realising, Tin-Tin hung her head. "I am sorry," she whispered.

The lift doors opened. "Don't worry about it." Virgil strode out and across the hall to his apartment. "Would you like a cup of tea?"

Not willing to make a noise, Tin-Tin nodded. When he started filling the kettle with water, she put her hand on his arm and gestured that she should take over.

"You can speak, you know. Otherwise I'll start thinking that I've either totally lost my hearing or that you're not talking to me. I only want quiet. I don't need complete silence." Virgil got his coffee down from off the shelf. "So... How did you enjoy hobnobbing with the rich and famous?"

Tin-Tin laughed. "Virgil, your family is richer than any of them."

"Our family." Virgil corrected, and concentrated on measuring out the coffee. "I suppose you're right. I just never consider myself to be rich in that sense."

"And you're more famous."

"Me!? Come on, Tin-Tin, Gustav wasn't in their league."

"I'm not talking about Gustav. I'm talking about you. There is not a person in the world that doesn't admire and respect you."

"Me?" Virgil repeated. "But nobody knows about me. I'm not an Olympic swimmer or champion race driver."

She laughed again. "You're a member of International Rescue, Virgil. You saved the world! In effect that party was honouring you… and your father and brothers."

"And you," he corrected. "And Brains. And your father. And Penny and Parker and Jen-Ling and everyone who's been a part of the team. Now, back to my original question. Did you enjoy yourself tonight?"

"I loved it. I loved meeting all those people that I've seen in the films. I never realised that Connor Brooke was so short!"

Virgil chuckled. "He has it written into his contract that the woman he stars opposite either have to be shorter than him or wear flats and stand in trenches."

"You are joking!"

"Nope. I could also tell you which actress has a mole shaped like a mole on her left shoulder."

"A mole as in the animal? Or a Mole as in _The_ Mole?"

"Animal. But you'd never know. If you watch her movies you'll see that you never see that bit of skin. She always has something covering it, even though makeup could conceal it." Virgil handed Tin-Tin a cup of herbal tea.

"Who is it?"

He was laughing. "I'm not telling, but I know. I know lots of things about the stars."

She stared at him wide-eyed. "You know all the Hollywood gossip?"

"No, but Opal does. See what she tells you when we see them tomorrow."

Tin-Tin sipped the tea. "Oh! That is too hot." She placed it back on the counter. "All right, you can tell me now. Who were you thinking of when you told Farrah that Scott has a girlfriend?"

Virgil sat on a stool at his breakfast counter and warmed his hands around his mug. "Can't you guess?"

"You really had someone in mind? You were not making it up?"

"I had a definite name in mind when I said he trusted her implicitly."

"Do I know her?"

"Yep. She's tall..."

"Tall?"

"Slender..."

"Slender?"

"And a red-head."

The light bulb went on. "Thunderbird One!"

Virgil grinned. "That's why I couldn't tell you who I was thinking of at the party."

"I have said it before, Virgil, and I will say it again. You have been around Gordon too long."

Virgil chuckled. "I'm sure he'd be honoured that he's been such an influence."

They hadn't drawn the curtains before they left for the party and now the lights of New York City caught Tin-Tin's eye. She wandered over to enjoy the view. "It is beautiful," she sighed.

Looking at her, Virgil decided that it wasn't only the scenery that was beautiful this night. He wished Alan was here to see his wife with her pregnant frame elegantly attired and silhouetted against the magnificent landscape. He grabbed his camera.

"What are you doing?" Tin-Tin asked, turning when she heard the shutter click.

"Capturing inspiration."

"Capturing inspiration?"

"For the first time in months I feel like painting again," he admitted. "Only this time it'll be because I want to. Not because I have to for some exhibition or wealthy patron."

"Then please do not let me stop you."

"It can wait. I'm sure you want to go to bed."

For some reason Tin-Tin no longer felt tired as she turned back to the breathtaking view. "You must have loved living here."

"I did once… But over the last few years it's become a kind of prison I couldn't escape. It wasn't a home; just a place of work."

"Until tonight? Because you are here as Virgil Tracy and not Gustav?"

He shrugged, before picking up her cooling cup of tea. "I guess so," he said, handing it to her.

She accepted it with thanks and took a sip. "It is beautiful," she repeated, gazing out over the landscape again. "You'll have to show Alice how beautiful someday." She giggled. "Or Tyla. I am sure she would be up here faster than Thunderbird One if you invited her."

"Remind me to install One's ejector seat so I can get rid of her just as quick."

Tin-Tin giggled again and then turned back to continue enjoying the view. "It's been a wonderful evening," she sighed.

-F-A-B-

_Some date on the calendar._

_Some time during waking hours._

The computer beeped.

Alan made a dash to his seat in the 'hologram theatre' and waited to see who was visiting. He found himself transported into the music room on Tracy Island and the company of three brothers.

"Hi, Alan," Gordon greeted him. "This time it's audience participation. Go and grab your trumpet and join us for a jam session. Pause us now!" He froze.

Scott looked at Virgil and rolled his eyes. Virgil shook his head in exasperation.

"Computer – Pause hologram," Alan ordered and, as all three brothers were stilled, jogged the short distance to the lift.

This was going to be fun. Early on in the trip one of Virgil's visitations had consisted of his older brother explaining that he didn't have anything to say and that he was simply going to play a few of Alan's favourite pieces on the piano. Alan had enjoyed the concert and then had the idea of joining in. He'd told Virgil how much he'd enjoyed playing along when he sent his message of thanks. Possibly that had sparked the idea behind this particular recording.

Or else it could have been made earlier.

He was back a short time later with his prized musical instrument and took up position, ready to be immersed in the experience. "Computer – Start playback."

"We're going to start with something with a slow tempo to give us all the chance to get in the swing of it," Gordon explained. He grinned his familiar cheeky grin. "Starting with _Busy Buzzy Bee_."

Alan laughed. _Busy Buzzy Bee_ couldn't be called anything like slow. Frenetic was a better way to describe it.

"I hope you've got your horn tuned." Gordon took his seat at the drums. "You'll put us off if you haven't."

"Get on with it, Gordon," Scott instructed, adjusting the strings on his guitar. "If we don't make a start we'll run out of recording time halfway through."

"The Camp Commandant has spoken." Gordon spun his drumsticks about his fingers. "Take your time from me." He began tapping the sticks together to give the rhythm.

And then they were performing.

Alan's playing wasn't perfect, he knew that he made several mistakes, but then he didn't have the music to follow and _Busy Buzzy Bee_ was a hard tune to play.

Still he enjoyed it. It wasn't the joy of playing his trumpet that thrilled him; it was the almost real interaction between the four of them. His brothers were looking down the barrel of the camera, smiling, and nodding their heads as if they were appreciating his input.

They finished playing the tune and Alan wiped his mouthpiece on his shirt, expecting the fun to end and them to say goodbye. Instead Gordon informed him that they were about to embark on another piece. This one was a genuine slow number and Alan allowed the notes to envelope him and carry him away from his tomb and back to the sunlight, swaying palm trees, and fresh air of Tracy Island. This time he only made one mistake and as the last note drifted away he metaphorically patted himself on the back and waited for the visitation to end.

But his brothers were determined not to leave him alone. Tune number three was quickly followed by number four. It was only then that Gordon announced that there was going to be no more music "this time." A phrase which Alan hoped meant that there were other jam sessions waiting to be released from his computer.

The hologram faded and he was back alone on Thunderbird Three's flight deck.

"Computer – Replay hologram," Alan ordered, and he was back in the music room.

"Hi, Alan. This time it's audience participation..."

-F-A-B-

_Wednesday November 1__st__ 2079 – afternoon – Tracy Island_

Gordon pulled the laces of his running shoes tight and stood, brushing the golden sand off his hands. Then he started to run.

Sick of losing energy during the course of a day, he was eager to get back to full fitness. He knew that he'd been at death's door only a little over three weeks ago and had been through an adrenaline-pumping, temperature-escalating, headache-inducing experience since then, but nonetheless he was constantly annoyed by the way his body seemed to be letting him down. He knew that made him irritable, and that knowledge had the counterintuitive effect of making him even more short-tempered. Once again he resolved not to take out his frustrations on those closest to him.

This helped. Running along the beach with the warm sun on his back and the soothing sounds of the waves breaking against the shore. Not pushing himself, but letting himself lapse into a kind of meditative state.

This was a time to think.

His initial thoughts, as they often were these days, were of Alan. How was his only younger brother coping alone, miles from family and friends? Alan was tough, Gordon knew that. Not only physically strong, but with a mental toughness that had stood him well over the years. But could he survive months isolated from not only those closest to him, but any human or even living being? Would the Alan that returned to Earth be the Alan that left?

Would he return at all?

Gordon told himself off for entertaining such an idea and concentrated on listening to his footfalls on the sand; counting his steps to drive the negative thoughts away.

"…ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen…"

_Marina._

_I thought I was trying to think of something cheerful!_

"…eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty one…"

_Listen to the surf…_

"…twenty four, twenty five, twenty six…"

_I wonder what she's doing at the moment._

"…thirty, thirty one…"

_Who cares?_

"…thirty three, thirty four…"

_I love the surf._

"…thirty seven, thirty eight…"

_Probably with her boyfriend. He's welcome to her._

"…forty three, forty four…"

_What did I see in her? It's not even as if she's that good looking… Although to be fair, I remember reading once that people who are in love tend to see their partners in a more attractive light, whereas those who dislike each other, tend to see each other as more ugly than reality… I suppose that could be what's happened to me. I suppose I thought that she was beautiful once… When I loved her._

"…seventy six, seventy seven, seventy eight…"

_Did I really love her? How could I have loved her? We had nothing in common. She couldn't stand the sea and I'm at my happiest in it, around it, or just near it; whereas she was at her happiest making a mess. Something she called "being creative"._

"…ninety two, ninety three…"

_I'm starting to get tired already. Come on, Body! Not after only _ninety eight, ninety nine, hundred _steps. Push yourself! You used to be able to run much further than this!_

"…hundred nine, ten…"

_Well, that's further than yesterday. I only managed one hundred and two yesterday. I am getting better; body and mind._

"…fifteen, sixteen…"

_I am getting better in my mind, aren't I? I know I get angry now, but that's because I'm frustrated, not because of any mental illness._

"…twenty five… twenty six…"

_Isn't it?_

"…twenty seven… twenty eight… twenty nine…"

_Come on, Gordon. Once you've reached that rock you can reward yourself with a __rest__._

"…thir'y three… …thir'y four.._."_

_I'm not going to make it._

"…six…"

_Yes, you are, Gordon!_

"…eight…"

_You're in the Olympic final and you're on the home sprint._

"…for'y…?"

_Hang in there…_

"…for'y one…"

_Forget the rock. Make it one fifty and you can stop._

"…for'y si'…"

_Four more steps…_

But Gordon's legs, exhausted from running on the soft sand, caught a stone and he tripped, sprawling face down. His right arm, reaching out to break his fall, grated down a jagged lump of scoria.

He lay there for a moment, gasping for air and bleeding.

_This is ridiculous. I should barely have broken out in a sweat by now and here I am practically comatose._ Gordon pushed himself into a sitting position and examined his grazed arm.

"Are you all right?"

Gordon looked up to the figure silhouetted against the sun. "You been spyin' on me?"

"Yes." Scott crouched down next to his brother. "Just in case you overdid it. Looks like you did this time."

"I'm all right," Gordon grumbled.

"I know." Scott pulled a clean handkerchief, kept specifically for such emergencies, out of his pocket.

"I'm not a baby. Don' need you motherin' me."

"I know," Scott repeated. "But I also know how difficult it is to treat an arm one handed." He indicated the graze. "Will you let me look at it?"

Gordon was tempted to tell his elder brother to leave him alone, but, realising that that was the very attitude that he'd sworn to banish, reluctantly held out his arm.

Scott examined the wound and then pulled a small plastic tube of saline solution from out of another pocket.

With a quizzical expression, Gordon raised an eyebrow.

Snapping the top off the vial, Scott started rinsing the sand off the graze. "If it'll make you feel better I'll start clucking."

Gordon chuckled.

"How's your hearing?" Scott asked.

"Okay, I guess. Not as good as it was."

"I thought so. I was calling out to you and you didn't hear me."

"I find that some background noises compromise what I can hear." Gordon indicated the waves washing onto the shore. "Like the breakers."

"Same here." When he was happy that most of the grit had been washed away, Scott bound his brother's arm with his handkerchief. "You'll live," he said when he'd finished, before fixing Gordon with an earnest stare. "Which is something we couldn't be sure of three weeks ago."

"It feels more like three months."Gordon examined his makeshift bandage. "It's so frustrating!"

"I can understand that." Scott made himself comfortable on the golden sands. "But don't try to rush things. You're getting plenty of exercise in the pool and the gym. You don't need to break your neck out here too."

"Better I drowned in the pool?"

"That'll never happen. You'll revert to breathing through your gills."

Gordon laughed and leant back to enjoy the sun. "I was thinking about Marina while I was running."

"Ah, so that explains it. Kissing sand's bound to be an improvement over kissing Marina." Then Scott inexplicably reddened. "Sorry. I shouldn't say things like that."

Gordon sat up again. "Why not?"

"You must have had some reason to want to marry her. No matter what I think about her, I had no right to tell you that you were wrong."

"The thing is, you were right, Scott. While I was jogging I was trying to work out what she and I had in common and there's nothing. I have no idea what I saw in her." Gordon sighed. "If I haven't said this before I should have. I wish I'd listened to you. I should have listened to all of you."

"They say that love is blind."

"In my case it was blind, deaf and out of its mind." Suddenly reminded of his fears from a few months earlier, Gordon pulled his legs closer; hugging them. Then, desperate to disguise the involuntary movement, he dusted sand off his shoes.

Scott didn't notice. "The least the family could have done was set aside our differences for the wedding. I feel bad that I didn't go."

"I'll admit that I was disappointed; I'd always imagined that when I got married you'd all be a part of the wedding party, but what really hurt was the knowledge that it was my fault that you weren't there."

"And if I'd been man enough I could have set that to one side for one day. I should have been there in full kit: black tux, black tie, black shoes, black eye."

Gordon looked sharply at his brother, seeing no antagonism in Scott's grinning face. Relieved, he laughed and as he did so it felt as if he was expelling the last vestiges of all his fears and concerns. "Did I do a good job of it?"

"Spectacular. I couldn't have made one better myself."

"Well, I always say..." Gordon buffed his nails on his shirt. "If something's worth doing, it's worth doing well." He flopped back on the sands.

Scott snorted a laugh, put his hands behind his head, and lay back.

What followed was a comfortable few minutes where neither brother said anything; content to lie on the beach enjoying the scenery and each other's company.

It was Gordon who broke the silence. "Thanks."

Scott understood. "Forget it."

After another minute's silence, Gordon gave a contented sigh. "I haven't felt this good in ages."

"That's because we're all back where we belong. Here." Scott indicated the island. "Together."

His brother pointed up towards the sky. "Not all of us."

"No..." Scott squinted against the sun. "I hope he's all right."

Gordon chuckled. "I knew I had the right idea when I put those feathers in an envelope and signed them from you, just to let him know that our mother hen was still keeping an eye on him."

"I am not a mother hen," Scott growled, but Gordon could tell that it was more out of habit than any real conviction.

"Alan's tough." Gordon hoped that he sounded more confident than he felt. "He'll make it."

"Yeah," Scott agreed, trying to sound just as assured. "Course he will."

"I hope Tin-Tin and Virgil are enjoying themselves."

"Tin-Tin will be having a ball with all of those film stars."

Gordon laughed. "Do you think Virg will have as much fun being dragged around town shopping?"

Scott laughed along with his brother. "Did Parker tell you that Lord Whatsisface was putting on a party for the servants as well as the aristocrats?"

"Yes! He said it was going to be held in some farm buildings!" Gordon sounded astonished. "Parker said the guy was a bit of a cheapskate."

"I'm assuming that the building's been upgraded a bit since it last housed stock and feed," Scott reassured him. "I've seen some of those places and they're quite comfortable."

"Well, I hope they're both having a good time. After all the dirt they've found out about Marina and the money they're going to save me, they deserve it!"

-F-A-B-

_Wednesday November 1__st__ 2079 – 1:15 am – Kent_

It was, Parker had to admit, a "right good knees up".

Dion, Lord Ralph's butler who'd started the evening already slightly intoxicated by his employer's unheard of generosity and had almost finished the job with a single glass of alcoholic beverage, nodded his agreement drunkenly. "My masher," he slurred, "'as done us proud."

Parker's mistrust of his friend's boss and desire to be instantly at the ready should Lady Penelope need him, had kept him relatively sober. "He 'as that," he concurred, helping himself to some nibbles.

The servants' party had been going for well over an hour and it was clear that everyone present was enjoying themselves. The live band was playing a wide variety of cover songs from throughout the century, and early on in the piece Parker and Lil had had the younger attendees in hysterics as they'd attempted some hip-hop moves that they'd remembered from their youth. It had only taken that one number accompanied by the clicks from his aging joints for Parker to decide that dancing wasn't for him.

So now he was sitting here next to his friend, close to the sumptuous buffet, and far away from Lil who was still intent on the pair of them either taking to the dance floor or finding somewhere more "private" to enjoy the evening.

Dion raised his glass. "To Lord Raff."

"To Lord Raif," Parker echoed._ May he never get 'is slimy 'ands on 'er Ladyship. An' if 'e does, let me be there to see 'er flatten 'im._ He scanned the room. "Can't see many from the h-other 'ouses round h-about."

"Only the Cray-don-Ward and Cowburn-Shain-Gin shtaff were invited."

"None of the h-other 'ouse's staff?"

Dion hiccoughed. "No."

Parker thought that sounded a bit odd.

Myra, the cook from Templar Manor collapsed into a seat next to them. "I've only had two dances, and I'm bushed," she admitted. "Still, it's good to hear the old songs again."

"You're righ' there." Parker took a small sip from his glass.

"When I look at these young things throwing themselves about I feel so _old_," Myra admitted. "Do you know, I was watching a show about music throughout the century and they interviewed Justin Bieber. I used to think that he was _gorgeous_. I once queued up for hours to catch a glimpse of him at his hotel. But I didn't recognise him in this doco. He was completely _bald!_ I don't know if he shaved it or if all his prettying up of it in his younger years made it fall out. And _fat_! He looks like a bowling ball. He's not as cute now as he was when he was 18."

"Can't say H-I h-ever found Justin Bieber _cute_," Parker teased. "Now, h-if you were talkin' h-about Beyoncee …"

"Beyoncé? They interviewed her too. Still has plenty of curves, but I think a few more than she wants …"

"Come on, Aloysius," young Mary, the tweenie at Creighton-Ward Manor, giggled. "You can't sit here all night." She smiled at Myra, took the glass out of Parker's hand, handed it to Dion, and pulled the butler out of his seat. "You can show me some of your moves."

"Let's 'ave less h-of the Aloysius an' more h-of the Mister Parker from you," Parker growled. But nonetheless he felt a warm feeling fill him as he allowed her to drag him onto the dance floor.

"I love the old time dances," Mary confided as they gyrated across the room. "Can you show me that body popping move? I've never seen anyone do it better than you."

Flattered, Parker agreed, and soon Mary, giggling the whole time, was doing a reasonable version herself. What followed was a brief dance class until most of the younger dancers were performing in a way that reminded Parker of when he was young, limber, and spent his evenings at the local nightclubs…

That was on those evenings when he wasn't out doing over banks and suchlike.

Chuckling to himself as he wondered what those youngsters who regarded him as an old fossil would say if they knew of his former employment, he retired to his seat next to Dion to recover from his teaching ordeal. "Ta, Mate," he said, retrieving his glass.

Dion looked like he was about to doze off. "You an' the young 'unz look'd like you were enjoyin' yerselvsh."

"Doesn't 'urt to let your 'air down for one night," Parker admitted, and quenched his thirst. "Kerwin Cousins put h-on h-a good show."

Dion waved a drunken hand over the floor. "This izn't Kerwin Coushinsh."

"Don't surprise me," Parker admitted thinking more unsavoury thoughts about Lord Ralph Cockburn-Saint-John. "But H-I bet the toffs ain't 'avin' h-as much fun with Kerwin Cousins h-up at the big 'ouse h-as we are down 'ere."

"Kerwin Coushinsh aren't there either."

Parker frowned. "They ain't? But Lord Raif told 'er Ladyship that he'd got 'em. That's the reason why she h-accepted. Did they pull h-out?"

"Nope. Never akshepted the commishon. To buzy."

Alarm bells were starting to ring. "Then why did 'e say 'e'd got them?"

"To get 'er I guesh." Dion nudged Parker in the ribs and winked.

"What!" Parker launched himself to his feet, sloshing his drink down his sheet and onto his long johns. "H-If 'e lays a finger h-on 'er…!"

"Don' worry. Ya shaid yershelf she'd kill 'im firs'." Dion laughed. "'m shure she c'n look after 'ersel'." He pointed at Parker's chair. "Sit down an' relax," he ordered.

With more than a few misgivings, Parker obeyed. Suddenly the party didn't seem to be such fun, and resolving not to have any more alcohol tonight, he put his glass to one side. "'Oo h'else did 'e h'invite?" he asked.

But Dion had nodded off.

"Dion!" Parker shook him. "The party h-up h-at yer manor. 'Oo h-else h-is there?"

Dion looked cross at being woken. "No one."

"No one!? H-It can't be no one!"

"'T'is. It'sh Lord Raff an' Lady Pennylopy an' a couple o' ring-ins to wait on 'em." Dion frowned. "They'd bedda watch my shilver. I polish'd it." He waggled an unsteady finger. "R'mind me t' count it when I get 'ome."

But Parker had more important things to worry about than the Cockburn-Saint-John family silver. "But there were people there! The place was full!"

"Nope." Dion waggled his finger again. "You musta been full yershelv t' think that." He guffawed.

"'Ere, Parker." It was Lil. "Time you gave me another dance." She grabbed him by the arm.

"No!" He pulled free. "Lil! The party h-up h-at the manor. That was full swing, right?"

"Right," she agreed. "It was already pumpin' when we arrived. Remember? Her ladyship commented that she thought we were late? Why…? Parker!?" She watched him as he ran, sheet chiton billowing behind him, out the door. "What's with him, Dion?" she asked, turning back. "Dion?"

But Dion was fast asleep.

Disgusted, Lil returned to the dance floor to party with people who were awake and enjoying themselves.

-F-A-B-

_Wednesday November 1__st__ 2079 – 1:45 am – Templar Manor – Kent_

Parker didn't know what was going on, but he knew that whatever it was, it wasn't good. He had faith that Lady Penelope could take care of herself against Lord Ralph, but his gut was telling him that whatever was happening, it was bigger than one scrawny aristocrat.

He barrelled towards the chaufar that had chauffeured the three of them from Creighton-Ward Manor and, frantic with worry, yanked at the doors.

They were locked.

"H-Open up!" he commanded.

The computer refused to obey.

He told himself to calm down and to speak to the computer clearly. "H-Open the doors," he requested, before adding a hopeful, "please."

The doors remained obstinately locked.

Frustrated, he kicked the car. "H-Open up yer stupid 'unk h-of tin!"

The car sat there like the lump of composite materials that it was. For a moment he considered using his old skills to break in and hotwire it, before deciding that that would only be wasting time. The house seemed to be miles away from the home farm, but despite that he started running, trying to ignore the jagged stones that were kicked up between his sandals and stockinged feet.

He seemed to run for an eternity, sprinting until his body insisted on reminding him of his age. Then he walked; a kind of half sprint, half shuffle as he tried to kick the pebbles out from under his feet. Then, when his lungs were burning rather than on fire, he was jogging again, stumbling as his tired limbs begged him to lie down and let them rest.

But Parker wouldn't rest. He'd rather crawl on his hands and knees, cutting his palms and scarring his legs on the rough stones, than let something happen to his mistress. He'd promised her his undying loyalty and he wasn't about to let her down now.

His sandal caught in the rough surface and he fell, skidding across the pebbles and tearing his sheet. He wanted to stay lying there, but looking up he could see the manor house mocking him in the distance and his resolve strengthened. Another burst of adrenaline surged through his body and he staggered back to his feet, blood soaking into the knees and elbow of his long johns, and, hobbling now, continued his painful run.

"Muh *gulp* Lady," he gasped; wishing to let her know that he was coming to her rescue, but unable to raise little more than a whisper.

Finally he reached the house. It loomed over him like a vampirish figure with its wings outstretched. The moon had shifted in the two hours since he'd last been here and now it was casting its light across the façade. The shadows seemed impossibly dark, while the wispy clouds chasing across the brightly shining moon appeared to have brought the grotesques and gargoyles that adorned the building to life. He could almost imagine their impish laughter in the wind that had sprung up.

But the room which had been a wellspring of bright lights, happy laughter, movement and dance was now still and in darkness.

The whole house looked empty and dead.

Once upon a time when he was an impetuous youth he would have dashed up those grand steps to the front door and banged on them before forcing his way through. But he was older now.

Older and wiser.

If anyone was inside he didn't want to let them know that he was onto them. Nor did he need to make himself a target for any armed miscreant. He couldn't imagine Cockburn-Saint-John suddenly becoming trigger happy, but Parker believed that whatever the aristocrat's plan had been, it had been hatched with the assistance of someone with more resources and cunning, and less morals than Lord Ralph had ever displayed.

There were those who regarded the butler as past it; but, he thought with a grim smile as he huddled in the shadows, the old dog still had plenty of tricks up his sleeve... Literally. He rolled his dusty long johns back to reveal his watch. Pressing the buttons in a certain sequences gave him two things. One: the time to regain his breath and give his tired body a brief rest. Two: it created a diversion, along with providing him with the necessary tools to let him get inside.

At first it appeared that nothing was happening. This didn't worry him as much as the delay in getting inside did and as he waited he told himself to be patient. He couldn't expect any results for at least five minutes.

Then he saw them. Powerful twin beams of light proceeding down the driveway. Taking care not to expose himself to the moonlight Parker watched the house for any reactions as a car drew close and stopped in front of the manor.

FAB1.

It sat there idling gently, like a great beast purring as it waited to pounce.

If anyone inside the manor had seen or heard it arrive, they'd kept their presence secret.

This was a mixed blessing.

Positioning himself so he was still in the shadows, now his friends, Parker pushed more buttons on his watch. The face on the watch changed as FAB1 scanned the interior of the building for signs of life. Apart from a few tiny heat sources, which had to be mice making the most of an empty house, Parker saw nothing to make him think the building was occupied.

Now he was torn. Go after Lady Penelope using the homing devices that he knew were concealed about her person, or search the house for information that may be invaluable in her recovery.

He decided that he needed to find out all he could about who and what he was going to be up against. That information was to be found inside Templar Manor, but still Parker wasn't prepared to barge in blindly. Whoever had planned this had taken most things into consideration, and he couldn't discount some kind of scanner-blocking device disguising everyone's presence. After pressing another series of buttons on the watch a small hatch opened in FAB1's roof and a projectile was jettisoned towards him. Hoping that he remained hidden throughout the manoeuvre, Parker caught the package and then shrunk back into the darkness.

Once again there was no reaction from anyone inside the house.

Time to reconnoitre. Huddling close to the walls and using the various shrubs and plantings as cover, Parker skirted the building until he'd reached the servants' entrance. He needed every advantage and that included knowing the lay of the land. He'd never been in the front of the house before, but knew the servants' quarters well from his visits to Dion.

When he reached the door he paused, listening. All he heard was the wind rustling the bushes and, in the distance, a fox yowling. As he waited, an owl flew past, more silent than the wind.

When he was satisfied that no one was aware that he was there and on the hunt for him, he opened the small case that FAB1 had thrown to him, revealing his lock-picking kit. Eyeing the keyhole, he selected the necessary tools. But first, to ensure that he wasn't going to waste unnecessary time, he tried the door handle.

As he'd expected Dion had made sure that the door was securely locked.

Almost chuckling with the pleasure of using his old skills, Parker made swift work of the alarm and the door and then, taking care to walk slowly and carefully and with every muscle as taut as the reflexes of a cat waiting to pounce, he entered the kitchen.

It was dark and still.

Needing to make sure that he was as alone as he thought he was, he checked the adjacent rooms: the pantry, the scullery, and the other areas considered vital to the feeding of a large estate. The larder was full, but the servants' area was empty.

Parker stopped at a device that wouldn't have even been dreamt about when the house was built all those centuries ago. In some circles the superiority of the house was judged by the effectiveness of the butler, and this device allowed a good butler to monitor the whereabouts of each member of his family and respond to them personally in a way that made him seem omnipotent. This was one of the reasons why Dion was considered to be one of the best.

But now, Parker realised as he examined the screen closely, not only was Dion not at home. No one was. Templar Manor was empty except for one lone figure in the kitchen.

Parker felt his heart sink. He'd expected the house to be empty, but held out a hope that Lady Penelope was here somewhere and that he'd be able to rescue her; carrying her off in FAB1 like a white knight on his horse.

But he still couldn't leave it there. He had to double-check that the machine was correct, that FAB1 was correct, that his instincts were correct, and when he knew that beyond all reasonable doubt, find evidence of where his mistress had been taken. Now it was time to hunt for clues.

The ballroom didn't look like the spacious, clutter-free ballroom in Creighton-Ward Manor. It was filled with various pieces of paraphernalia that didn't belong in such a refined room. Huge stereo speakers were banked along one wall and a projector pointed at the windows that looked out over the driveway. Parker flicked a switch and the room was filled with the sounds of people enjoying themselves as images of a party danced across the curtains.

Switching off the pseudo-party Parker switched on the overhead lights. The first thing he noticed was the high-backed chair placed smack-bang in the middle of the ballroom. Theorising that this was significant he examined it, finding light scratches in the varnish work of the underside of both armrests. If, as he thought, these were the marks of some kind of restraints, Lady Penelope couldn't have been conscious when they were made. He was nearly one hundred percent sure that she wouldn't have let someone tie her down without a fight.

A search of the rest of the room revealed nothing except for two champagne flutes. Ripping a square of material off his sheet, he collected both glasses, taking care not to touch them. Leaving the glasses in the foyer, he went on the hunt for Ralph Cockburn-Saint-John's safe.

As he'd expected he found it in the study. It was the type that he called "h-a doddle". Soon it was open and, barely giving the gold and jewels a second glance, Parker was rifling through the papers. Collecting a few that he thought were worthy of perusal later, he tucked them down the front of his long johns. He was about to close the door when, on a whim, he grabbed a couple of what appeared to be the more valuable treasures. Reasoning that they might be useful in encouraging Cockburn-Saint-John to hand over his hostage, Parker slammed the safe shut.

Time to find Lady Penelope.

Hurrying through the house he sent a message to his car and by the time he'd jogged down the steps FAB1's gull-wing door was open and waiting for him. He threw himself inside and set the Rolls Royce in motion, but, being one vehicle that he had no qualms in letting the computer drive, didn't take control of the steering. The big car gunned its engine, followed the driveway down to the road, where it stopped.

Any driver, human or electronic, needs to have a destination and Parker solved that problem by telling the computer to home in on the threads that Lady Penelope had sewn into her various garments. Then he settled back and tried to relax. Not stopping to admire his loot, he threw Lord Ralph's treasures into the glove box, before pulling the papers out from the inside of his long johns.

The first page was a share certificate for a well known horse breeding business, and Parker discarded it over his shoulder onto the back seat.

The second was a draft of a letter to Lady Penelope, declaring Lord Ralph's undying love for her, and Parker read it, his lip curled in distaste. "Bloomin' cheek," he muttered, as he screwed up the page, pushed a button which exposed the car's rubbish bin, and tossed it inside.

The third document was of more interest. It was a series of emails between Cockburn-Saint-John and an unknown correspondent. The content of the letter was couched in vague terms, but seemed to be promising the aristocrat "that which he held most dear" (an echo of Cockburn-Saint-John's words) in return for assistance in gaining a little, unspecified, information and a promise to telephone on a specified date. Sadly none of the important details appeared to have been recorded in these documents and Parker chided himself for not taking his Lordship's computer. He consoled himself with the thought that he'd be able to break in and get it later.

FAB1 sped unassisted along the empty roads.

He'd be getting numerous speeding tickets tonight, Parker supposed, and if a bobby pulled him over he'd probably be done for driving while under the influence of alcohol even though he wasn't actually the one driving. With any luck, once they found out the reason behind his need for speed, Lady Penelope's present employers would use their influence to waive any fines. Despite that, he resolved that if the boys in blue did come after him, they'd have to chase him. There was no way he was going to stop until he knew Lady Penelope was safe.

Thoughts of "boys in blue" brought to mind a different uniform and he wondered if he should alert the Tracys to the disaster. Then he decided against it. There was nothing they could do at the moment and they had enough worries in their lives at present without his adding to them.

Checking the GPS screen that was drawing FAB1 closer to the homing devices hidden in all of Lady Penelope's garments, Parker noted that they were being led to the eastern coast of the island that was the United Kingdom. He wondered if Lord Ralph had property there.

He'd soon find out. Then it would be time to get the lay of the land before he'd call for backup. No need to be foolhardy when he didn't know how many people or what manner of weaponry he was going to be up against. Not unless Lady Penelope's situation was direr than he dared contemplate.

Parker pushed such negative thoughts into the background and enjoyed a brief, but pleasant, daydream of knocking Lord Ralph Cockburn-Saint-John out with a single punch and then escorting a grateful Lady Penelope to safety.

Now they were rolling along the top of a cliff and Parker checked the radar to try to get a fix on their destination. He soon realised that it wasn't a building that the car was closing in on, but something somewhere out in the English Channel. Clearly the kidnappers were making their getaway in a boat.

Parker grinned. "Don't get too cocky, lads," he told the unknowing felons. "Y'ain't 'ome free yet."

He grabbed hold of his restraints as FAB1 did a sharp U-turn onto a narrow track leading down the cliffs to the shore and then they were bumping along a 'road' above the waterline. FAB1 turned right onto a jetty and drove straight out into the English Channel.

Parker couldn't help but grin. If any cops had been following him they'd be well and truly bamboozled now.

Now all he could do was wait; watching out for water-borne traffic in the busy shipping lanes as he listened to the sounds of the engine, the water rushing past the Rolls Royce's hydrofoils, and the beep of the radar.

He watched it as it did two rotations, his frown getting deeper. The boat that held Lady Penelope didn't appear to be moving. Not willing to alert the kidnappers that he was on their trail he donned night vision glasses and extinguished all the lights. What stars weren't hidden behind the scudding clouds stood out like beacons. The moon cast a trail of light across the water. The radar, its image clearly visible on the dashboard thanks to his goggles, showed the distance to their target.

Parker's frown deepened even further. They were almost on top of one of the homing devices, yet he could see no shapes in the darkness, nor was the radar registering any vehicles of any substance.

FAB1 slowed, then, her nose sinking until the car was parallel with the water, stopped.

His heart in his mouth, Parker turned the lights back on and discarded his night vision glasses. Then he moved to the right of the car, the side the radar was indicating that the signal was coming from. He opened the gull-wing and leant out.

Undulating in the waves of the icy waters of the English Channel was a pale shape.

White cloth.

A white chitin?

Retrieving a pole from a cavity within FAB1's cockpit, he reached outside and prodded the shape. Then he opened the pole's jaws, snared the dress and pulled the dripping, heavy material into the car. Dropping the pole back into its recess he examined the dress, finding and disabling the homing thread that confirmed that it had been Lady Penelope's costume.

The radar was registering other signals further on, and he restarted FAB1's engines. He had travelled a couple of kilometres, dodging several container ships, before stopping at the second beacon. Here he retrieved Lady Penelope's bra. The final signal marked the location of her underpants.

Parker was beginning to feel sick, and not through the motion of the waves.

The radar was still giving him a fix on five more points of interest spread out over a wide area, but, ominously, those signals were coming from the seabed. Parker told himself that they were probably Lady Penelope's elegant sandals, necklace and earrings and that their owner was not down there with them.

At least he hoped she wasn't. He'd travelled about ten kilometres between the discovery of the dress and the last unidentifiable beacon and if Lady Penelope had followed her clothes out into the channel she could have been anywhere along that path or beyond.

Parker checked the temperature of the waters. Seven degrees Celsius. If his mistress had been floating in the water for the hour that he'd been enjoying himself back at Templar Manor she'd be dead by now.

Parker clenched her chitin tightly, not caring that he was drenching his sheet and long johns.

"Oh, m'Lady..."

_To be continued..._


	46. Chapter 46 - The Hunt

**Chapter 46: The Hunt**

Parker wasn't about to give in to despair. His gut was telling him that Lady Penelope was still alive, and if she was, he was going to find and rescue her!

As FAB1 travelled back along the route of the homing devices and its various scanners checked for signs of life, he got onto the radio. "FAB1 callin' Thunderbird Five."

John's image appeared on the dashboard screen almost immediately. "Hello, Park…"

"Put me through to Mr Tracy," Parker interrupted. "You'd better stay h-on line too."

John didn't react to Parker's abruptness or uncharacteristic lack of diffidence. Instead he obeyed, initiating the link with Tracy Island.

This time the wait was longer and Parker had to endure the frustrations of sitting in the car, in the darkness, with only the sounds of rushing water and the beep of the radar as a channel ferry passed by to keep him company.

Finally Jeff Tracy's face appeared on screen. "What can I do for you, Parker?"

"'E's kidnapped 'er Ladyship!" Parker blurted out. "It was h-all a con to get 'er."

Jeff looked alarmed. "Did I hear you right, Parker? Someone's kidnapped Penny? Who?"

"Lord Cow-barn Saint…" Parker began, and then checked himself. "Lord Raif Co-burn-Sint-Gin," he enunciated. "But 'e must 'ave 'ad 'elp. "E ain't got the brains to think h-up somethin' like this 'imself."

"Where are you and where do you think Penny is?"

"H-I'm h-in the middle of The Channel…"

Jeff made a note. "Which channel?"

"The H-English Channel."

"You're on the water?"

"Yeah. H-In FAB1. H-As for 'er Ladyship H-I 'ave no h-idea h-except she ain't h-in Kent."

"I've got a fix on Parker's position," John announced.

"Good," Jeff grunted. "Have you let her present employers know the situation, Parker?"

"H-I can't," Parker admitted. "The h-only radio they allow me to use is back h-at the 'ouse. They know me past h-and they don't trust me because h-of h-it."

"Idiots," Jeff growled, and Parker would later remember that single word with warmth and pride. "Get going, Scott. Parker can fill us all in on what's happened once you're airborne."

Parker heard a distant "F-A-B" and immediately felt better. International Rescue were on the case. Soon they'd know exactly where Lady Penelope was.

"I'm trying to get a fix on Penny," he heard John say, "but I'm getting signals from all points of the compass within a three kilometre area and..." his voice trailed off as he realised exactly what depth those signals were coming from.

"There're h-all under water, ain't they?" Parker told him. "H-I think h-it must be 'er shoes h-and jewel'ry. H-I've found 'er dress h-and... erm, smalls, floatin' h-in the drink. H'I disabled their 'omin' devices so they wouldn't h-interfere with the h-others."

"How far apart were they?" John asked. "Can you send me the data, Parker?"

Parker did as he was instructed in time to hear the words: "Switching to horizontal flight."

"Good, Scott," Jeff responded. "John will send you through Penny's last known coordinates."

"Judging by the spread of her clothing, I think they must have been tossed out of a plane rather than a boat," John admitted as he perused the data.

Parker nodded his agreement. He'd come to that conclusion himself. He also knew that if that was true that meant that Lady Penelope was no longer in England and could be anywhere.

John looked up from his computer screens. "What time did you last see her, Parker?"

"Midnight. H-Almost h-on the dot."

"And the time now…" John glanced at a clock that read GMT. "2.15 am." He shook his head at the realisation. "They could be almost anywhere on the planet by now, depending on the type of aircraft."

"Not necessarily," Scott corrected. "How far away was the home farm from the house, Parker?"

"Took me 'bout twenty minutes to run… H-Up 'ill… Say… Three quarters h-of a keel-ho-metre?"

"Point seven five of a K..." Scott mused. "How loud was the party?"

"Not so loud that we couldn't 'ear h-each h-other speak."

"So you could have heard a plane if it was loud enough or flew overhead?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Does Lord Whatsisname have a runway or any kind of aircraft-ready surface like a helipad?"

"No. H-Unless you count the tennis courts?"

"That's a possibility. How many courts?"

"Three."

"How close were they to your party?"

"H-Other side of the h-estate."

"This is sounding promising. Did you happen to see if they had any scorch marks?"

"No, Mister Scott," Parker admitted. "H-I didn't go past. Sorry, Sir."

"Don't be. We can check that out. John?"

"On to it, Scott."

Parker sweated as there was a moment's silence while John tapped into a satellite high above England.

"No signs of any hotspots on the tennis courts. But I did find what could be some behind the house out of sight of the driveway to the home farm."

"How many?" Parker could almost imagine the frown of concentration on Scott's face. "The number and placement could be a guide as to the size and capability of the craft."

"Erm… One major burn. Possibly others… Using known factors as references..." There were beeps from John's computer. "About 35 metres apart?"

"Good. That narrows down the list of potential craft. Something with a reasonably long range, not too noisy, but probably with some VTOL capability."

"Okay, so aside from Thunderbird One, what do you think it is?" Parker heard another familiar voice.

"Let me think, Gordon..."

"I've got Five checking out flight records around Kent for the last two hours," John offered. "What are we looking for? Fixed or rotary wing."

"Rotary," Scott said promptly. "Either that or a helijet. Something in the region of a _Limosa_ _360 _or a _Canutus 185_; able to lift off reasonably quietly, but fly long distances. They both match the specs you've given me."

"Okay..." And Thunderbird Five was beeping again. "I've got several hits... Hold on... Here's a probable! It's a Limosa 360. British Aerospace caught a brief glimpse of it over the channel heading for south-eastern England four hours ago. It disappeared off the radar and they assumed it had turned back. It may have used some kind of cloaking device... I'm also getting another hit from about two hours ago. A couple of container ships in the channel reported a helijet flying low."

"H-If h-it h-is this Limosa," Parker began, "'ow far could h-it fly?"

"A fully fuelled up Limosa could circumnavigate the globe without stopping," Scott admitted and Parker's heart sank.

"What's its passenger capacity?" he heard Gordon ask.

"Eight comfortably."

"Any chance it could have been rendezvousing with a sub?"

"Every chance. One of those babies could hover just above the waterline and the crew could step off onto the submarine"

Jeff Tracy had been taking more notes. "Have you got a fix on the possible location of this Limosa, John?"

"Negative. But I've got Thunderbird Five tracking a probable flight path based on that last sighting. Assuming we shouldn't be looking for a sub."

"P'rhaps one h-of H-International Rescue's agents might see somethin'?" Parker suggested.

Jeff looked regretful. "I'm sorry, Parker, but when International Rescue folded we lost contact with most of our agents. You might have better luck with some of Penny's."

"H-I can h-only h-access most of them through The Firm," Parker grumped.

"I'll start going through the records see whose details we've still got and try to contact them," Gordon offered.

"Start with those on a roughly sou'-easterly track," John suggested. "Southern Europe, northern Africa area. If you need help you can send some through to me to contact."

"F-A-B," Gordon acknowledged, and Parker supposed that he disappeared into another part of the Tracy Island complex. All of a sudden he felt a great deal of affection towards this family who, although so far away, were doing all they could to help.

"I'm approaching south-western England," Scott announced. "I'll be with you in a moment, Parker."

And Parker felt even better.

He watched as a long sleek shape materialised out of the darkness and blinked when a spotlight picked FAB1 out. "I'll take over the search," Scott offered. "You head back home and see if The Firm knows anything about what's happened to Lady Penelope."

"Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir."

By the time the aquatic Rolls Royce had done a U-turn and was heading back towards England's shores, Thunderbird One's sonar-sounding-equipment was scanning the seabed while her other scanners were examining the area above the waterline.

-F-A-B-

"Dad..."

Jeff looked up. Whereas before John had looked cool, calm, and in control, now he was looking worried. In fact he was looking more than worried; more like frantic. "What's wrong?"

"What about Emma? What if that man who's been stalking her has something to do with Penny's disappearance?"

"Penny's agents are watching her," Jeff reminded his son.

"I know. But if this Lord Whateverhisnameis was able to outwit Lady Penelope, what chance does anyone else have? They should be warned!"

Jeff had to admit that this was a fair call. "The problem is that I don't know how to contact them. Do you?"

John's shoulders slumped. "No."

"And Parker won't be able to find out until he gets home..."

"And then he'll have to jump through whatever hoops The Firm will put before him before they tell him anything."

"Call Emma, but don't worry her unnecessarily. Say you're just calling for a chat and remind her to be careful of her security. While you're doing that I'll make other arrangements for her safety. Cheer up, John. We're not beaten yet..."

-F-A-B-

Virgil was just putting their mugs into his dishwasher when his cellphone trumpeted the Thunderbirds March. "Hi, Father."

Tin-Tin, hearing who was calling, frowned in concern and moved closer to listen.

Virgil winked at her. "That's okay. We left early and were just about to turn in..." His smile reversed into a frown. "She's what...!? Right... What can we do...?" He listened briefly. "Hang on…" His hand covered the mouthpiece. "Call a cab and then throw your things into your bag," he instructed. "We're flying out now."

"Virgil..." Tin-Tin tugged at his sleeve. "What has happened?" He indicated that she should wait and Tin-Tin, realising that she was wasting time and wondering if she should get changed out of her finery, found the automatic booking number for the local taxi company on his videophone. Then, as she carefully repacked her suitcase, she listened to his side of the conversation.

"Okay... I understand... We'll be there..." Virgil checked his watch, "in two point five hours, depending on traffic... It's okay. Neither of us have been drinking... She is...? That's good... Has he told her to expect us...? Good. Call us as soon as you have news... Will do. Bye." He hung up the phone.

Tin-Tin was packing the last of her toiletries into her bag, which she carefully placed in her suitcase on top of her clothes and closed the lid. "What has happened?" she asked as she zipped the case shut.

"Lady Penelope's been kidnapped."

"What!? How!"

"Give me a moment to throw my things into my bag." Virgil jogged to his workroom.

Unwilling to wait, Tin-Tin followed him. "How was she kidnapped?"

"I only got the basics." Virgil threw some clothes into a daypack and leant on it to compact them. "All I know is that Parker's tracked her homing devices to the middle of the English Channel. Scott's scanning the area now in Thunderbird One and Parker's gone back home to try and contact Penny's present employers." More clothes were dumped into the pack.

"Where are we going?"

"Apparently Father and John's secretary..."

"Emma?"

"Yeah, Emma. She's had someone stalking her, asking about John. They're worried that it's linked to Penny's kidnapping somehow. Apparently Penny's assigned some of her agents to keep an eye on her, but Father doesn't know how to contact them to warn them. They want us there to keep an eye on Emma until the cavalry turns up."

"And then they can keep an eye on us too?" Tin-Tin guessed. "They probably think we are vulnerable here."

Virgil stopped his packing. "I hadn't thought of that." His toiletries were thrown in before he zipped up the daypack and then, with a brief glance inside to check it was fully stocked, grabbed an artist's satchel.

They stepped out of the room and he stopped, eyeing the videophone. "I've got to make a quick call..." He dialled a number which clicked straight to answerphone. "Hi, Guys. Just to let you know that we've been called away unexpectedly so won't be seeing you tomorrow. Everything's okay and I'll call when I've got a moment. Thanks for a great party. Bye." He hung up. "Here..." he handed Tin-Tin the camera and her bag of delicacies from the party. "You can take these. Only don't eat them straight away. You might want them on the flight."

"I am not hungry now," Tin-Tin admitted. "I am too upset to eat."

Ignoring the creases his was putting into his tuxedo, Virgil swung his pack onto his back and picked up her suitcase. "Have you got everything?"

"I believe so."

"Good. Let's go."

-F-A-B-

After what seemed as long as a trip to Jupiter, Parker drove up the extensive driveway towards Creighton-Ward Manor, stopping at the front steps. He bolted out of the car almost as if the Rolls Royce had catapulted him clear and ran up to the front doors, bursting through without ceremony. "M'Lady!" he yelled. "Are y' 'ere, m'Lady?"

He waited in the silent foyer with no real hope of a response. He told himself that it was a big house and it was possible that his voice hadn't carried. If Lady Penelope had escaped and had returned home, she would probably be reclining up in her room waiting for him to return from the party. "M'lady!"

He climbed the stairs two at a time and, forgoing all protocols and accepted conventions, barrelled into her bedroom.

It was just as she'd left it three hours ago.

That was his last hope gone.

Unless somehow Lady Penelope's present employers knew something they weren't in a hurry to tell him.

Parker was more than a little disappointed to realise that his first point of contact with "The Firm", through the secret videolink in Lady Penelope's personal television set, was Edward Banks, the agent who had taken such delight in apprehending him when he'd absconded with the recordings of Marina's telephone conversations.

The big man looked down his nose at the ex-crim butler. "What do you want?" He peered closer at the screen.

"Someone's kidnapped 'er Ladyship!"

But Banks appeared to be more interested in Parker's attire than what he was saying. "What _are_ you wearing?!"

Parker had forgotten about his torn and filthy sheet. "H-I 'ave been to h-a fancy dress par-tay," he said in his most rounded tones.

"Looks like it was fun."

"What h-it was was h-a trap!"

"I beg your pardon."

Parker had preferred not to deal with Edward Banks at the best of times; and this was one of the worst. "H-it was h-a trap fer 'er!"

"You went as a fur trapper?"

"No!"

"You are wasting my time, Parker."

"You're the one wastin' time! Lord Co-burn-Sint-Gin 'as kidnapped 'er. You lot must know 'oo 'elped!"

"What?" Banks, in Parker's opinion, was having trouble understanding the King's English. "What did you say?"

"'Er Ladyship's bin kidnapped by Lord Raif Co-burn-Sint-Gin h-and h-an h-unknown party."

Banks smirked. "It looks like it was quite a party. You enjoyed a few glasses of the old rabbit and hare, did you, Parker?"

Disbelieving, Parker stared at him. The Tracys had instantly realised the gravity of the situation and had done all they could to mount a rescue. Banks seemed more intent on having fun at Parker's expense.

"Or a few shots of feeling frisky? Or was it just the gin you were talking about?"

"Gin…!? Le'me talk to Commander Fo-vo," Parker demanded.

Edward Banks reverted back his old officious self. "It is oh three hundred hours and Commander Foveaux is not presently on duty."

"Then wake 'im h-up! This h-is h-important!"

"Do you know the punishment for misusing The Firm's equipment?!"

"Do you know 'ow much trouble you're gonna get h-in h-if you don't 'elp Lady Penelope?" Parker glowered down the videolink. "H-And H-I'll be the h-one doing the punishing."

"Where is Lady Penelope?" Banks asked. "I had better have a word with her."

"You can't 'ave a word with 'er!" Parker spluttered. "She's been kidnapped!"

Banks looked started. "Kidnapped! Why didn't you say so? If you can't keep it together after a few drinks, Parker, then you have no place at The Firm. How was Lady Penelope kidnapped…?"

Trying to keep his temper under control, and his language plain and simple so the other man could understand what he was saying, Parker explained the events leading up to the present time… Omitting the fact that he'd called on the services of International Rescue and that Thunderbird One was presently out in the middle of the English Channel doing a thorough search and Thunderbird Five was tracking the movements of a certain Limosa 360. "H-If you lot 'ad trusted me, you would 'ave found this h-out 'ours h-ago!"

"Well, we know now," Banks said grimly. "I've recorded what you've just told me, Parker, so you won't have to repeat yourself to Commander Foveaux. Now, you just pour yourself a nice cup of Horlicks and relax. We'll find Lady Penelope."

"What!" Parker gaped at Banks' video image. "No way H-I'm just sitting 'ere! H-I've gotta 'elp!"

"And you'll be more _'elp_ by keeping out of the way. Leave this to the professionals."

"Professionals!? H-I was dealin' with kidnappers h-and the suchlike since before you was in nappies!"

"Precisely. This is a young man's game and the world's moved on since then. We have the resources and skills… And they don't include safe-cracking. We have more refined methods nowadays. Now… We have your number and if we need you we'll be in touch. Good day, Parker."

And Parker was left staring at a TV set full of static. "H-It's three, flippin', a.m. h-in the blinkin' mornin', Mr Thick-as," he snarled. "H-And h-it ain't daylight yet…" He leapt to his feet and dashed out the door, muttering to himself as he went. "H-I'll give you too h-old. No way H-I'm gonna sit back with me 'Orlicks h-and wait for you lot to finish shinin' your shoes before you decide to do somethin' to 'elp 'er." He slammed into Lady Penelope's study. "H-I don't know many h-of 'er h-agents, but H-I know 'ow to contact some h-and you ain't gonna stop me!" He pressed a rose bud on a picture frame. "Startin' with Mrs Davies…"

-F-A-B-

"Virgil…?"

So far the taxi ride had been silent with each of them wrapped up in their own thoughts, and Virgil seemed almost surprised to hear Tin-Tin's voice. "Yes?"

"Is the tinnitus still annoying you?"

"Yes. I don't remember the Bowmounts' parties ever being as noisy as it seemed to be tonight, but I guess my ears are sensitive at the moment."

"Would you like me to pilot the plane?"

"I thought you were tired. Don't you want to sleep on the flight?"

"I was tired. But I think it must have been because of all the noise, and heat, and excitement. It has been a long time since I had so many people around me. I feel awake now. Plus I am too on edge to think about sleep."

Virgil opened his mouth as if he was going to say something and then glanced at the taxi driver up front. "Would you mind?"

"No. Not at all."

He gave a nod. "Okay then. So long as you tell me take over if you become tired."

"I will."

There was silence again.

"Virgil…?"

"Yes?"

"Do you think she is all right?"

Virgil glanced back at the cabbie. "Until we hear more about what happened to her, I'm going to keep on telling myself that she is." He squeezed Tin-Tin's hand. "We're talking about Penny, remember? Whoever's got her is going to find they've got a whole lot of trouble on their hands."

"That is what worries me. Whoever was clever enough to do this must have known who they were dealing with. They aren't going to give her the opportunity to cause trouble..."

-F-A-B-

Jeff looked up at the beeping sound. "Any luck, Scott?"

"Negative. The scanners are picking up her shoes and what could be a necklace, and I'm finding a lot of debris on the Channel floor; some of which judging by their configurations, must be planes shot down during World War Two. But I've seen nothing that makes me think that Penny's been dumped into the sea."

Jeff let out a breath of relief. "Well, at least that's something. I'll let Parker know; it'll be a weight off his mind."

"Do you want me to continue on to Creighton-Ward Manor?"

"Yes. Just to confirm that Penny's employers have everything under control. Tell Parker that he's welcome to wait back here on the island. The moment we have news you can fly him out in Thunderbird One."

"F-A-B.

Scott looked out Thunderbird One's viewport at the English countryside shrouded in darkness. At this time of night the roar of any sort of landing jet plane was bound to wake up the neighbourhood. But then Thunderbird One was no ordinary aeroplane. Switching on a sound-masking device he lowered his rocket plane down towards the Creighton-Ward estate...

-F-A-B-

"You have no idea what's happened to her, Parker?"

Parker felt as if he were talking to a stranger, and yet this woman was the one agent that he'd spent the most time with in recent months. "No, Miss Jen-Ling. H-I just know that someone's kidnapped 'er. Mister John says they took 'er h-out h-of H-England h-and Mister Scott says with the plane they were h-in they could be h-anywhere by now."

"Including Malaysia?"

"H-Anywhere," Parker repeated. "So you'll call me h-if you 'ear h-anything?"

"Of course. And if you need my help you will call me?"

"H-I will, Miss. H-And thank you."

Parker shut down the video link. He'd contacted every agent of Lady Penelope's that he could. Unfortunately that wasn't many. What worried him was that every one of them appeared surprised at the news of his mistress' kidnapping. It looked like The Firm hadn't contacted anyone.

"Parker...! Are you there, Parker?"

"Mister Scott?" Parker exited the study and looked down over the banisters into the foyer, seeing the figure in civvies. "H-I didn't 'ear the door." As a butler his ears were trained to the sounds of entrance and egress to the house. "How'd you get in 'ere?"

Scott craned his neck upwards. "I came in through the bolt-hole. Any news?" He jogged up the stairs.

Parker had been so worried that he'd forgotten the bolt-hole. The legend that Lady Penelope told the tourists during one of the infrequent coach trips was that there was rumoured to be a long lost tunnel under the house enabling visiting Catholic priests to escape the wrath of the Protestant forces during the first Elizabethan era. The real "bolt-hole" had been created by herself and International Rescue to aid a quick getaway should the need arise. "Nope. Nothin'. H-I called the few h-agents H-I know h-and told them to keep their h-eyes h-open."

"Good. Any word from The Firm?"

"No," Parker said gloomily. "H-And we won't neither. They don't trust me. They'll h-only get h-in contact h-if they think they can use me for something."

Scott gave him a sympathetic pat on the back. "I'm sorry."

"Did you find h-anything?"

"No, nothing except what you suspected. I still think she's on the Limosa 360."

"Then she's still h-alive?"

Scott nodded his agreement. "Then she's still alive... Are you ready to tell us the full story of what happened?"

"H-I will," Parker promised. "But first H-I want to nip back over to Lord Cowbarn's before h-anyone gets back. H-I should'a grabbed 'is computer last time H-I went there."

Scott frowned, still unsure where Ralph Cockburn-Saint-John fitted into the saga. "Do you think it's got information that'll help us?"

"H-I found h-emails printouts from some joker h-offerin' to 'elp 'im get 'er Ladyship. H-I reckon the computer will tell h-us 'oo this geezer h-is. Wait 'ere, Mister Scott. H-I'll be back with h-it h-in h-a jiffy."

"You're going to break in and steal it!?"

"Yep. H-I'll be h-in h-and h-out before you know h-it."

"I don't doubt that for a minute," Scott admitted, "but we don't want to risk drawing attention to ourselves by breaking the law..." He grinned. "Not when we've got other, less obvious, methods." He raised his watch. "Scott calling Thunderbird Five."

"Go ahead."

"We need you to do a little hacking. Can you access... What's the guy's name, Parker?"

"Lord Raif Co-burn-Sint-Gin," Parker enunciated.

Scott stared at him. "Lord Raif...?"

"H-It's one h-of those weird spellings the toffs love. R-A-L-P-Haitch space C-O-C-K-B-U-R-N dash S-A-I-N-T dash J-O- Haitch -N; like you, Mister John. 'Is 'ouse h-is the one next door. Templar Manor."

"Got that, John?"

"I'm ahead of you, Scott. Let's hope he's left his computer turned on... Found it. Let's see what sort of security he's got..." They heard John give a derisive laugh. "Ha! His firewall's so weak a script kiddie could break through before they were out of diapers... Now, passwords," he muttered. "What passwords has he got...? No passwords... This guy hasn't even made hacking into his system a challenge... He's got at least three different viruses and one Trojan horse running riot."

"The Trojan horse might be how his accomplice knew to get in contact with him," Scott suggested.

"Could be. I'll quarantine them before I start copying, but won't destroy them. Their signature could tell us something. I'll send them through to Brains."

"Don't let them infect Thunderbird Five's computers," Scott warned.

"Fat chance." John sounded put out that his big brother had even suggested that such a thing. "I'll mirror the hard drives then we can check them over at our leisure."

"Thanks. Scott out." Scott rested his arm. "Since the computer's been taken care of is there anything else you suggest we should do, Parker?"

"No, Mister Scott. H-I'm h-out of h-ideas."

"In that case do you want to stay here or have a quick trip back to Tracy Island in Thunderbird One? Then when we hear where her Ladyship is we can fly straight to her."

Parker pulled at his torn costume. "'Ave H-I got time to get changed and pack me bag first?"

"We'll have to leave well before daybreak." Scott checked the time. "Quarter to five. Half an hour long enough?"

"Plenty."

Both men stepped out of the study intent on heading towards the servants' sleeping quarters and were startled to discover someone creeping unsteadily up the stairs.

"So this is where you scarpered to...! Oh! 'llo, Mister Scott."

Scott smiled at the cook. "Hello, Lil."

"Watcha doin' back so h-early?" Parker demanded. "The party ain't due to finish h-until h-after seven."

"Too late for an old bod like mine," Lil complained. "Dion's already fallen asleep, so I've left it to the young 'uns. What's your excuse?"

"I'm afraid that's my fault," Scott admitted. "I came here to whisk Lady Penelope away to a party to celebrate the end of Doomsday only to find that she's already at one. I didn't want to gatecrash it, so Parker's been entertaining me here. Once she comes home we'll fly out."

She peered at Parker's ruined outfit. "How's he been entertainin' you!?"

Parker told her the truth. "H-I fell h-over runnin' back to the 'ouse."

"He didn't want to rejoin you dressed like that," Scott added, "and we've been so busy talking that I haven't given him the chance to change."

"Talkin'? You could've done more than talkin'. You should've joined us at our party." Lil treated Scott to a wink. "We would have shown you a good time."

He responded with a roguish grin. "I'm sure you could."

She giggled and then contemplated completing her journey up the stairs. "Oh, well. Best get movin'. Night, boys."

"Night, Lil," Scott said.

"Yeah," Parker echoed. "G'night."

They watched as she reached the summit of her climb and turned towards her room.

"You lie h-as good h-as the best h-of 'em, Mister Scott," Parker chuckled.

"Unfortunately, when the truth has the potential to bring disaster to the world, you learn to be flexible with it. I don't want her worrying about Penny – or calling the police… Are you going to get changed?"

Parker was changed, and his bag packed, in quick time. "'Ang h-on! H-I need to get something from h-out h-off the car. 'Ave we got five minutes?"

"Yes. Give me this," Scott took his bag from him. "I'll meet you at One."

Parker didn't waste time and, carrying a parcel made out of what looked like a bit of old sheet, arrived shortly after the rocket plane's pilot at the deep valley that hid Thunderbird One.

Scott eyed the untidy package. "What's that?"

"Coupla glasses H-I found h-over h-at 'is Lordship's. H-I thought that we might be h-able to fingerprint 'em h-or somthin'. H-Or h-at least work h-out what 'e drugged 'er with. Plus," Parker looked guilty, "some stuff h-of Lord Cowbarn's."

"Stuff?"

"You know… For h-exemplars h-of 'is fingerprints. Plus we can use 'em h-as bargainin' chips. 'E's got what we want, so now we got what 'e wants."

Scott looked at him sideways. "And where did you get this from?"

"H-I nicked h-it h-out h-of 'is…"

Scott held up his hand. "Don't tell me what it is, or how you got it. I don't want to know. I've never thought of Thunderbird One as a getaway vehicle and I don't want to start now."

-F-A-B-

Tin-Tin was glad to be piloting. It gave her something to do rather than dwelling on what had happened to her friend.

She'd expected Virgil to get his sketchbook out and while away the time drawing, but instead he appeared to be dozing. The ringing in his ears, she guessed, must have been worse than he had let on.

Her hypothesis that her companion was asleep was proven wrong when another voice intruded into the cockpit. Upon hearing Scott say: "Thunderbird One to base, Thunderbird Five, and Tracy Three. Leaving England for base." Virgil had sat up and looked attentively at the radio.

"Receiving you, Thunderbird One," Jeff responded.

"Strength Five, Thunderbird One," John acknowledged.

Tin-Tin turned on the hands-free communications system. "We're receiving you, Thunderbird One," she echoed.

No one commented on the fact that she, rather than Virgil, was piloting.

"I've got Parker with me," Scott announced. "He's going to tell us exactly what happened."

Tin-Tin heard Parker clear his throat and then begin to speak with exaggerated precision. As she listened she learnt how Parker's then unsubstantiated suspicions had been aroused when they'd got to the party and the temporary manservant had prevented him from exiting the car. She heard how the party in the manor house appeared to be going full swing with noise and lights and action. There was silence in the cockpit of Tracy Three as the events of the servants' party was glossed over until Dion made his innocent comment that the affair up at the house had been a non-starter. Then there was a brief recitation about Parker's attempts to get into the chaufar car: "'E must 'ave rigged h-it so no one could use h-it!" and the dash from the home farm to the house and the shock realisation that the party had been a cleverly produced sham. "H-I checked the buildin', but there was no one there. They must 'ave chained 'er to a chair though. H-I could see the scratch marks h-on the h-arms."

"Any signs of a struggle?" Jeff Tracy asked.

"No. H-I think she must 'ave been drugged. H-I've got the glasses that she h-and Lord Raif probably drank h-out h-of."

"G-Good," Tin-Tin heard Brains stutter in the background. "The type of sedative used may give us, er, information about the kidnappers."

"How did they produce the party if there was no one there?" John asked.

"They used h-a projector h-onto the curtains," Parker told him. "H-And a stereo."

"Do you think this Lord Cockburn would have the skills to set up something like this himself?" Jeff asked.

"'Im!? Never!" Parker declared. "'E's h-as thick h-as two short planks… Like someone h-else H-I could mention." He explained about his conversation with Edward Banks.

"Do you think The Firm will do something to help Penny?" Jeff asked.

"Oh, yeah. She's their best h-agent, plus she knows too much h-about the setup. They won't want to lose 'er. They just don't want me h-involved."

"So we've got to be careful not to tread on their toes," Jeff mused. "In case it's because of her associations with The Firm that she's been kidnapped."

"Do you think it is, Dad?" Tin-Tin recognised Gordon's voice.

"Could be a coincidence, but I think it's mighty suspicious that Penny gets kidnapped soon after International Rescue saves the world from Doomsday."

"Anything of interest in his computer, John?" Scott asked.

"He seems to have kept some kind of journal, but that'll take ages to read through. I've done some searches in it and generally in the computer, but I haven't found the right keywords to narrow down the hits. I made the mistake of starting with _Penny_ and ended up with over a million. Most of which related to the English currency. _Penelope_'s resulted in fewer hits, but it still numbers in the thousands. Hundreds in the journal."

"Try International Rescue," Gordon suggested.

"I already have. Ten hits, all in the journal and all relating to rescues we've done and what a _great bunch of chaps_ we are."

"IR?"

"A whole lot of letters of complaint about the English Inland Revenue service."

"What about The Firm?" Tin-Tin offered.

"No hits at all. I've search for The Firm as well as its official title and the various names it's known as by the media, and there's nothing."

"Is there any information that could help on those email printouts you've got, Parker?" Scott asked.

"Nah, h-except for 'his email address, h-and that's from one h-of those free email h-accounts. 67890 at iemailz dot com."

"At least that gives me something to work with." John could be heard typing into a computer.

"Send the _Penelopes_ down to me," Gordon instructed, "and concentrate on that email address. You might be able to track down where it was sent from."

Tin-Tin heard Scott give his approval at the suggestion. "Any word on the Limosa?"

"No. I've got Thunderbird Five listening in to the chatter from the various control towers along its possible route, but we all know that all they'd have to do to escape detection is fly over the ocean. From what I can tell it's vanished off the face of the Earth... That's if it ever existed."

"Anything else you think we need to know, Parker?" Jeff asked.

"No, Sir."

"We're nearly home anyway," Scott said. "If you think of anything you can tell us then."

"I have made up the spare bedroom for you, Mister Parker." Tin-Tin couldn't help but smile upon hearing her father's voice.

"Ta, Mister Kyrano, but H-I don't feel like sleepin'."

Everyone shut down communications at that point. John to work on discovering all he could from Lord Ralph Cockburn-Saint-John's journal; Scott to concentrate on bringing Thunderbird One in to land; Jeff to help Gordon peruse thousands of documents containing the word Penelope; Brains to analyse the virus signatures; and Tin-Tin and Virgil to fly above the light-studded landscape of the United States of America.

There was silence in the cockpit.

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

Gordon turned the electronic page on his tablet PC and then, discouraged by another endless page of text, sat back in the easy chair and rubbed his eyes. "This guy's sick."

From his desk Jeff Tracy looked over his spectacles at his son. "You've found some of his, ah, 'fantasies' too?"

"If Penny knew he'd been dreaming about doing all that stuff to her, she'd deck him," Gordon stated. "Which, I might say, I'd pay to see. But I'd hate to think what she'd do if she knew he'd written it down... He's sick," he added, as if he felt he needed to emphasise the point.

"He's not even that imaginative. It's the same thing over and over again in different situations. After the first few pages it loses any, ah," Jeff tried to decide on the right words, "hint of titillation and becomes boring."

"I can't see Penny being that submissive. I'd imagine her being the one with the whip and the chair."

"Whip and chair?" Jeff looked intrigued. "So he has added some variations. All I've read about is chains and handcuffs."

"Marina would have chucked me off the houseboat if I'd suggested anything as sick as he's written. Mind you," Gordon gazed reflectively into middle distance, "she wasn't that interested in the basics."

Jeff didn't want to dwell on that side of his son's life. "I only read the first couple of stories right through," he admitted, "in case there was something of interest hidden in the text, but all it is is the ravings of a frustrated man."

"A frustrated, sick man," Gordon amended, adhering to his theme. "I've given up on reading them right through too. Now I only read the first page and then save it into another folder in case we, perish the thought, have to check the rest of it... Have you found _anything_ of interest?"

"Only that he seems to have a thing for Penelopes. There are a few letters to a Penelope Evan-Smythe who seems rather more open to his advances."

"Unless she's a fantasy too," Gordon suggested.

"I wouldn't be surprised, although I do remember Penny telling me once that he was quite a hit with the ladies... All except her."

"I bet he didn't suggest doing this to any of them. Is this stuff _legal_ in England?"

"I doubt that much of it is even humanly possible."

Kyrano entered the room, carrying a tray laden with three mugs. "I thought that perhaps you might like a coffee to sustain you," he said as he placed a mug before each of the Tracys.

"I think I'm going to need something stronger than coffee by the time I've finished going through this lot," Gordon muttered. "Maybe caustic soda to erase these images from my mind?"

Kyrano took the final cup for himself and drew a chair closer to Jeff's desk. "May I be of assistance?"

"You!" Jeff looked startled. "Oh... I... Ah... We'd appreciate it, Kyrano, but much of what we're having to read is... well... rather... How shall I put it? Graphic."

"Pornographic is more like it," Gordon amended. "It's not all like that, Kyrano, but a lot of it is the delusional ravings of a sick mind."

Kyrano had remained impassive during their explanation. "Whatever these documents contain, they are only words. But Lady Penelope may be enduring greater horrors and I must put aside my own sensibilities to order to free her." He picked up a tablet PC. "Please. May I help?"

"I'm sorry, my friend." Hoping that he wasn't selecting anything too salacious, Jeff beamed a few files across to Kyrano's computer. "If you come across anything you'd rather not read, put it in a different folder. If need be we can deal with it later."

"Yes, Mr Tracy." Kyrano selected the first file and began to read.

Gordon, curious as to the Malaysian's reaction, kept on glancing at him and saw his friend's eyes widen and his cheeks turned pink. "Sick, isn't it?"

Kyrano turned his shocked face to the younger man. "These are not the words I would have expected of a gentleman."

"He is no gentleman," Gordon said in his best upper-crust English accent. "He is a bounder and a cad."

"No gentleman would kidnap a lady," Jeff added. "Title doesn't necessarily mean that someone deserves our respect."

Then, unexpectedly, Gordon laughed. Two pairs of querying eyes turned to him. "I was just wondering," he admitted, "what Grandma would say if she knew that her son, a close friend, and her favourite grandson were sitting together in the lounge of the family home, reading this stuff."

Jeff smirked. "I thought that caustic soda comment sounded familiar."

Gordon chuckled again. "You too, huh?"

Kyrano settled into his chair and read a moment. "This may be of assistance. This is a copy of Lady Penelope's invitation to the party of last night."

Gordon sat up. "Does it tell us anything?"

Kyrano shook his head. "No, Mister Gordon. It is merely an invitation."

"Well, concentrate on that folder," Jeff commanded. "You may find something more."

"Yes, Mr Tracy."

"The problem is," Gordon reminded them, "he doesn't have a filing system. Everything seems to end up in whichever folder he was in when he started."

The proximity alarm sounded, letting them know that Thunderbird One was approaching Tracy Island and, grateful for the opportunity to turn his attention to something more palatable, Jeff cleared the craft for landing.

A short time later Scott and Parker were standing in the lounge.

"H-Any word?" Parker blurted, not waiting for the usual pleasantries.

Jeff had got to his feet when they'd entered. "No, Parker, I'm sorry. But don't worry, we're doing all we can. Kyrano, Gordon and I are going through Lord Ralph's documents to see if we can find anything of interest, and John's still trying to trace that email address. Brains is attempting to analyse the virus signatures to see if that'll give us a heads up. And Virgil and Tin-Tin are on their way to Emma Janes' in case her stalker has anything to do with this. Have you heard from The Firm?"

Parker sagged. "No, Sir. Nothin'." He looked at the tablets in their hands. "I can 'elp go through the documents."

Jeff, Gordon, and Kyrano glanced at each other, certain that Parker would not take kindly to reading Ralph Cockburn-Saint-John's ramblings.

"You look done in, Parker," Jeff said. "When did you last get some sleep?"

"Sleep? H-I, er... H-I was h-up h-at 6.30 this mornin'... No, 'ang h-about. H-It was yesterday mornin'... H-I think. Me watch says six. H-Is that mornin' h-or evenin'? These time zones h-are confusin' me."

"You've been up just on 24 hours." Scott laid his hand on the butler's shoulder. "Go get some sleep, Parker."

"Yes," Jeff agreed. "We promise that the instant we discover something, even if it's only a rumour, we'll wake you."

All of a sudden Parker felt exhausted, and eternally grateful to the people standing before him. "Thank you, Mr Tracy," he said as he shook Jeff's hand. Then he turned to the others. "Mister Scott... Mister Gordon... Mister Kyrano..." he gushed as they each received a handshake. "H-I don't know what H-I'd do without your 'elp."

"She's a special lady," Jeff reminded him. "We won't rest until she's home safe and sound."

Kyrano handed his tablet to Scott. "Come with me, Mister Parker. I will assist you to your room."

Parker stared at him, the bags and shadows under his eyes more pronounced in the glare of the setting sun shining into the lounge. "Thank you," he repeated, and allowed Kyrano to lead him away.

Scott collapsed into the seat Kyrano had just vacated. "Anything you want to tell me now he's gone?"

"Only that you're in for a long night of reading." Gordon indicated the tablet in Scott's hands. "And we're all due for a heavy dose of caustic soda when we've finished."

"Caustic soda?" Scott glanced at the words on the tablet in his hands. "That's what Grandma used to threaten us with when... Holy cow!" He looked shocked as his brain processed what he was reading. "This guy's sick!"

Gordon gave a smug nod. "I said he was."

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

It was nearing the end of the day when Tracy Three touched down at Tracy Airfield. Tin-Tin and Virgil said little to each other as they claimed their bags and climbed into the taxi that was waiting for them.

As much of the flight had been, the trip to Emma Janes' apartment was silent. "You two 'ad a tiff?" the cab driver asked when he unloaded their bags.

"No," Tin-Tin replied. "But we have received some bad news. We do not feel like talking."

Outside the door to Emma's home Virgil raised his hand to ring the bell and then hesitated. "Have you met her before?"

"Yes," Tin-Tin nodded. "I have."

He stepped back so she was in front. "Then maybe you'd better do the talking. You can reassure her that it's us."

"You have never met her?"

"No. I've spoken to her on the phone a couple of times, that's all. I tended to catch up with John at his place rather than at work... That's when I could drag him away from it."

Tin-Tin rang the bell and heard a muffled sound from inside. The light shining through the door's peephole dimmed and reappeared. There was the scuffling sound of a bolt being withdrawn and then the door opened as far as its chain would allow.

Tin-Tin smiled at the frightened eye that peered through the gap. "It is Tin-Tin and Virgil Tracy, Emma."

"Oh…" Emma shut the door, withdrew the chain, and then opened it again to let them in. "Sorry," she looked embarrassed, "but with what's happened to Lady Penelope I felt I couldn't be too careful."

"We do not blame you," Tin-Tin agreed. "I believe that you have not met Virgil?"

"Only in photographs," Emma admitted as she shook his hand. "It's nice to finally meet you face to face, Virgil."

"You too, Emma. Makes a change from over the phone."

"Come in and sit down," Emma offered, chaining the door shut again before picking up an object that was propped against the wall. It was a cross-cut saw. "It was Lady Penelope's suggestion," she explained as she led the way further into the apartment. "She said that if you grab the handle with both hands and point the blade towards an intruder, there's no way he's going to get close enough to you to harm or disarm you."

"That is true," Tin-Tin agreed.

"John told me you were travelling from New York and you must both be tired. Would you like a coffee?"

The Tracys agreed, as much because it gave the obviously nervous woman something to do as because they were thirsty.

"Have you had any word about Lady Penelope?" Emma asked from her kitchenette.

"No, nothing," Virgil admitted. "No calls, ransom notes, or anything."

"Virgil…" Tin-Tin touched him on the arm. "Emma is not that far away. You do not need to shout."

"I'm doing it again?" He looked frustrated as he tried to reduce his volume. "Just tell me if I talk too loud, Emma." He rubbed his ear. "I've got problems with my hearing at the moment."

Emma looked dismayed. "Nothing permanent, I hope."

"Shouldn't be; although there are times when it feels like it… Anyway," Virgil continued, unaware that his volume had risen again, "While Lady Penelope's being held captive…"

The doorbell rang.

Startled by the unexpected sound, the room's occupants froze.

They looked at one another.

The bell rang again.

"There is someone at the door!" Tin-Tin hissed.

"I know. I heard…" Virgil got to his feet. "I'll answer it…" He gestured towards the back of the room. "You two stay well behind." He approached the door and peered through the peephole. "Looks like an old lady."

Emma, standing behind the kitchen bench as if it were a shield, relaxed. "Mrs Davies. She's all right. She's my neighbour."

Still wary, Virgil swung the door open as far as the chain would allow. A gimlet eye stared at him. "Hello," he said. "How can I help you?"

"Is the lady of the house home?" the eye asked.

Virgil frowned. His hearing seemed to be getting worse rather than better. "I beg your pardon?"

"The person who lives here? Is she in?"

"She's, erm, unavailable," Virgil responded, hoping he'd understood the question.

It was at that moment that the saw, which Emma had propped against a kitchen cupboard, fell to the ground. Emma, already jumpy, was so startled that she knocked two of the three cups she'd been filling and the kettle onto the floor. That, and her cry when boiling water splashed onto her, sent Mrs Davies into action. There was a quick burst of a laser and the door's chain hung useless. Virgil, distracted by Emma's misfortune, found himself sailing through the air before landing on his back with an elderly lady, her walking stick raised menacingly, kneeling on his chest.

With cries of "Virgil!" and "Mrs Davies!" respectively, Tin-Tin and Emma ran forward.

"Keep back!" Mrs Davies demanded. "Or I'll use this knock out gas!" She waved her cane.

"Mrs Davies?!" Emma gasped. "What are you doing?"

"Protecting you, my dear."

"What… What did she say?" Virgil asked. He went to rub the back of his head.

"Don't move," the old lady growled. "Or else."

Virgil, still struggling to hear her words, correctly interpreted the waving of her stick and froze.

"Mrs Davies!" Emma repeated. "This is Virgil Tracy! He's my bosses' brother, ah, son, er…"

"You don't sound sure." Mrs Davies stared at Tin-Tin. "Who are you?"

"His sister-in-law!"

Mrs Davies stared back down at her captive. "What identification do you have?"

"What?" Virgil frowned up at her. "What did she say, Tin-Tin?"

"She is asking if you have any identification."

"It's in my bag."

"Your bag?"

"I'm wearing a tux for Pete's sake!"

Mrs Davies waved the stick again. "You aren't carrying identification?"

"We were at a party in the same building as Virgil's apartment," Tin-Tin told her.

"Yes," Virgil agreed. "I didn't realise I was going to fly halfway across the country to be slammed into the floor!"

"Mrs Davies!" Emma protested. "Please let him up."

"Can you vouch for them? They may be armed."

Tin-Tin turned so she was facing the elderly lady in pregnant profile. "Do I look like I'm carrying a weapon?"

"Mrs Davies," Emma repeated. "I was expecting them! John called and told me they were coming."

"John?"

"John is my boss! He's Virgil's brother!"

Still suspicious Mrs Davies stared at her as though she were under the influence of some nefarious power. "I thought you said _he_," she indicated Virgil with a flick of her greying head, "was your boss's son."

"He is! John's taken leave and his father… _their _father, Jeff, has taken control of Tracy Industries again!"

"Jeff…? Jeff Tracy?"

"Yes," Tin-Tin nodded "He is my father-in-law."

Mrs Davies looked down at her captive. "You're a Tracy?"

"I'm a what?"

"Just say yes, Virgil," Tin-Tin advised.

"Yes?"

Mrs Davies gave him one last wary look and then released him. At once Tin-Tin ran to his side. "Are you all right?"

Sitting up, Virgil rubbed the back of his head. "I think so… So long as you don't tell my brothers I was overpowered by an elderly woman." He looked up to where Mrs Davies was standing over him, leaning on her cane. "You're one of Lady Penelope's agents?"

"Yes. That's right."

Emma gaped at her neighbour. "You're what!?"

But Mrs Davies seemed to be more interested in making amends. "I am sorry that I attacked you, Mr Tracy, but I heard a man's voice say something about Lady Penelope being held captive. As I had had a call from Parker earlier alerting me to this catastrophe, I reacted accordingly. If I'd known who you were I would not have attacked you. I am a great admirer of the work of Jeff Tracy and his sons."

Virgil frowned. "What did she say, Tin-Tin?"

"She has apologised." Tin-Tin assisted Virgil, who seemed a bit unsteady, to the couch. "Are you sure you are all right?"

"I..." Virgil rubbed his ear, and then looked at something at his hand. "That explains why I couldn't hear properly tonight. It's the patch Brains put over my burst eardrum." He regarded the two younger women. "I can hear what you're saying, but the pitch of your voice," he indicated Mrs Davies, "is outside my hearing range at present."

Tin-Tin looked worried. "What about your other ear?"

Virgil tapped the other side of his head and then looked at the palm of his hand. "That's the other patch. No wonder my hearing's compromised."

"Do you think you should put some cotton wool in to protect your eardrums?"

"No. I'm not planning on getting my ears wet."

"Should we warn the others? Their patches may be becoming loose too."

Virgil nodded. "Do you want to ring them? You can tell John that we're here and that Emma had nothing to fear." As Tin-Tin went to their bags to get a phone he smiled at the apartment's stunned owner, hoping to reassure her. "How about that cup of coffee?"

Emma stared at him.

"I am afraid that she dropped her kettle," Tin-Tin explained, fossicking in her bag. "That was the noise you heard."

"At least I can hear something… Is the kettle still working?" Virgil got to his feet, relieved that the temporary vertigo had passed. "Would you like me to have a look at it?"

Before Emma was able to get her wits together to respond there was an almighty bang as the door to her apartment flew open and two, gas-masked, burly men crashed in. If she'd had time to comprehend what was happening she would have expected Mrs Davies to come to the rescue, but instead it was Tin-Tin and Virgil, with a few deft martial arts moves, who disarmed and subdued the intruders in a matter of seconds.

Kneeling on the small of his captive's back, Virgil pushed the man's arms up towards his shoulder blades. "Who are you?!"

"One One Five," the man mumbled through his mask. "That's all you're getting out of me."

Mrs Davies chuckled. "Relax. They're with me." She tapped Virgil on the shoulder and gave him a thumbs-up sign.

He frowned, not sure whether her affirmation was a sign of a job well done or that all was well, and tightened his grip.

Tin-Tin had her captive restrained by the use of a neck-based, nerve-numbing, pressure point. "What do you mean they are with you?"

"They are my backup. If they don't get the all clear from me then they assume something's gone wrong and come to my aid… Let me introduce you to Agent One-One-Six." Mrs Davies pulled the gas mask off Tin-Tin's captive's face. "You," she prodded the helpless man in the chest, "have just been subdued by a pregnant woman. And you, One-One-Five…" she reached down and pulled the mask off the man on the floor, "have just been taken out by the man who _I_ slam dunked! I only hope that we haven't disturbed the downstairs neighbours."

Virgil was getting sick of missing out on much of what was going on. "What did she say?"

"Let him go, Virgil." Tin-Tin gave an exasperated sigh and released the pressure point. With a groan 116 collapsed to the floor rubbing at his neck. "They are Lady Penelope's agents too."

"They are? Are you sure?"

"Yes, they…" Mrs Davies began, and then decided that a smile and another thumbs-up would be a more effective form of communication.

Virgil released 115 and stood.

115, with a groan and rubbing his arms to try to regain the circulation, got to his feet.

That was the point that Emma snapped. "What's happening?!" she wailed. "Who are you all?" She burst into tears. "This is my home!"

"Emma!" Tin-Tin and Mrs Davies hurried forward to comfort her. "It's all right."

"Erm… I think I'll call John," Virgil offered. "That's if I can hear him." There was no response from the ladies so he grabbed his phone from his bag and headed to a far corner of the room, as far as could get from the noises of distress.

Agents 115 and 116, looking embarrassed and uncomfortable and not sure what to do with themselves, retired to the entrance of the apartment and made a show of ensuring that the lock on the door was still in working order.

"I'm sorry, Emma" Mrs Davies soothed, leading her to a chair.

"Let me get you a coffee," Tin-Tin offered. "I think we all need one."

"That is a good idea," Mrs Davies approved. "Now, dry your tears, Emma. You've always been perfectly safe. I've been watching over you."

Emma sniffed and tried to get her emotions under control. "I s-still don't understand," she told her neighbour. "Y-You're an 'agent'?"

"Yes. I work for Lady Penelope, along with several hundred others. I am agent Six-Two, and, if I do say so myself, I am highly effective at my job. No one suspects that a little old lady is capable of taking them out."

"Why didn't sh-she tell me you were keeping an eye on me?"

"We didn't want to worry you unduly. If you thought that your existing defences were adequate, then we assumed that you would be able to relax. If you'd known that each of your doors and windows is wired to set an alarm off at my place as soon as they're breached, you would have perceived the threat to have been greater than it is."

"Sensors?"

"Yes, programmed to recognise whenever someone, who isn't you, enters your apartment. When that happens I am instantly warned to pay you a visit to make sure that it is someone trustworthy."

"But wh-what," Emma gulped and tried to steady her voice. "What about your cat?"

"Tiddles? Tiddles real name was Mousy Hairi and, sadly, passed to the great mouse catching ground in the sky years ago. However I still use her memory to gain the trust of those I am charged to protect."

"Mrs Davies…" Emma looked up at her. "What has happened to Lady Penelope?"

Her neighbour's face became grim. "That we don't know. I learnt about her kidnapping from Parker, her butler, and then from the firm that she presently works for, but neither of them have any information."

"We didn't know that Parker could contact you, Mrs Davies," Tin-Tin admitted. "That is why Virgil and I flew here as soon as we heard the news. We were hoping that we might be able to make contact with someone who could let the rest of Lady Penelope's agents know she was in trouble. John was also worried that Emma's stalker might be linked to Lady Penelope's disappearance and he wanted to make sure that she was safe."

"He did?" Emma's cheeks reddened slightly.

Tin-Tin noted the flush as she indicated the kettle in her hand. "I am afraid that it is broken. I possibly could mend it, but I do not have the right tools here."

Relieved that the hysterics seemed to be over, Virgil snapped his phone shut, had a quick word with the two other agents and then the three of them joined the ladies. "John's suggested that we all decamp to his place. He's got better security and more room. We'll be able to lay low there quite comfortably until we know it's safe to move."

"John?" Emma had brightened at the mention of her boss' name. "Will he be there?"

"Uh… no," Virgil admitted. "He's not in the country."

Emma's glow faded. "Oh…"

"It has been decided that we," 115 indicated the three male members of the group, "went there first and checked the apartment is secure."

Before there was a chance for any allegations of sexism, Virgil stepped in. "Security at his building know me, and John's already warned them that we're on the way and asked them to get the place ready. You ladies have already proven that you're able to take care of yourselves," he ruefully rubbed the back of his head, "so we know you'll be safe here until we give the all clear."

"Once Emma has got some things together, we'll wait in my place," Mrs Davies suggested. She patted Emma's hand. "You'll be perfectly safe there. _And_," she indicated the kettle in Tin-Tin's hand, "we'll be able to have a cup of coffee and a chat while we wait."

-F-A-B-

The three Tracy men and Kyrano were labouring through the turgid prose of Lord Ralph Cockburn-Saint-John. After the tedium of his attempts at fantasy writing, even dry letters to the council complaining about potholes in the road in front of Templar and Creighton-Ward Manors were like a breath of fresh air.

"I do not wish to be seen as neglecting my duty to Lady Penelope," Kyrano admitted. "But perhaps some coffee will fortify us?"

Gordon stretched and tried to rub the kinks out of his neck. "That sounds like a brilliant idea, Kyrano."

"Mr Tracy?"

"Yes, please."

"Mister Scott?"

"I'd love some."

Kyrano gave his habitual bow and departed the lounge as Brains bustled in.

Hopeful for some good news, Jeff looked up from his tablet. "Have you got something to tell us?

"I-I have just been talking to Virgil," Brains announced. "He says that the patches over both tympanic membranes have been dislodged, compromising his hearing."

"Is he all right?"

"He says that, aside from some loss of hearing at certain registers, he is, er, fine, and I have no reason to disbelieve him. But I do need to know if any of you have suffered a similar degradation to your auditory facilities."

"Yes, but I'd put that down to old age," Jeff admitted. "I'd resigned myself to not getting my full hearing back."

Scott laid his tablet on the desk. "I thought that the foyer of Penny's place echoed more than usual. I assumed it was because the place was empty."

"I've been experiencing a kind of hollowness to some sounds," Gordon added. "I figured it was part of the healing process."

Brains made a note into his tablet PC. "I shall have to examine you all, and if necessary redress your membranes."

"Is there any hurry?" Jeff asked. "If it's not going to affect my long term health, I'd rather carry on trying to find something that will help Lady Penelope."

"N-No. There is no rush, so long as you are not experiencing any discomfort."

"I'm not," Scott stood, "but I don't want anything compromising my ability to fly out in Thunderbird One at a moment's notice. You can check my ears, Brains."

"While the rest of us carry on dredging through this muck," Gordon sighed.

-F-A-B-

John, sitting in his favourite easy chair, tablet computer in his lap, was trying to focus. On Earth, this seat had been a soothing haven from the stresses of his daily grind. Here in Thunderbird Five it seemed to serve as a reminder of the life that he was missing while he was trapped in his sterile capsule.

They'd had the chair thoroughly cleaned and deodorised, but every now and then he'd get a whiff of smoke and that would transport him back to that day at Coche Del Olor. Then he would relive the buzz of danger and the feeling that he'd awoken from a long dreamless sleep. Or else he'd remember the pride and exhilaration of working with his brothers as a seamless unit to save one of their own. Or his very soul seemed to fill with the sheer elation of doing the seemingly impossible.

But now, as he sat in his smoked chair remembering how hysterical Emma had sounded in the background of Virgil's phone call, he felt hopeless. Like he'd done that afternoon when he'd thought her heart had belonged to another and he'd lost any chance of happiness.

Deciding that that such an attitude was not conducive to tracking down kidnappers, he vacated the chair, perched on a stool, and immersed himself in his task.

-F-A-B-

Kyrano, trying not to allow the text that he was reading to seep into the recesses of his mind, nearly missed something of interest. Startled by his carelessness, he stopped, returned to the beginning of the paragraph, and read again with more care.

He decided it said what he'd thought it said. "I may have discovered something of use in our quest."

Instantly the Tracys looked at him.

Jeff laid down his tablet. "What is that, Kyrano?"

"Is it possible that the lord has a dungeon in his home?"

"A dungeon?" Scott leant closer to read Kyrano's tablet. "Why do you say that?"

"See here," Kyrano highlighted the relevant text before giving Scott the tablet. "In this, ah, 'story' he has entrapped Lady Penelope in the dungeon under his house."

"One with bars..." Scott skimmed through the document. "Stone walls... Chains bolted to the walls... stocks... iron maidens..."

"No way!" Gordon exclaimed. "Even he's not sick enough to use one of those things on someone he professes to love."

"Calm down, Gordon. He's just got her chained to the wall."

"Even Penny would have trouble getting out of something like that."

Jeff was working on his computer. "I wonder if it's possible to get plans of Templar Manor online..."

"Perhaps the name of the lord's home is a clue," Kyrano suggested.

Gordon stared at him. "A clue?"

"The Knights Templar were an order from many centuries ago. They were powerful until they were persecuted."

"Did they do any persecuting of their own?"

Jeff had found some text of interest. "Templar Manor was built in the mid to late 1800s and added to several times over subsequent centuries." After a couple of clicks he'd moved to a building plan. "I can't see anything like a dungeon. I can't even see plans for a wine-cellar."

"1800s?" Gordon frowned at the description. "That sounds a bit too late to be building Mediaeval torture chambers."

"It is the English Victorian period," Kyrano stated, "and for the most this was a time of peace within the British Empire."

"Unless some earlier Co-whateverhisnameis was a devotee of the ideals of the Marquis de Sade."

Kyrano inclined his head. "This is a possibility. But we must also remember that many of England's buildings are built on the foundations of earlier structures."

"Like a Mediaeval castle?"

"Yes, Mister Gordon. Or an earlier manor house."

Scott looked up from where he was searching the story for clues. "Kyrano's right. There are Roman ruins throughout London, most of which predate the Middle Ages. And I remember one fast food place some friends and I visited during a vacation while I was at Oxford. The kid's play area had a wall that was Roman."

"All right, so the country's older than Methuselah," Jeff said. "But does Templar Manor have anything that could be used as a dungeon?"

"And why couldn't Parker find any evidence that they were still there?" Gordon asked. "He would have poked his nose into every corner of that building looking for Penny."

"And if she's been held on site, why dump her clothes from a plane?" Scott queried.

"To throw any pursuers off the scent?"

"There are easier ways of doing that. Why not hide or destroy them?"

"The homing devices can't be easily destroyed. Whoever dumped them is trying to stop us tracking them."

"But who would have suspected that Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward had homing devices hidden in her clothes?"

"Someone who knew more about her than they should?"

"Then why would they risk keeping her in the house that she was 'kidnapped' from? If I were kidnapping someone I'd want my victim hidden well clear of the scene of the crime."

"Unless it's a double bluff. Who'd think of looking right under their own noses?"

Scott looked as if he wanted to attempt another counterargument, and then gave up.

There was silence as each man thought.

Jeff sighed. "There's nothing for it. We're going to have to wake Parker and ask him if he knows anything."

"That's going to mean telling him about these stories," Gordon warned. "He's not going to be happy."

"He'll be even less happy if we have a clue as to where she is and we don't follow it up."

Kyrano stood. "Permit me to wake him. I will be gentle."

Despite his worries, Jeff smiled up at him. "I have no doubt of that, my friend."

Parker was having a restless sleep. His dreams were filled with images of Lady Penelope tugging the bell pull in the lounge of the Creighton-Ward Manor to summon him to bring her a cup of tea, while he, trapped in Lil's smothering embrace as silver teapots danced about them, was unable to tear himself free to come to her aid.

"_Mister Parker..."_

One of the teapots was talking to him now. Taunting him. Reminding him that her ladyship was thirsty and needed his help.

"_Mister Parker..."_

"H-I'm comin', m'Lady!" Finally he managed to escape Lil's grasp and was sprinting up a path towards the Creighton-Ward Manor. At least he was trying to run, but no matter how fast his legs moved, he was rooted to the spot.

"_Mister Parker..."_

A giant vampire bat, its eyes flashing a multitude of coloured lights, swooped down and sank its teeth into him. With a gasp, his clothes soaked with sweat, and his heart pounding, he awoke. He sat up, trying to work out where he was.

Kyrano removed his hand from the butler's shoulder. "I am sorry that I had to wake you, Mister Parker."

"Huh...? Oh...!" Parker wiped his face. "That's h-all right, Mister Kyrano. H-It wasn't much h-of a dream h-anyroad." He blinked as he realised where he was and, more importantly, why he was there. "You 'ave news h-about 'er?!"

"No. We only have supposition and we require your expertise."

"Oh... Right..." Parker climbed out of bed and slipped into his slippers. "H-Is h-everyone still h-in the lounge?" he asked as he put his dressing gown over his nightshirt and, tying the cord about his waist, headed for the door.

Kyrano nodded and led the way.

"Sorry to wake you, Parker," Jeff apologised. "But we need your advice."

"You know H-I'd do h-anythin' for 'er. 'Ow can H-I 'elp?"

"As you know we've been reading the contents of Lord Co... Erm, his computer. The lord seems to have, ah, assuaged some of his desire for Penny by writing... a few... fictional stories."

"Stories?" Parker frowned in confusion. "What kinda stories?"

"I suppose..." Jeff wished he didn't have to have this discussion, "that, depending on your... erm, tastes, you _could_ call them romantic."

"'E was writin' romantic stories h-about 'im h-and 'er?" Parker's fists balled into fists. "H-I'll swing for 'im when H-I see 'im!"

Jeff didn't doubt that that was likely to happen, especially if Parker learnt the content of those tales. "One of these stories is situated in Templar Manor."

Parker was aghast. "H-In 'is bedroom!?"

"Ah, no... In a dungeon."

Parker stared at Jeff. "What!?" Kyrano placed a chair behind him and he sank into it. "H-In a what?"

"A dungeon," Jeff repeated.

"What was 'e doin' with 'er h-in a dungeon?"

Jeff definitely wasn't going to get into that discussion. "We were wondering if you knew of any such room. Is there any chance that there's one at Templar Manor."

"A dungeon?" Parker thought, his frowning bushy eyebrows nearly reaching his nose. "No. H-I can't recollect such a place. H-I don't think Dion h-ever mentioned h-anythin'."

"Do you know of one in any of the neighbouring houses? Or under one of the other buildings on the manor? Maybe an old ruin?"

"No..." Parker shook his head. "Sorry, Sir."

"Don't be. Now... I know this is a stupid question, but did you search everywhere in the house?"

"'Course H-I did. H-Everywhere!"

"We knew you would have," Jeff soothed. "We thought this was going to be a wild goose chase, but we need to follow every lead."

"H-I know." Parker suddenly looked exhausted again. Exhausted and defeated.

"Chin up," Gordon told him. "We're not ready to give up. It's only been, what? Six hours since you last saw her?"

"That's six 'ours too long. H-I 'ate to think what's 'appenin' to 'er."

"She could be perfectly all right," Jeff told him. "You look like you need more sleep, Parker. Go back to bed. You'll feel better and more able to help her Ladyship if you're awake."

"H-I can't sleep. H-I h-only dream that she's askin' me for my 'elp h-and H-I can't do h-anything."

"Come, Mister Parker," Kyrano took the butler's arm and gently, but forcefully pulled him to his feet. "Mr Tracy is right and you must rest. I have a tonic that will help you sleep. Return to your bed and I will bring it to you."

"One h-of your famous potions, huh?" Parker managed a chuckle. "H-I know you're all right, but H-I don't like the h-idea h-of not doin' h-anything myself."

"I'm sure we'll find plenty for you to do tomorrow," Jeff promised. "Go to bed, Parker."

"Yes, Sir." With a final "Thank you, Sir." Parker retraced his steps and returned to his room.

Jeff let out a breath. "We've probably only delayed the inevitable, but I couldn't face telling him exactly what's in those stories."

"You did the right thing," Scott reassured his father. "The way he is now, if you'd told Parker all the sordid details he'd probably have nightmares."

"Do you need any help preparing your tonic, Kyrano?" Gordon offered. "I'd be glad of the break."

Kyrano shared one of his quiet smiles. "I thank you for the offer, Mister Gordon, but I will not need your assistance. This tonic is very easy to prepare. It is one that was created for the Western constitution almost two centuries ago."

"So you're confident it'll work, huh?" Scott asked. "What's it called?"

Kyrano's smile broadened by a millimetre. "Horlicks."

_To be continued..._


	47. Chapter 47 - Storytime

**Chapter 47: Storytime**

_Once upon a time,_ so the story began, _there was a handsome man who was brave and true. Death held no fears for him. He laughed at danger. And the world admired him for it. Men wished they were him and women lusted after him._

_But his heart belonged to one and one alone. And he dreamt of the day when he would take her into his arms and kiss her with a passion that would send their pulses racing and nerves tingling. And then, when they were alone they would press themselves against one another, feeling their bodies moving together as they…_

Alan stared at what he'd written. This was supposed to be a story for his as yet unborn child. Not an R-rated fantasy about his longed for reunion with Tin-Tin! Pressing Ctrl-A and then delete he consigned the words to oblivion.

He'd been alone for just over a month and without meaningful human contact for a week, and he was beginning to wonder if he'd lose the ability to interact with others. This, writing stories, was supposed to be a way of communicating with his child.

He'd lain in bed last night, imagining what he would do when he was a father, when the idea had come to him. To write something for his baby to let him or her know that their dad loved them, and cared for them, and maybe give them some understanding as to why their father had left their mother for so many months.

But so far his efforts had been pitiful. Lame _Once upon a times_ that had no plot, no story, no real characterisation. And so he decided to write this story about the person in the world that he knew best…

Alan Tracy.

The problem was that that decision had given birth to a story that was far more intimate than he would ever share with his child.

The main problem was that he had no idea what he wanted to write; or even _if_ he wanted to write. He wasn't even sure if he _could_ write. He didn't even know if he, man of action, had a writer's temperament.

He scratched his chin, feeling his nails scrape across the long coarse hair that resided there.

Before he'd left on this expedition, while he was still planning what necessities he had to take with him, he'd made a decision. Wet shaving required water and water was a precious commodity to be protected and conserved during the long voyage. Plus he would have had to keep a store of razor blades and deep down, there was a tiny, hidden-away part of his psyche that was fearful that the loneliness got too much for him he might find another, messier use for the sharp pieces of steel.

He'd then considered taking an electric razor. But even that small device would sap a miniscule amount of electricity and he didn't want to risk draining his battery banks for a bit of cosmetic pampering. Plus, even a shaver took up room and if he had to chose between it and a couple of potentially lifesaving packets of freeze-dried food, well… It was no contest.

And so he was letting his beard grow unchecked. But now, over five weeks into his mission, he couldn't understand how Virgil had managed to live for months with wild and woolly hair growing out of the bottom of his face.

And this wasn't Alan's only lack of concession towards personal hygiene.

Thunderbird Three's reserve water tanks were kept full as the filtration and purification unit worked round the clock to ensure that his limited supply of life-supporting liquid didn't run out. And Alan was determined that they were going to remain full. The reserve tanks held enough water for a week, and, should the filtration units fail, Alan wanted to make sure that that he'd have close to his full quota to give him time to make the necessary repairs. Showering, shampooing and clothes washing all used water, and so he didn't bother. Sometimes, as a treat, he would give himself a quick shower, standing in the cubicle in his clothes so he'd get maximum usage out of that precious resource. He supposed that he smelt, but as he couldn't smell it and the stench wasn't annoying anyone else, he couldn't see that being a problem.

_Once upon a time_…

Once upon a time there was a man without a clue of how to write a story for his child. What did children like? Stories of fairies, and trolls, and other weird talking creatures. But what did he know about them?

What other stories were already out there? He'd heard about ones about ugly ducklings, and little girls with wolves and bears and golden curls…

But what if his child was a boy?

Alan tried to think back to his childhood. What stories had fascinated him? Ones about astronauts were always top of his list (except for the one that had given him nightmares for years afterwards.) Then there were the ones about talking train locomotives, and talking tug boats, and talking fire engines…

Talking Thunderbirds?

_Once upon a time there was a Thunderbird. It was a spaceship Thunderbird and it was the tallest of all the Thunderbirds, and also the fastest. It could go flying out into space all the way to Jupiter and back; and that was a long, long, long, long, long way._

Alan re-read what he'd written. With a bit of tweaking and the loss of a couple of 'longs' this bit of prose had promise.

_The man in charge of this Thunderbird was a brave man. But he wasn't the only brave man who piloted a Thunderbird. Each of the man's brothers had a Thunderbird of their own and they were all as brave as the pilot of the spaceship Thunderbird._

Alan deleted the last "Thunderbird".

_For years the man worked with his brothers and their Thunderbirds; flying around the world and saving lives. It wasn't very often that the spaceship Thunderbird was able to save someone's life, unless they were in a spaceship of their own that was broken, but it let the man's big brother, who used the space station Thunderbird, to fly between there and Earth. And if it wasn't for the space station Thunderbird the brothers wouldn't have known if anyone was in trouble._

_But after many years of saving other people's lives, the five brothers grew tired. They needed a break from saving lives and so they left their home, with the Thunderbirds, all except for the space station which was still in space, sealed underneath the ground._

"Clunky," Alan thought.

_Then, many years later, the people of the world discovered that they were all going to die, and so they asked the brave men and their Thunderbirds to save them all._

_The five brothers and their friends returned to their old home and freed their Thunderbirds. The first to be released was the spaceship Thunderbird and she felt so happy that at last she was going to be able to fly and save the world again. "Hello," she said to her man. "I have missed you…"_

Alan sat back, scratched his chin and read what he'd written. He knew it wasn't good, but thought it wasn't terrible. With a lot of work it could become something halfway decent. And it wasn't as if he didn't have the time to work on it.

And so he settled down at his computer and continued to write…

-F-A-B-

_Wednesday November 1st 2079 – 1:00pm – Far from anywhere_

Spy training 101 states that when sedated, or knocked unconscious, or rendered senseless by some other means, the accepted practise was to not let your captors know that you were awake before you were fully conscious. The two recommended methods were to either remain quiet and relaxed until your head was clear; or else, if some involuntary sound or action gave you away, to pretend to remain groggy and unresponsive until you had the opportunity to gain your bearings and ascertain what the odds were against you.

Lady Penelope was trying to employ the first method, but it wasn't easy. She had been unconscious when her captors had clapped her wrists and ankles in chains tethered to a wall like prisoners of old. The full weight of her body was on her shoulders which were pulled behind and above her; and they felt like they were screaming to be set free. She wouldn't be able to endure this discomfort for long, but if it meant that circumstances were going to inch back in her favour, then she'd have to grit her teeth and bear it for as long as she could.

Not that she was given a chance. A rough hand grabbed her chin and forced her head upwards so she would have been looking her captor in his eyes… If hers been open.

_Stay relaxed, Penelope. Do not give the game away. He may be hurting your neck, but at least it's released some of the weight off your shoulders._

"You do not fool me," a deep voice growled and Lady Penelope could smell spices. "You are awake, my Lady. Open your eyes and look at me!" The fingers dug into her cheeks as if they were threatening to penetrate the skin, but she did not react.

"I say, steady on," a familiar voice cut in. "Any fool can see she's unconscious. That drug you gave her must be more efficient than you expected."

_You are a fool, Ralph._

Lady Penelope allowed her eyelids to flicker open. Baleful eyes deep-set into a bald dome stared into hers.

The eyes' owner grinned, but the grin did nothing to change the emptiness and lack of compassion that was staring at her. "So you are awake, my Lady."

Unable to say anything more coherent while his hand was still clamping her mouth shut, Lady Penelope gave a convincing "I am just waking up and I don't quite know what's happened" groan.

"See," Ralph said, and Lady Penelope made sure that she didn't give any hint of recognition. "She's out for the count, dear boy."

The face only inches from hers snarled at being called a "dear boy". "You do not know this lady…"

"I don't know her?" Ralph sounded indignant. "I've known her all my life. Vice versa too. In fact our families have known each other for centuries, right back to…"

"Silence!" And Lady Penelope knew that her captor must have felt her involuntary flinch at his shout as the mirthless grin was directed at her again. "As I was saying, you do not know this lady. You do not know what she is capable of…"

"And I've been dreaming of discovering that for years," Ralph interrupted.

A hint of exasperation flickered through the otherwise impassive eyes. "You _will_ discover that it is not wise to interrupt me when I am speaking," he growled.

"Sorry, old chap. I will admit that it is a rather rude habit I've got whenever I'm excited. And," Ralph Cockburn-Saint-John rubbed his hands together in delight, "I am excited. Finally Penelope will be mine..."

_You are wrong, Ralph._

"...It's a fantasy come true!"

The other scowled at him. "When I have finished with her. First, she must tell me all she knows."

"Oh, yes, that." Ralph flipped his hand airily. "Although I must say, old boy, I fail to see what information Penelope has that would be of interest to someone like you. What does she know about that no one else knows about?"

"International Rescue." The growl was so deep that it seemed subsonic in the damp dark air, and Lady Penelope could almost swear that the flickering torches that lined the walls dimmed as if to emphasise the importance of those two words.

Her stomach fell. Her worst fears had just been realised. _Stay calm, Penelope. He's just fishing for information. He can't know that you know so much._

Ralph laughed. "International Rescue? My dear fellow; you would have better luck surfing the Internet. I know that you've got some access to the outside world in that regard."

"This lady knows more than what can be found on the Internet."

"About International Rescue?" Ralph appeared astonished. "Penelope? I can guarantee that she doesn't know any more about them than the average person on the street. _I_ could probably tell you more than she could. She doesn't take an interest in such things."

Lady Penelope didn't know whether to take that as a compliment as to how thorough her cover had been… Or as an insult.

Clearly deciding that Ralph Cockburn-Saint-John was only worth ignoring, the soulless black eyes turned back to her. "Now, we can make this easy…" There was that humourless smile again. "You tell me everything now and you will be set free." The eyes glittered. "Tell me who International Rescue are. Where they are. What their weaknesses are. How I can override their defences. And your time here will be painless and brief. Deny me…" He raised his arm until Lady Penelope's body's full weight was suspended from her neck; her shackles cutting into her ankles and wrists.

"I say!" Ralph exclaimed. "A gentleman doesn't treat a lady that way!"

Lady Penelope found herself wishing that her former friend would shut up, and not only because his voice and opinions were getting on her nerves. The interrogator was expressing his exasperation at Ralph's continual interruptions by digging his fingernails deeper and deeper into her skin.

She was suddenly released, causing her to drop back onto her aching shoulders; but she dared not take her weight on her feet, knowing that it would be a sign that she was fully awake.

Not that the man was concerned about her as he grabbed Ralph Cockburn-Saint-John by the collar. "You would be wise to remember that I am not your 'friend'," he rumbled. "Nor am I an 'old boy', an 'old chap', or a '_gentle_ man'. And I am most definitely not a '_good_ man'." His eyes narrowed. "And if you do not permit me to work without your interference you will learn how bad I can be."

Ralph swallowed. "I say, s-steady on," he stammered. "It's all a figure of speech. I'm sure I didn't mean to give offence." His collar was released and he stumbled before regaining his footing. Straightening his jacket, he took on an air of obviously false insouciance. "I don't know why you're so interested in those International Rescue chaps anyway."

"I desire to obtain their craft; especially the Thunderbirds." The man went to turn back to Lady Penelope.

"The Thunderbirds!? But they're under greater security than the Bank of England! Why?"

"That is my business."

"You've made it _our_ business by involving me and I think I have a right to know. Besides, how do you know that International Rescue didn't destroy them all those years ago?"

The captor glared at him. "Those fools could never have built new craft in the time between the announcement of Doomsday and now. The full fleet must still exist..." His face twisted into a grin that was more of a snarl. "And each of them will be mine."

"But word is that one of them was destroyed in that explosion in... erm..." Cockburn-Saint-John, tried to remember his geography, "South America. The Thunderbird _and_ the crew. Chances are, dear..." he cleared his throat when the other man's eyes narrowed in a way that promised great pain if he continued. "Chances are most of International Rescue was wiped out."

"I find that unlikely. Those remaining are such sanctimonious fools that they would have begged the world to grieve with them."

"I doubt it. Stiff upper lip and all that. I'm sure they must be English."

With a snarl the man grabbed the aristocrat by the arm and dragged him from the chamber.

Lady Penelope listened until she could no longer hear their footsteps on the stone floor or Ralph's indignant protests at the treatment he was receiving. Then she straightened, taking her weight on her legs and allowing her shoulders to relax. _At last..._

Time to take stock. The room she was in was cold, appeared to be carved out of stone, and lit by only the flickering torches in their brackets and her assumption was that she was below ground. The shackles that bound her wrists and ankles were solid iron locked by some kind of key. The chains that held her fast to the wall were held by D-ring screw carabiners linked through masonry eye bolts. It would be relatively easy to slip free if she could reach up or down far enough to undo the screws before unhooking the carabiners, but, try as she might, she couldn't extend her reach to do so. Jumping only resulted in painful chaffing to her ankles by her restraints.

Having ascertained where she was and how she was trapped, Lady Penelope started to take stock of her own situation. The rough metal of the shackles was already rubbing her skin raw from her attempts to free herself; otherwise, aside from her aching shoulders (and that pain was starting to recede), she was in perfect health. Her mind was clear. Her sight and hearing were good. She had her wits about her and was ready to face any challenge.

It was at that point that she realised one, in the greater scheme of things, minor point. At some time and location between Templar Manor and… wherever she was, she appeared to have lost her clothing and was wearing next to nothing. All that hid her body from Ralph's greedy gaze was a garment not dissimilar to a hospital gown. This was doubly disturbing. It meant that not only had every tracking device that had been concealed about her person been removed and disposed of goodness knows where, but Lady Penelope, spread-eagled against the wall as she was, was feeling exposed and vulnerable. It was an unnerving sensation.

"Miss?"

Every nerve suddenly on the alert, Lady Penelope looked around; squinting into the shadows to try to see where that single word had come from.

"I am sorry, Miss." Wringing her skirt in her hands, a young woman slipped out of the darkness, her eyes continually darting towards the stairwell where the protesting Ralph and the other man had departed. "I am sorry."

As the woman crept closer, Lady Penelope kept a wary eye on her. "Who are you?"

The woman gave a little bow. "My name is Mahsuri."

Lady Penelope recognised the young woman. "You were at Templar Manor when I was drugged." A memory surfaced of Ralph's temporary maid's subtle gesture. "You tried to warn me."

"Yes, Miss." Mahsuri appeared ashamed as she looked down at her twisting hands. "I failed."

"Only because I was overconfident and foolishly let my guard down. I thought I knew Ralph better than I did."

"The English Man?"

"Yes."

"He was not the one in control. The Master dictates the rules."

"The Master?" Such an alias was the mark of the supreme egotist, and, as she was sure that this was the man that the members of International Rescue knew as "The Hood", Lady Penelope was not surprised at her captor's arrogance. _Yes, he would call himself that._ "Can you tell me what happened after I was drugged?"

"The Master and the English Man carried you into a helijet. The Master ordered me to remove your clothes and jewellery and I did so alone…"

"Alone?"

"The Master made the English Man join him in the pilot's cabin so that he could not watch. This is why I am speaking with you now. I know that English ladies are reserved and that you would want to know that no man has seen you."

Lady Penelope was surprised by her reaction to that admission. She considered herself to be fairly liberal about many aspects of life, but she'd found herself repulsed by the idea that Ralph had defiled her in some way; even if it were only by looking. If she'd been conscious and able to put up a fight it wouldn't have been so bad, but the idea of him taking liberties when she was senseless didn't bear thinking about… "What happened to my clothes and accessories?"

"The Master made me dispose of them out of the helijet."

_How tiresome._ "How long was this into the flight?"

"Not long. We did not have much height. I could see water shimmering beneath us." _The English Channel, or the Atlantic Ocean, or some other body of water?_ Mahsuri cast a worried glance at the steps. "I was afraid that the Master would eject us out of the plane."

_I would not put it past him._ "What happened after you disposed of my clothing?"

"Nothing until we landed here. During the flight I stayed in the cabin with you and the Master and the English Man remained up front."

"Do you know where we are?"

"Malaysia."

_Malaysia._ Lady Penelope caught this fact and held it close, although at this point she could not see how she could use the information to her advantage. Mahsuri's features and accent, she decided, meant that the young lady could be a native of the country. "Encik orang Melayu?" she asked. _Are you a Malay?_

Mahsuri nodded. "Encik tahu bercakap bahasa Malayu?"

_Can I speak Malay?_ "Only a little." Lady Penelope had learnt the Malay language out of respect to Kyrano… And as a means of gossiping about the Tracys with Tin-Tin without the objects of their discussions understanding what was being said. Of course when John was home this had proved to be a pointless exercise. And as Alan became a greater part of Tin-Tin's life he had became fluent in the language too. "I am ashamed to admit that my comprehension of your language has deteriorated over the years."

"The Master speaks Malay," Mahsuri admitted.

_I thought he might._ "Do you know what he wants with me?"

"No. He has only said that you hold the secrets to great power… And that the English Man is a pawn in his scheme. We all are."

Lady Penelope regarded the young lady standing before her. Was Mahsuri as much a willing 'pawn' as Ralph? A 'mole' to gain Lady Penelope's trust? Or was she in effect a slave? Why had this young woman risked punishment just to reassure the captive that her honour hadn't been besmirched? Was she uncommonly brave and resourceful, or naïve and stupid? "Why do you stay in his employ? Why don't you leave?"

Mahsuri looked frightened as she glanced towards the stairwell. "My father is under the Master's power. He is a farmer; a simple man, but he worked hard to send me to university to study. One day I received word from him to come home immediately, because he needed me. I arrived at our farm to find that it is overgrown and our crops have failed. I asked him what had happened and he told me that he is working for a great man. A prophet. One who will, with the power of his mind, save us from Doomsday. And my father asked me to also devote my life to this man. But I do not trust the Master. My father is no longer my father and I believe that the Master has gained some kind of mind control over him. The Master lets me keep my mind because he knows I am fearful of what he will do to my father, and because it gives him pleasure to see my fear..."

_I can imagine. I have had dealings with this 'gentleman' before._

"...He seems assured that you have what he desires."

Lady Penelope did not yet trust Mahsuri enough to confirm or deny the statement. "Now, Mahsuri, I will not ask you to help me directly because I do not wish you to endanger yourself or your father, but perhaps you will be willing to help in less tangible ways?"

She watched as Mahsuri tried to gather herself together. "I will do what I can to make amends for the role I have had in your capture."

"Thank you. Are we at present below ground?"

"Yes, Miss. In the dungeon."

This wasn't really news. "What is the building above us?"

"A temple. A temple to the Master."

Another example of The Hood's egoism. "How far are we from other people?"

"Miles. We are in the rainforest."

"How did we get here? Are there any roads?"

"One, but it is overgrown. The only means of transportation is a helijet."

_This limits my options for escape... Also any rescue will have to be airborne. The Hood will be aware of this and will be keeping watch._ "Who else is here?"

"The Master, the English Man, my father. He and I are all the Master requires to tend to his needs."

"Do you have any contact with the outside world?"

"Only the Master's computer. Once a day he allows me to communicate with my friends so they do not become alarmed by my absence. But he reads each correspondence to ensure that I am not undermining him."

"I see..." _This holds promise. But how do I get information to the Tracys without getting Mahsuri into trouble? And without letting her or anyone else know that it is the Tracys I am contacting? And how do I do it without having to explain why I have chosen that family instead of the regular authorities?_

In the flickering light of the torches Lady Penelope caught a glimpse of something scuttling across the floor. Her blood running cold, she told herself to remain calm, even as she shrunk back against the cold stone of the wall. "What is that?!"

Mahsuri looked around. Prowling behind her was something large and multi-legged. "It is a spider, Miss." She bent down and allowed the arachnid to walk onto her hand. "A Huntsman. It has no venom that would harm us."

_Thank heavens for that. _Breathing a sigh of relief, Lady Penelope relaxed. "I thought it was a mouse."

"No." Mahsuri allowed the spider, its leg span almost as wide as her palm, to crawl off one hand and onto another. "She is harmless. Look..." she held it out so Lady Penelope could see the creature's markings clearly. "Is she not pretty? Her abdomen looks soft like velvet."

"It is a handsome example of its kind," Lady Penelope conceded, "but would you be kind enough to release it elsewhere? In my present state of dress I should not appreciate it crawling up my leg."

"Of cour..."

"I say!" Neither Lady Penelope nor Mahsuri had heard Ralph Cockburn-Saint-John descend the steps again. "What is going on here?! What are you doing, Girl?!"

Where many people would have frozen in shock, Mahsuri reacted quickly, leaving Lady Penelope impressed; even if having a large spider suddenly shoved into her face was not a way she'd envisaged spending her night when she'd stepped out of Creighton-Ward Manor.

"I am letting the Miss know what dangers there are for her if she does not obey the Master," Mahsuri stated. She turned back to Lady Penelope. "You would do well to do as the Master says, or else you will get more of this!" She thrust the Huntsman back at the prisoner.

Lady Penelope pretended to be frightened and repulsed by having so many legs waving in front of her nose. "Please... Take it away," she pleaded, leaning as far back as her restraints would let her. "Make her stop, Ralph."

"Of course, Penelope." Ralph Cockburn-Saint-John drew himself up to his full height. "You!" He pointed at Mahsuri. "Take... That... That..." he jabbed a finger in the direction of the harmless arachnid.

_It is known as a spider, Ralph._

"...Thing... Out..." Ralph Cockburn-Saint-John pointed up the stairs. "Comprenday?"

Lady Penelope didn't know what Mahsuri thought of Ralph's exaggerated attempt to communicate with a 'foreign member of the lower classes', but the Malaysian bowed low and, clutching the spider to protect it, meekly hurried past him and back up the stairs.

"There!" Pleased with his obvious bravery, Ralph stuck his thumbs into his lapels and strutted up to Lady Penelope. "You don't want to let her sort worry you, Penelope."

"I am not in a position to be anything, but worried," Lady Penelope reminded him. "This is not what I expected when I accepted your invitation."

"Forgive me for such melodrama," Ralph exclaimed, "but you do not know how many years I've wished to get to know you..." he raised a suggestive eyebrow, "better."

_I can feel my skin crawling at the thought of it._

"Yet, every time I have suggested a little rendezvous, you have had other commitments."

_I would rather entertain Mahsuri's Huntsman... or even a mouse._ "You kidnapped me, Ralph."

"I wish that that had not been necessary. However this seemed to be the only way that I would get some time with you alone."

"Alone? That man helped you. He drugged me!"

"Regrettable. But there are precedents."

"Precedents?"

"Our mutual ancestors Margerye Foxe and Josias Croydorne lived happily ever after, after a similar beginning to their married lives."

"Happily ever after? History conveniently neglects to tell us how Margerye felt about being kidnapped. It was a man's world then, Ralph. This is the age of equality. You do not kidnap someone simply because you feel an attraction to them and they do not respond in kind."

"Perhaps…" Cockburn-Saint-John stepped closer, and, repulsed, Lady Penelope felt a genuine desire to back away. "But you must admit that the extra drama adds a little frisson to our tryst."

"Tryst?" She tugged at her bonds, feeling the shackles scrape against her raw skin. "There is nothing romantic about being chained to a cold, stone wall."

"Ah, now there we must agree to disagree. But I must contain myself until after you have told my friend that which he wishes to hear. My word is my honour."

"Ralph...!" Lady Penelope stared at him in disbelief. "Do you honestly believe that he would let either of us go free? Once he has what he desires, or if I do not give him what he desires, he will have no qualms in killing us both."

Ralph laughed; the hollowness of the sound magnified by the cavernous walls. "He has given me his word as an..." He stopped, confused.

"An officer? A gentleman? He is neither. He admitted as much himself. Nor can you rely on his word as an Englishman," Lady Penelope added, pandering to Cockburn-Saint-John's jingoistic tendencies. "Neither of us will leave this place alive... Unless you do something to help us escape."

Cockburn-Saint-John appeared to have not considered that his associate was anything but honourable (in everything except the treatment of a Lady). He announced his coming to a decision with an explosive sound. "Psshaaw. You have spent too much time with those Americans, Penelope. You know they all believe that the only way to solve anything is with a gun. Unlike the Englishman who prefers a more peaceable resolution..." He reached out and cupped the side of her face with his right hand.

It felt sweaty.

_How disgusting._

"The English man will renounce the brutish clubbing of a fist..." Cockburn-Saint-John's left hand slipped down to Lady Penelope's waist, "in favour of the soft persuasion of a kiss." He leant closer and she could smell tea on his breath.

There was a loud crack and Ralph Cockburn-Saint-John staggered backwards, clutching at his nose. "Whad y' do dad for?!"

Head-butting an unwanted suitor was a crude, common method of defence Lady Penelope decided, nevertheless there was something satisfying about it. It was definitely effective, if a little painful.

Cockburn-Saint-John dabbed at his nose, which was streaming blood, and looked at his red-stained fingers. "Oh my..." He swayed slightly. "I must... This climate... Penicillin..." He turned, stumbled, and lurched back up the stairs.

And Lady Penelope was left alone in the dark, damp dungeon, with only the flickering torches and several Huntsman spiders to keep her company.

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

_Thursday November 2__nd__ 2079 – Tracy Island – International Thanksgiving_

Parker turned on the light beside his bed and squinted at the clock. Sure that it had to be after 9:00am he was surprised to realise that it was 2:08. Judging by the lack of light squeezing around the curtains; that was 2:08 in the morning rather than afternoon.

He lay back, but felt unable to attempt sleep again thanks to his body clock being out of synch with Tracy Island. Remembering that the Tracys were hard at work trying to find the smallest clue as to his mistress' whereabouts, he decided to get up and give them a hand. Throwing off the bedclothes he pulled his slippers and robe back on and padded down to the lounge.

Things had changed since the last time he was there. Both Scott and Kyrano had vanished. Gordon was stretched out on one of the couches, snoring lightly with his tablet PC resting on his chest where it had slipped out of his hands. And Jeff, his spectacles askew, was likewise sound asleep; his head rested on his arm atop his desk.

Treading quietly, Parker removed the tablet from Gordon with the intention of placing it somewhere safer. Curious, he glanced at the screen, only to be shocked by the text he saw there. It looked as if Gordon had been reading something as far removed from Lady Penelope's disappearance as it was possible to get.

Parker bristled in anger, before, after taking a deep breath, telling himself that he had no right to feel such emotion towards the younger man. He was sure that Gordon wouldn't abandon his duty and that the reason why he'd been reading this... Parker screwed up his nose in disgust... filth, was to relax between trawling through all of Lord Ralph's sawdust-dry documents. They'd been at it for hours while Parker had been sleeping and they all deserved a break. And besides, Parker reminded himself, you could never know what a person's tastes were...

He'd just never expected this to be the subject matter of choice of one of the Tracys!

Then, as he glanced back at the page, a name jumped out at him from the document. Followed by another. Followed by a familiar address. Followed by the name of a certain manor house. Flipping through the file Parker was horrified to realise that this wasn't Gordon's choice of reading material. Rather it was the fantasy ramblings of Lord Ralph Cockburn-Saint-John.

Parker felt sick. This was the madman that had her Ladyship in his clutches. It made him all the more determined to find her before it was too late.

Placing the offending tablet on the desk he touched Jeff on the shoulder. "Mr Tracy..."

Jeff sat up with a snort. "What...?" Bleary-eyed, he removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "Parker...?"

"You should be in bed, Sir. Let me 'elp you."

Jeff, replaced his spectacles on his nose, picked up his tablet, and attempted to focus on the screen. "No. I should be reading this."

"You'll be no 'elp to 'er Ladyship h-if you make yerself sick h-again," Parker reminded him. "H-I'll keep readin'." He reached out for Jeff's tablet.

"No!" With an abrupt gesture Jeff pulled the tablet close, hiding the screen. "No..." he repeated, trying to sound casual and completely awake. "You don't need to do that. I'm all right. I'll keep reading."

"You don't need to 'ide h-anything from me. H-I've seen what Lord Cow-barn Saint Anne Boleyn's written about what 'e wants to do to 'er. Please, Mr Tracy. Go h-and rest. For 'er Ladyship's sake."

But Jeff wasn't willing to give up that easily. "I'll contact John first to see if he knows anything."

Parker stopped him. "H-If 'e's got h-any brains, 'e'll be asleep. H-And h-if 'e's asleep you'll not h-only wake 'im, you'll wake Mister Gordon h-as well."

As if he was reacting to his name, Gordon shifted on the couch. Both Parker and Jeff froze, waiting to see if he'd woken, and were relieved when the younger man's breathing settled into a steady rhythm again.

Jeff knew that he was beaten. His body was a contest of wills between his desire to help his friend and his need for sleep, and at the moment it looked like the need was winning. He nodded and got to his feet.

"'Ere, lean h-on me," Parker offered. "H-I'll bring your walker h-along shortly."

"It's no fun getting old, Parker," Jeff grumbled as he put his arm about Parker's shoulders and allowed the butler to support him.

"You ain't tellin' me a thing. But sometimes we've got to remember that we're not h-as young h-as we was, no matter 'ow much our 'eads tell h-us h-otherwise."

"True," Jeff sighed.

"H-And 'owever we h-are h-it's better to be above ground than six feet h-under."

Jeff chuckled. "Also true." He sighed. "You've been a good friend, Parker. To the family and International Rescue."

"Thank you, Sir."

The pair of them had negotiated their way through the door when Scott, wearing a sweatshirt and track pants and carrying a tablet, made an appearance. "What's up?"

"I'm 'elpin' your father to bed," Parker told him. "You might like to get a blanket for your brother, Mister Scott. Mister Gordon's h-in there h-and 'e's h-out like a light."

"But don't wake him," Jeff warned. "He needs his sleep. He keeps forgetting that he nearly died three weeks ago."

"He doesn't get the chance to forget. We keep on reminding him," Scott corrected as he turned back. "I'll grab one of his blankets from his room." He started walking alongside the two older men. "That's why I was working out in the gym. I thought it might help me wake up." He yawned. "I don't know that it's helped. Coffee might be more effective."

"I thought Kyrano was making us some more," Jeff remembered. "If he's got any brains he'll be in bed," he added in an unconscious echo of Parker's earlier statement.

Scott managed a wry grin. "That is an oxymoron in this house. I took a detour to the lab and Brains is still working. He's got half a dozen computers in action: analysing virus signatures, comparing fingerprints, isolating sedatives…"

"Has he got any leads?" Jeff asked.

"The only fingerprints he's found are Penny's and Cockburn's, plus some unknown contributor who, judging by the size, is possibly female. He's identified the drug that was used to sedate Penny, but says it's something that can be found relatively easily in almost any country in the world. He's running further tests to see if he can isolate any distinguishing factors. The viruses are your common garden variety that Cockburn could have picked up surfing the 'net, so Brains is concentrating on the Trojan horse to see if that'll tell us anything." They came to the door of Jeff's room. "Do you need a hand?"

"No, thank you, Son." Jeff reached out to open his door. "We can manage from here."

"Right. I'll get Gordon's blanket and then settle in for some more reading."

Parker had rarely been into Jeff Tracy's private quarters and had always been surprised by them. He expected the walls to be adorned with memorabilia from Jeff's astronaut days, or else mementos of various business accomplishments. At the very least he thought the suite would be as lavish and extravagant as one would expect of a billionaire's living area, but instead the rooms were simple and understated. The only decorations that adorned the walls were some family photos dating back through several decades and one of Virgil's paintings. There was nothing flashy or opulent about the few furnishings, although Parker was sure that one thing they would be was comfortable.

Jeff saw him looking around. "Casing the joint, Parker?" he joked.

"Oh! No, Sir, Mr Tracy! I wouldn't!"

"I know you wouldn't, but do you think you could? I've often wondered if I should let you loose in here as a test to see whether a very expensive security system would stand up to the skills of one of the world's best safe crackers."

Parker assisted Jeff to the bed. "H-If H-I'm 'onest, Mr Tracy, H-I've h-often wanted to 'ave a go. Just to prove to meself that nothing could beat me."

"Maybe once this is all over I'll let you. Not that you'll find anything particularly exciting. All the important documents relating to International Rescue are hidden in the hangars and I didn't bring anything of value from the States. Besides the only real reason why I had a safe on an island so far from civilization was so if I wanted to I could hide anything from the boys…" Jeff grinned. "Like mother's baking if I managed to score any before they found out."

Parker allowed himself a chuckle. "H-If you want me to 'elp you get ready, Mr Tracy, H-I'm willing. But h-if you'd rather H-I got Mister Kyrano H-I can do that."

"Thanks for the offer, but I'm not quite as helpless as I used to be. If you can just pass me my pyjamas I can dress myself."

Parker felt embarrassed by his faux pas. "H-I'm sorry, Sir. H-I just thought, that since you're tired like, you might h-appreciate the h-assistance."

Jeff's tired eyes twinkled. "I do appreciate the offer, Parker, but I'll be fine. It's more important that you discover what Cockburn's done with Penny."

"Yes, Sir." Parker inclined his head like the good butler he was. "Very good, Sir." His spirits revived by Jeff's compliments, he withdrew from the suite.

Back in the hall he decided that he was going to need some fortification for the task ahead and that a cup of tea would be in order. Heading to the villa's kitchen with the aim of boiling himself a brew, he was surprised to find it occupied. "Mister Kyrano?"

Kyrano did not stir. He was slouched on one of the seats at the breakfast bar; his head nestled alongside a collection of coffee mugs. He started when Parker touched him on the shoulder. "Oh…! Mister Parker."

"You look h-as dog tired h-as the rest of 'em," Parker told him.

"Tired? No...! No… I am not tired." Kyrano stood and switched the kettle back on. "I had merely closed my eyes to rest them after hours of reading."

"H-I know 'ow long you've been h-at h-it, h-and H-I'm not surprised you've h-all dropped off."

Kyrano stared at him with red eyes. "All?"

"Mr Tracy's gone to bed. Mister Gordon's sleepin' in the lounge. Mister Scott's 'ad a stint in the gym to wake 'imself h-up. Go h-and get some sleep, Mister Kyrano. 'Er Ladyship won't think h-any less of you. Beside's, me body clock's h-all up the chute, so H-I'm going to carry h-on readin'."

Kyrano looked as alarmed as Parker had ever seen him. "You are going to read Lord Cockburn's writings?"

"H-It's h-all right; H-I know what's h-in 'em. H-I'm not h-about to burst a boiler h-over a bit of fiction."

"It is not pleasant fiction," Kyrano admitted. "I found it most unpleasant to read."

"H-I h-agree, but we both know that 'er Ladyship can take care h-of 'erself. She won't let 'im take h-any liberties."

Kyrano looked at the boiled kettle and the empty mugs. "I suppose that I should clear these away."

"Leave 'em," Parker advised. "H-I was going to make meself a cup of tea h-anyway, h-and H-I think Mister Scott would h-appreciate a coffee. H-I'll get 'em sorted. You go to bed."

Kyrano inclined his head. "You are most kind, Mister Parker."

"H-I h-appreciate h-all you're doin' for 'er Ladyship, Mister Kyrano."

The two men looked at each other in a moment of unspoken solidarity before Kyrano gave a little bow and left the room.

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

_Thursday November 2__nd__ 2079 – 9:15pm – Malaysia_

Lady Penelope didn't know how many hours she'd stood there in the cold and damp, with nothing to occupy her except watching the flickering flames grow fainter and observing spiders doing what spiders did to survive… Along with trying to make plans to escape using what little knowledge she had gleaned since she had regained consciousness.

The ache in her shoulders had gone, but she was starting to feel a gentle throbbing in her right ankle. Clearly standing for an extended period of time with it bound in metal was not doing it any favours.

She was bored and wished her captors would do something to reveal what their plans for her were. The wait was simply tedious and she was hungry. She hadn't had anything to eat since mid-afternoon before Ralph's 'party'. Perhaps that was The Hood's plan? To starve the information out of her?

He would not succeed.

Footsteps descending the stairs told her that she may soon receive an answer to her questions.

Leading the procession was The Hood, his golden robes flashing in the torchlight. Following him was Ralph, looking unsure of himself as if he was expecting Lady Penelope to suddenly rip her chains free of the walls and subdue him with a right hook. Both his eyes were black and puffy and his nose was swollen and red. Each inhalation was accompanied by a whistling sound. Trailing them both were a cowering Mahsuri and an older man keeping a respectful distance from their "master".

This newcomer, Lady Penelope decided, had to be Mahsuri's father and she watched him as he trailed The Hood, his bespectacled eyes following "The Master" like a worshipful puppy dog.

"Karim," The Hood growled, and the older man rushed forward like he was about to be thrown a bone. "Tend to the lights, Karim."

"Yes, my Master," Karim gushed and then dashed back upstairs, returning a short time later bearing a foul smelling oil, which he poured into the torches' reservoirs.

The room slowly brightened.

The Hood took two triumphant steps across the floor until he was facing Lady Penelope. "This is your final opportunity to avoid agony," he announced. "Tell me all you know about International Rescue and you will live out your life free of pain… Deny me…" His voice grew deeper and ominously quiet, "and I will have you begging me to end it."

Lady Penelope stared him down. "I have nothing to say to you."

If he was disappointed, he didn't show it. Instead he gave a nonchalant shrug as he pulled on a pair of latex gloves. "I expected as much. In fact I am glad of it. You give me the pleasure of using this…" Snapping his fingers he held out his hand and Mahsuri, her eyes as round and frightened as they had been at Templar Manor, placed a small jewel-encrusted container onto it.

Turning the container so that it faced Lady Penelope, The Hood slowly, almost reverently, opened the lid. Inside, nestled on a velvet cushion, were two hypodermic syringes: one with a blue plunger, the other red. "You are wondering what these contain?" he asked.

Lady Penelope thought that she already had a pretty good idea.

The Hood removed the blue syringe from its box before shutting the lid and handing the container back to Mahsuri. Holding the hypodermic up to the light he appeared to examine its contents, rocking the sparkling pale liquid backwards and forwards within its clear cylinder. "It is a recipe I learned many years ago from my dear brother," he intoned. "Although the fool did not realise how I desired to use it one day. He merely spoke of it as an inconsequential fact; a snippet of information that is of no use to anyone…" His bushy eyebrows drew together. "He is fortunate that I did not have reason to use it on him; he has proven himself much more useful to me alive…" Holding the syringe away from himself he pushed the plunger and a brief stream of liquid shot out. "As you may have already gathered, it is highly toxic. It is made from a rare variety of plant that only fruits once every five years. Mahsuri here was good enough to gather together the ingredients and prepare it to my specifications… Just for you, my Lady. Do you not feel privileged?"

"That you have been saving this treat just for me?" Lady Penelope responded. "I am indeed honoured, although I should not like to keep the pleasure all to myself. Why do you not join me?"

The Hood's grin showed no mirth. "Sadly there is not enough to share and so I am offering this to you and you alone." His pseudo-smile disappeared. "Tell me all you know about International Rescue," he demanded, "or I shall inject this potion into your delicate arm. And then would you like to know what happens?"

"Do tell me," Lady Penelope drawled. "I am sure that I am all ears."

"The whole process is quick, lasting no more than thirty minutes. For the first fifteen minutes you will writhe in agony as your body battles against the potion. During this period, should you give me what I wish, I will administer the antidote and you will recover... Painfully. During the final fifteen minutes the pain subsides as every cell in your body dies. This process is irreversible. Even the antidote will not save you."

There was an "Oh, I say! Steady on, old chap!" from Cockburn-Saint-John.

Lady Penelope ignored him. "And you will lose any chance of retrieving the information that you erroneously believe that I possess."

The Hood gave another shrug of deliberate indifference. "You are only one source of such information at my disposal. Besides, I have every confidence that during the first fifteen minutes you will beg me to save you and will pour out every secret belonging to International Rescue."

Lady Penelope never failed to be amazed by her own coolness under pressure. "I am afraid that your confidence is misplaced."

"Really?" This time there appeared to be genuine delight in The Hood's malevolent grin. "We shall see, shall we…? Karim!"

His obedient slave, apparently unfazed by the fact that he was about to become an accessory to murder, hurried forward. His spectacles, seeming to be too big for his face, slid down his nose and he pushed them back up. "Yes, Master?"

"The gurney, Karim."

"Yes, Master."

A bed on wheels was brought out of the shadows and placed next to Lady Penelope.

The Hood arched his eyebrow in a pretence of guilelessness. "I shall ask you to recline in comfort on this bed, my Lady. We don't want your heart to overexert itself as it pumps the poison around your body, do we…? Karim! Right leg chain to the bed!"

"Boléh, tuan."

Lady Penelope made sure not to react as the clip that held her right leg to the wall was unscrewed from the masonry eye bolt and attached to a bracket on one of the bed's legs. Nevertheless she remained alert; all senses attuned to the smallest opportunity to break free and flee to safety.

But it never arrived.

"Mahsuri! Karim! Chain our prisoner's other leg and left arm to the gurney!"

Karim sprung forward with the eagerness of a starving man who had just been invited to partake in a meal. Mahsuri, in contrast, had all the enthusiasm of someone presented with a table full of sweets during a bout of gastroenteritis. She unchained Lady Penelope's left leg from the wall and then tethered it to the gurney, tucking the captive's skirt primly under her legs. Then she backed away, her one shameful glance at Lady Penelope begging for forgiveness.

Lady Penelope, lying helpless on the gurney with her right arm outstretched to the chain on the wall, responded with the tiniest of nods.

"You are joking, aren't you?" there was a quiver in Cockburn-Saint-John's voice. "That stuff doesn't really do what you say?"

The Hood raised a malevolent eyebrow towards him. "You do not believe me? Tell him, Girl."

Mahsuri attempted to speak, but her voice was choked by the horror of her role in what was about to happen. Twisting her hands in her skirts she nodded. "It is true," she whispered.

"But that is murder! Or at the very least torture!"

The Hood's response was mild. "I believe that you may call it that. I prefer to regard it as the gentle art of persuasion."

"Gentle?!"

"Of course. It will take little work to achieve my aims. A simple push on the needle and it is done. I shall possibly have a cup of tea afterwards."

"Well, I call it a poor show. We had an agreement!"

"So we did," The Hood confirmed. "A pity your lady is not prepared to uphold her side of the bargain." He turned back to Lady Penelope and passed the hypodermic in front of her eyes. "Unless she has changed her mind."

Lady Penelope spoke without hesitation. "Never. Even if I could give you want you want, I would not."

"We shall see…" The Hood took a step back and raised the hypodermic.

As she waited for him to move in, literally, for the kill, Lady Penelope tried to keep her mind open to the possibility of escape…

_If my arm chain were to become free of the gurney, then I could swing that chain at that man. A smack across the face would be most satisfying, but one across his legs is probably a more realistic and just as productive option…_

_Or if I could free my leg I could kick the syringe out of his hand…_

_Once I am free of the chains I would make for the stairwell and upstairs to freedom…_

But she remained firmly tethered to the gurney; helpless as The Hood, seeming to move in a deliberate slow motion, wrapped a tourniquet about her arm to raise the vein before lowering the needle filled with pain and death…

Salvation, when it arrived, came from a wholly unexpected quarter.

Ralph Cockburn-Saint-John lunged, pulled the hypodermic from out of The Hood's hand, and ran.

With a roar of pure anger that seemed to fill the dungeon, infiltrating every nook and cranny and sending spiders scuttling for cover, The Hood took off after the aristocrat. As he did so the gurney tipped, crashing to the ground with a bone jarring thud. Mahsuri, showing her characteristic quick thinking, took advantage of the diversion to swoop down and unscrew the carabiner that tethered Lady Penelope's left hand to the bed.

_This is my chance! _Adrenaline pumping through her system and grateful for the unexpected opportunity for escape (even if her right arm, still chained to the wall, offered no assistance), Lady Penelope pulled on the chains and used her legs to haul the gurney closer until their carabiners were in reach. Her leg shackles cut into her ankles, but she dismissed that pain, knowing that far worse awaited her if she dallied.

Ralph, his swollen eyes misinterpreting the glow of a torch with the light from upstairs, overshot the stairwell and found himself fetched up against the cold stone wall. He turned to find The Hood advancing on him. "Keep back!" he demanded, pointing the syringe before him. "I mean it!" He depressed the plunger and some of the toxic liquid squirted out.

As eager as the next man not to be exposed to that liquid death, The Hood took a step back. "How dare you point that at me!"

"Master!" Keen to serve his master and save him from the mad Englishman, Karim rushed forward.

"Bapa!" Fearful that her father would sacrifice his own life for the man he adored, Mahsuri tackled him and held him back. "No!"

_Quickly! _Her heart pounding in her ears, Lady Penelope unscrewed the carabiner that held her right leg to the gurney.

"Lay down that syringe, English Man" The Hood demanded, "and I will not punish you."

"Just like you were going to give Penelope to me?" Cockburn-Saint-John jeered. "You, Sir, are an unprincipled cad!" He squirted more poison.

_One more... _Lady Penelope unscrewed her left leg's carabiner.

"Master! Let me help you, Master!" Karim yelled. He struggled against his daughter's hold. "Let me go!"

"No, Bapa!"

Finally free of the bed, Lady Penelope got to her feet to unscrew the carabiner that held her right hand fast. That arm felt strangely heavy and she ripped the tourniquet from it to regain the circulation, before reaching up with her left to the eye bolt. Pins and needles stabbed her right shoulder as she started unscrewing. _Come on, Penelope. You can do it!_

"Ha!" Cockburn-Saint-John lunged forward with the needle and The Hood took another hurried step backwards. "You don't like it when the boot's on the other foot, do you...?!" He made another lunge. "Ha!"

The Hood stood stock still. "Obey me..." he chanted.

Cockburn-Saint-John laughed. "Think you can snap your fingers and I'll come quietly? Never! See?" He pressed the hypodermic's plunger again.

"You are in my power..."

"I am not!"

The Hood's eyes glowed. "You can not resist me..."

"I can..."

Menacing arms were raised. "You will obey..."

Ralph Cockburn-Saint-John's eyes glazed over and the arm holding the hypodermic dropped. "I will obey," he intoned, as the syringe rattled to the ground.

_Yes!_ The carabiner came free and the chain, along with Lady Penelope's right arm, fell. Gathering up all four chains in her left arm, she attempted to flee.

"Master!" Karim screamed. "The lady! She runs!"

Lady Penelope was indeed running. The chains clanged against her shins, bruising them as she dashed for the stairwell. _If only I had pressed Mahsuri for information about the layout of the upstairs building and the grounds beyond. You shall have to 'wing it', Penelope. You've done it before and succeeded. All you need is common sense and luck._

A chain slipped from her fingers, tripping her, and she sprawled onto the stone floor. A jolt of pain shot through her body. _Ignore it... _Gathering the chains up again she tried to get back to her feet.

Standing seemed uncommonly easy, but any relief was short-lived when she realised that that was because The Hood had grabbed the back of her dress and had hauled her upright.

His maniacal grin had her shivering. "It is bad manners to leave the party so early, my Lady. Now... Let me escort you back to your seat..."

As he took her hand Lady Penelope realised that her right arm felt somehow disconnected from the rest of her body. _Strange... _Then she noticed that her shoulder's bones were jutting out in a way that was not normal. _It is dislocated?_

Her sole chance for freedom gone, the adrenaline leached out of Lady Penelope's system and she became aware of the pain that radiated through her body. _How tiresome._

Even the strongest of us has our limits; when our bodies will override all conscious thoughts and deeds and shut down in an effort to protect ourselves from further trauma. And when The Hood, his face screwed up in a malevolent grin, twisted her injured arm, Lady Penelope reached that limit...

_To be continued..._


	48. Chapter 48 - Forum

**Chapter 48: Forum**

_Thursday November 2__nd__ 2079 – 11:00am – Tracy Island time_

John Tracy felt as if he'd been reading this journal for hours. As in fact he had; starting from Lord Ralph Cockburn-Saint-John's entries for September 2nd 2079.

He had been taking a risk starting from that date, John had known, but it had been a calculated one. He knew that if his hunch was right it would save him hours of reading dreary rambles about the problems of maintaining a large expensive, crumbling manor house, gripes about English weather, and gossip about the pillars of Society.

If he was wrong…

If he was wrong he could miss a vital piece of information that could help save Lady Penelope's life.

But the more he read, the more John became convinced that he was right. Occasionally there was a hint of a conversation Cockburn-Saint-John had had with a mysterious person; someone the aristocrat had deigned to call "Mr X". Delighting in the clandestine nature of this relationship, Cockburn-Saint-John had codenamed their plans "Operation XX". John wasn't sure if that meant that Cockburn-Saint-John regarded himself as an equal unknown quantity to _the_ "Mr X", if it was a heavily-veiled referred the number 20, or if it was intended to be two kisses for Lady Penelope.

Once he'd known that the capital letter X held such meaning for Cockburn-Saint-John he'd done a search for it, narrowing down the number of entries waiting to be read by a large margin. After reading these he now knew that as he'd suspected it had been "Mr X" who'd contacted Cockburn-Saint-John and that, in exchange for Cockburn-Saint-John's help, "Mr X" had offered to deliver Lady Penelope to the aristocrat's waiting arms.

John hoped that Lady Penelope had been able to put up a fight.

Unfortunately there'd been no mention about _what_ "Mr X" expected to receive in return, nor _where_ he was planning to escape to when the kidnapping was successful. There were plenty of references to the _when_, including a countdown to yesterday's fateful date, but no hints as to where Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward could be found today. John doubted that prior to the fateful flight on the Limosa, that Cockburn-Saint-John even knew.

It seemed that for all his work, John was achieving nothing. Still, he reflected, at least he felt like he was doing something useful.

And once again Thunderbird Five was filled with the familiar chattering sound of millions of messages being filtered through her computers, searching out that one desperate for help. He'd tweaked the systems that analysed those phrases so they were also on the lookout for words like "Limosa" (which had the unwanted side effect of filling the control room with conversations about migrating birds), "unidentified aircraft", and "disappeared off the radar".

But nothing that had burst from the hubbub had demanded further attention.

Not that John expected to hear anything this many hours after Lady Penelope's kidnapping. A craft like that helijet would have reached its destination by now, and judging by the effectiveness of its anti-radar cloaking system, it would have done so without detection. This made his work even more important now.

He 'turned' the page on his tablet PC. If there was one thing he could be grateful for, it was that there had been no mention of the Tracys and their friends, Emma, or Tracy Industries. His belief, and it was going stronger by the minute, was that whoever had been stalking his secretary bore no relationship to whoever had kidnapped Lady Penelope. This whole affair, and he was becoming convinced of this, was related to International Rescue (although The Firm was still an option). That was why he'd started reading from September 2nd. That was the date that International Rescue had made its plans to save the planet known to the world.

Emma was safe, John knew. Safe in his own apartment with one of his brothers, Tin-Tin, and some of Lady Penelope's agents to protect her. While he was by no means happy, at least Emma's security was one thing he didn't have to worry about.

-F-A-B-

_Thursday November 2__nd__ 2079 – 6:22am – Malaysia_

Spy training 101 was useless when you were injured, chained to the wall with all your weight on your dislocated shoulder, had fire searing through your legs, were aware of a foul smell, and could feel something slimy writhing around your ankles.

Lady Penelope groaned.

"Miss? Can you hear me, Miss?"

Lady Penelope tried to raise her head, letting out a little whimper as her muscles pulled against her shoulder.

"I'm sorry... So sorry…"

Lady Penelope opened her mouth, but it seemed as disconnected from her brain as her right arm from her body.

"Would you like something to drink?"

Lady Penelope managed a tiny nod and felt a glass held to her lips. It was nearly full and she was able to sip at it without moving her head. Water, cool and thirst quenching, passed into her mouth and she held it there for a moment before swallowing. "Mahsuri?"

Mahsuri's face bobbed down into her line of sight. "Yes, Miss."

"What happened?"

"I assume that you dislocated your shoulder when your bed fell. The Master made my father and the English Man chain you up again while you were unconscious. I have made a poultice and put it on your shoulder. It will act as an analgesic."

_I do not know that it is working._

"But you have also cut your ankle. It is infected. I have made a salve to put on it." Mahsuri held up a bowl of what looked like green slime. "It will fight the infection and reduce the swelling."

Lady Penelope wished she had the energy or ability to show her appreciation to the young woman who was undoubtedly taking a risk. "Thank you," she whispered, and the act of speaking sent shockwaves out from her shoulder. She caught her breath, trying not to show any weakness.

But she didn't not fool Mahsuri who, looking frustrated at how little she could do, knelt down again and resumed applying the salve above the shackle.

"What are you _doing_?!"

Lady Penelope started at the roar, only just, with great force of will, managing to stop herself from crying out as her shoulder protested.

Striding across the floor, followed by his two shadows and looking mad enough to punch a hole in the stone wall with his bare fist, was The Hood. He kicked the crouching Mahsuri, who, with a cry of fear and pain, rolled onto the floor. "You are helping this woman!"

"No, Master!" Mahsuri cried, curled up in a foetal position as he drew his leg back to plant another kick into her abdomen. "I do it for you!" She cowered, waiting for the blow.

But The Hood held off. "What do you mean you _do it for me_?"

"The constitution of the English is not as robust as ours. If the English lady becomes delirious then you will not know what of the information she supplies is the truth and what is the ramblings of a deranged mind. I know Master needs the truth and I was ensuring that he gets the truth."

The Hood grabbed her by the collar and hauled her upright and off her feet. "I do not know what to make of you, Girl. You do things against me, yet you make it sound as though you are working for me…"

"Oh! I am Master!"

"You had better be…" he growled, releasing her. She fell to the floor and stayed there. "Your life and that of your father depend on it. And if you do not believe me, rest assured that if that English fool had not destroyed all the drug, I would have used it on her." He jerked his thumb in Lady Penelope's direction.

Mahsuri scrambled to her knees. "Boléh, tuan." She bowed so her forehead was touching the floor.

"You would be wise not to act without first telling me what you plan to do. Remember your father."

Karim had done nothing to prevent his daughter's pain. Instead he seemed to be quite happy to watch The Hood attack Mahsuri, as his puppy dog eyes gazed with rapture through his oversized glasses. Lady Penelope, not having felt well enough to initially take in what was happening, became aware that Lord Ralph Cockburn-Saint-John was at the back of the group and that he too was wearing the same style of spectacles. The eyes behind those horn-rimmed frames and the same expression of rapturous adoration were also fixed on The Hood.

"Yes, Master," Mahsuri was saying. "I will not forget, Master."

"You had better not." The Hood rounded on Lady Penelope. "Now... How are you feeling, _my dear_?" There was a sarcastic lilt to his voice. "Better after your rest?"

Lady Penelope was not about to let him know how bad she was feeling. "Much."

"Good. I should hate to think that a guest to my home was feeling any discomfort. However... If it is unavoidable..." The Hood reached up to the chain holding her injured right arm. "What would it take? A little touch?"

A burst of pain exploded out of her shoulder, but Lady Penelope managed not to react. She was shivering, she knew that; a consequence of the cold dungeon and her body's reaction to the injuries she was dealing with; but she was determined that her legendary iron self control would not give her enemy any indication of the distress she was feeling.

There was another blast of pain combated by her iron resolve. She stared at The Hood without flinching.

There was a glimmer of respect in his demonic eyes. "You are truly a remarkable woman," he growled, "and one worthy of my retinue."

Lady Penelope had a laconic reply on the tip of her tongue, but knew that any speech would reveal her weakened state, and so she said nothing.

"Give me what I require and I will grant you that privilege."

_I would rather have you twist my arm off._

"No?" The Hood's mocking face was close to hers. "What a pity. Together we could have been formidable. But you are right, I am a lone spirit. I am not weak enough to need the crutch of others."

_For most that crutch is a blessing known as friendship._

"Also you are of more use to me for the information that you possess than as an ally. But, sadly, in his misguided attempt to protect you, the English fool destroyed all of the truth serum..."

_Poison._

"...leaving none to jog your memory. However, I shall have no trouble coming up with an alternative. It is over to you to decide whether its use will be necessary. You have 24 hours to decide."

_I have no need for 24 hours._

With a grand gesture The Hood turned. "Come, my slaves."

"Yes, Master," Cockburn-Saint-John and Karim intoned.

"And me, Master?" Mahsuri queried. "Do you wish me to continue applying my salve?"

The Hood looked like he was going to deny her request, before stopping himself. "There is something in what you say, Girl. Very well, I give you permission to cure this creature."

"Thank you, Master."

"But I forbid you to feed her. I will have her begging me to listen to her as she pours out all she knows about International Rescue."

"Boléh, tuan."

"Good... Now, English Man, the pigs require mucking out. That is your task this afternoon."

"Yes, Master." There was a strange, monotonous, almost robotic tone to Cockburn-Saint-John's reply. "Thank you, Master."

The trio departed up the stairs.

Mahsuri watched them go. "Do you think that if I were to remove Bapa's spectacles, he would be my father again?"

_Ah, so you believe as I do. _Lady Penelope began speaking cautiously. "It does appear…" and was relieved to realise that although talking was painful, if she paced herself, that pain wasn't as bad as it had been a few minutes earlier, "that they… may… exert a form… of mind… control… over your… father and… Ralph."

Mahsuri turned back to her. "Then I should try?"

"I should… be cautious… I do not… under-stand… the power… that man… has… Removing the… spec-ta-cles… without his… inter-vention… may result… in some-thing un-wanted… occurring."

"I wonder why he does not use this power on you."

_I have been wondering that too. _"Perhaps… like other… forms of… hyp-nosis… the subject… will only… do that… which they… have no… qualms… doing… He knows… that I… can not…" _and would not,_ "give him… the in-for-mation… he desires." _Having said that I am astonished at how willingly Ralph agreed to mucking out the pigs… Of course, there is every possibility that he does not know what that chore entails._

"Perhaps." Twisting her skirt in her fingers, Mahsuri looked down. "I wish that things were the way they were."

_So do I._

Mahsuri gave a visible sigh and knelt again. "If I could remove this I could treat the wound directly," she complained as she smeared her green salve around the rim of the shackle. "But I dare not make that request."

"Thank you... for your... help... And your... courage."

"It is my fault that you were captured. I am indebted to you."

"It is not... your fault... You did it... to save... your father... That is... honourable."

"But it is not right to sacrifice one life to save another."

"It depends... on the... circumstances... Those people of... International Rescue... that he is so... interested in... If they were... killed..." Lady Penelope briefly wondered where that story had arisen from and decided that some overly enthusiastic reporter must have decided that no one could have escaped the destruction at Yelcho. "They sacrificed... their lives... to save ours... And we... are strangers... to them."

Mahsuri said nothing as she drizzled the salve between the shackle and Lady Penelope's leg.

"Your poultice on my shoulder... appears to be working." Lady Penelope wasn't prepared to start turning somersaults on that injured arm, but at least each movement didn't send skyrockets shooting across her chest and up her neck... Merely sparklers.

"It is?" Mahsuri's face lit up. "Good. It is ancient medicine, but the ancients were not as backward as many believe."

"That is true... You appear to know… a lot about botany."

Mahsuri nodded. "It is my major at university..." Her face clouded over. "At least it was, until I came here. I have missed two months of lessons."

"I am sure that someone... of your intellect... will have no difficulty... in catching up."

"Thank you." Mahsuri gave a shy smile.

Lady Penelope thought for a moment. "Your tutors and peers... must be concerned... as to your whereabouts."

"No. They know that my father called for me. And the Master allows me to email them and talk on university forums."

Lady Penelope frowned. That seemed reckless behaviour for a man as controlling as The Hood. "He does?"

"I write down what I wish to say and he dictates it into the computer. He says that he does not want anyone to come looking for me. It also makes him believe he has more power over me as he can change my words to his own."

Lady Penelope's brain was in better shape than her body and it had sprung into action. "What forums do... you visit?"

"I prefer those discussing botany. We consider a variety of topics."

Lady Penelope was beginning to see a source of hope. "Do you think... If we are careful... You could include a message from me...? Coded in such a way... that our friend will not know... what he is typing?"

Mahsuri looked unsure about the suggestion. "I could not address it to any specific person."

"No... I do not wish you to get into more trouble... We both know that that man is... ruthless."

"Then how can I get him to type a message from you?"

"It all depends... on how we phrase it..."

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

_Thursday November 2__nd__ 2079 – 10:36pm – Tracy Island_

Gordon groaned and looked at his watch. "How long has it been?"

"Since Penny was kidnapped? Thirty two..." Scott checked his own timepiece. "Thirty three and a half hours?"

"And there's been no demand for ransom." Gordon launched himself to his feet and started pacing. "No SOS. Not even reports of an explosion or a hole in the ground where she's blown herself to freedom!"

"Calm down, Gordon," his father instructed.

"I'll calm down when we're able to do something!"

"Your father's right, Mister Gordon," Parker agreed. "'Er ladyship won't want you burstin' a blood vessel h-over 'er."

Gordon flopped back down into the seat he'd just vacated and contented himself with drumming his fingers on its arm. "Today the world's thanking us for saving them," he grumbled. "But what have we got to be thankful for? We can't even save Penny."

Brains, his concentration on his tablet PC and not where he was going, walked into the door frame. He glared at it as if the bump had been its fault, and negotiated his way into the lounge.

"Have you learned anything, Brains?" Jeff asked.

Brains looked up again. "The code e-employed by the author of the T-Trojan Horse found on Cockburn's computer originated in the area formerly covered by the Soviet Union. It was subsequently altered by h-hackers in Eastern Europe. H-However this variant differs from those earlier ones and I am confident that my computers will be able to pinpoint its last known point of origin."

"And once we know that we'll know where the criminals who took Penny are based?"

"N-N-No. Only that whoever used it to gain access to Cockburn's computer used a variant created in that part of the world. There will be nothing to say that the miscreants are also, er, from the same region."

"Great…" Scott looked up at the portraits. "Has there been word from any of the agents, John?"

John appeared distracted. "Huh? What was that, Scott?"

Scott repeated his request.

"Negative."

"They won't stop looking," Jeff reminded them all. "But we've got to remember that whoever Cockburn's in league with knows what he's doing. He won't give himself up easily."

"Thanks for cheering us up, Dad," Gordon grumbled. "Where're those computers? Maybe it's time to force ourselves to read more of Cockburn's fantasies in case there is something important in them."

It was not a suggestion that was met with a lot of enthusiasm.

"I honestly don't think that they will tell us any more than we already know… What's the time?" Jeff checked his watch. "2042 hours. We need to stay rested so that we're ready to move out if need be. I think we should all go to bed." His suggestion was met with as much enthusiasm as Gordon's.

Nobody moved.

That was until Kyrano literally ran into the room in, what was for him, a state of high excitement. "Mr Tracy! I have a message from Lady Penelope!"

His announcement was met by exclamations of astonishment.

"You, Kyrano?" Jeff couldn't quite keep the surprise out of his voice as he accepted a single piece of paper.

"It was not sent to me directly by Lady Penelope, but I have read a message on a forum that I am convinced is from her Ladyship through another medium."

Gordon gave him a sideways look. "You don't mean a spiritualist, do you?"

"No, Mister Gordon. The message is from a young woman. A disciple of the botanic sciences from my homeland. The thread was about plant oddities. There has been a discussion on those that are found growing where they are not expected to grow. I have already asked Mister John to trace the post's origins."

"I'm onto it," John acknowledged. He pressed a button on his computer. "There. That's the programme running."

"Why do you think the post is from Penny, Kyrano?" Scott slipped behind his father's desk and tried to read over his dad's shoulder. "I don't get it."

"It can't be a coded message written in invisible ink." Gordon folded his arms. "So read it to the rest us and maybe someone else'll be able to translate for you."

"I don't think so."

"Please read h-it h-out loud, Mr Tracy," Parker begged. "H-I gotta know 'ow 'er Ladyship h-is."

"All right…" Jeff began to read. "_Talking of plant oddities,_ _I recollect seeing an example when I was on an exchange in the Netherlands comparing their farming methods with those in my own country. I was surprised to discover in the town of St Ann Boleyn a Rosa __Semper Floreat climbing up and over the roof of a building used for housing cows_." He looked back up at Kyrano. "I don't understand. What does this have to do with Penny?"

"There must be more to it." Scott took the paper and read it, flipping the page over to read two earlier posts. "There's nothing here to do with Penny, Kyrano."

"I am sorry to contradict you, Mister Scott," Kyrano apologised. "But there is much about Lady Penelope and her kidnapping in that message. _Rosa Semper Floreat_ is the rose cultivar that I created and named in her honour."

"'Cos Semper Floreat h-is the motto h-in the Creighton-Ward crest!" Parker confirmed. "H-I should've known. H-I see h-it h-often h-enough."

John glanced up from his computer. "It means _a__lways flourish _in Latin."

Kyrano bowed his head in acknowledgment. "I thought it was appropriate."

Parker managed a grin. "She was right chuffed when you told 'er you'd created it for 'er, Mister Kyrano. Especially since h-it was 'er favourite shade h-of pink. Nasty little prickles though. They're so small they h-almost seem to sneak up on you to take a bite! You daren't grab h-it carelessly."

Kyrano inclined his head modestly. "I thought that was appropriate also."

"But why do you think this is from Penny?" Gordon pressed. "Why not someone else who's seen this rose climbing over a barn somewhere?"

"It is a miniature rose, not a climber. It does not have the ability to 'climb' any structures."

"So we can forget about looking for farm buildings then."

"In a manner of speaking." Kyrano returned his attention to the Englishman. "Mister Parker. What do you call the lord who has kidnapped Lady Penelope?"

Parker frowned at the other man's surprising lack of knowledge. "Lord Raff Co-burn…"

"No." Kyrano stopped him. "What do you call the lord when you are being… less than charitable towards him?"

"Huh? Right now H-I call 'im a two-faced, stuck h-up, dis'onourable…" Parker saw Kyrano shaking his head. "That h'ain't what you mean?"

"No, Mister Parker. I mean his name."

"Then H-I call the ol' sod Lord Cow-barn Saint…" Parker looked astonished as he realised what he was saying. "…Saint Anne Boleyn."

"And this is why I believe this message is from Lady Penelope."

"H-And she's h-in the Netherlands?"

"No."

"No?"

"_Rosa Semper Floreat_ could not survive there. "It is a rose that thrives in a hothouse atmosphere. Although I must contradict myself, the Netherlands has some of the largest greenhouses in the world."

Jeff had to agree with his friend. "We've got to remember that the Netherlands is too obvious. Why would Penny tell us what country she's in if she can't supply us with more details?"

"But there's got to be a clue in the message," Scott insisted. "If it's not the Netherlands then why not a place with the Netherlands in its name? Like the former Netherlands Antilles?"

"I would think that would be just as obvious to her kidnappers."

"Caribbean Netherlands?" John offered.

"The same."

"Dutch Harbour in Alaska?"

Jeff considered the suggestion. "Less so..."

"Or even Dutch Island off Rhode Island?"

"Too close to a highly populated area."

"New York City was originally called New Amsterdam..." Scott's brow was creased in a frown of recollection. "And it was part of the province called New Netherland."

"That has possibilities." Jeff steepled his fingers. "If it wasn't a highly populated area too."

"Even so, maybe we should get Virgil to do some investigating?"

"What about New Zealand?"

Scott looked at Gordon. "That's a leap."

"Not really. Zeeland's a province in the Netherlands. New Zealand was named after the old Zeeland by the first European to sight the country; a Dutch explorer. As it's a part of the British Commonwealth, Penny probably knows that. Or," Gordon continued. "If we continue with that logic, there's always _New Holland._"

Parker frowned. "Where's that?"

"It's what the same explorer, Abel Tasman, called Australia."

"How come you know this?" Scott demanded.

"He was a sailor, Scott."

"A sailor?!"

"Yeah. In a sailing ship. That's how most of the planet was explored. No such things as planes in those days."

"No need to get…"

"Calm down, Boys," Jeff instructed. "Snapping at each other isn't helping."

"Sorry," Gordon apologised. "I just hate to think that Penny's been trapped, almost literally in our back yard, while we've been sitting here doing nothing."

"I know. We all think that."

John was tapping into another computer. "There have been lots of places called New Holland around the world throughout the years. Brazil... Russia... the U.S... England..."

"John..." Gordon groaned. "We're supposed to be narrowing down Penny's location. Not increasing the number of possibilities!"

"I thought we could narrow them down by finding out which of those places could grow Kyrano's rose."

"It grows in a greenhouse, remember? It could grow anywhere!"

"Forget the rose," Jeff advised. "That was to get Kyrano's attention." Exasperated he slapped the desk. "I think we're trying to over-analyse whatever it is Penny's telling us. Don't try so hard."

Brains was delving into his tablet PC. "I've done a search combining Anne Boleyn with, ah, the Netherlands. The only h-hits are the fact that the English queen spent some of her, er, early years in the country."

"I do not believe that the Netherlands is a clue," Kyrano stated.

Jeff nodded. "I think Kyrano's right. Penny is probably being held in a country far removed from Europe."

Kyrano nodded. "I believe that the phrase _in my own country_ is most telling."

"Malaysia?" Scott frowned. "You think Penny's been kidnapped and taken to Malaysia?"

"Yes. The young woman who posted it is a gifted student of the botanic sciences. However, shortly after International Rescue made our intentions known to the public, she left university. I have checked her profile and it appears that she returned home to be with her father, but there is no indication why she made the journey. Since then she has left messages on these forums daily, but without the passion that marked her earlier postings. I have also noticed that her..." Kyrano frowned as he thought out the best way to make his explanation, "style of writing has changed."

"What's this woman's name?"

"Mahsuri Tan."

"So..." Jeff began slowly. "You think Penny's with her…?"

Brains' computer beeped, and everyone looked to him for his conclusion of its results. "I-It appears that the latest known variant of the Trojan Horse found in Lord Cow-barn's, I-I mean Cockburn's computer originated in the Southeast Asia region."

"So, possibly Malaysia," Gordon clarified.

"Yes."

"Which tallies with Mister Kyrano's theory," Parker said.

"Y-Yes."

"And I've got the results in from my computer's ISP trace," John added. "It's not conclusive, whoever's behind this is too clever for that, but the post does seem to have originated from somewhere in, or close to, Malaysia."

Gordon looked hopeful. "We're finally onto something!"

"Except that we 're talking about the 67th largest country in the world; spread over two regions separated by the South China Sea, encompassing numerous islands, and covering 329,847 square kilometres in area."

Gordon shrugged. "It's still smaller than searching the entire planet."

"We've got to narrow it down further," Jeff growled. "Where's that post…?" He read it out loud again. "_I recollect seeing an example when I was on an exchange in the Netherlands comparing their farming methods with those in my own country. I was surprised to discover in the town of St Ann Boleyn a Rosa __Semper Floreat climbing up and over the roof of a building used for housing cows_… A cow barn."

"What about that _comparing their farming methods_ comment," Scott asked. "We haven't discovered any relevance for that, yet."

"Mahsuri Tan's father is a farmer," Kyrano told him.

"That can't be a coincidence."

"I do not believe it to be so."

"You think that's where Penny's being held?" Jeff stared at his friend. "At Mahsuri's father's farm?"

"I believe that it is a possibility."

"Do you know anything of this woman to tell you why she'd be involved in a kidnapping?"

"No, Mr Tracy. She has never written of International Rescue or of world affairs; except for those relating to botany."

"Then why would she kidnap Penny?"

"Perhaps she did not willingly. Perhaps her father or others have coerced her."

Jeff turned to Parker. "Did you see anyone who could have been this Mahsuri when you last saw Penny?"

"No Mr Tracy. The h-only h-other person H-I saw was the manservant. Ugly cove 'e was. Big 'ead."

"Could he have been Malaysian?"

"H-I doubt h-it. Not that H-I could see 'im that well. H-It was midnight." Parker thought. "'E did 'ave h-an h-accent. Dunno h-if h-it was like yours h-or not though, Mister Kyrano. H-I didn't 'ear 'im much."

"I can't imagine a farmer successfully imitating a manservant," Scott mused.

"We're only assuming he's a farmer," Gordon told him. "It could be a cover. Then again, since we know Cow-barn's part of the conspiracy, how hard is it to act as a manservant for the minute it takes to open a car door and escort a Lady inside? All he'd need to say would be a _Good evening, m'Lady_ and a _This way, m'Lady_."

"H-And a _You may go_," Parker growled.

"We're wasting time." Jeff laid his tablet PC on his desk and started writing. "Let's recap everything, and see what we know and what is supposition. Firstly: The strain of the Trojan Horse was developed in Southeast Asia. Secondly: The posting, which we're ninety nine percent sure came from Penny," he looked around the group for confirmation, "originated from somewhere in the Malaysian region. Thirdly: The supposed author of the post has returned to be with her father who is a farmer in Malaysia."

"Right," Gordon confirmed. "Which means all roads are leading to Malaysia."

Brains looked up from his tablet PC. "Mahsuri Tan's father i-is a farmer," he confirmed. "His name is Karim Tan." He handed the computer to Kyrano. "The farm is in a very remote area."

"But not so remote that they don't have Internet access," John amended.

"Still, it's an ideal place to hold someone captive," Jeff mused. "What else do we know…? There are at least three people involved in Penny's kidnapping. Mashuri and Karim Tan, and Cow-barn."

"Someone involved is trying to help Penny," Scott added, "but doesn't have the freedom to contact us directly using this Mahsuri Tan's account."

"Could it be her?"

"I am not convinced," Kyrano admitted. "I believe that it is not she who writes her messages. As I said, her style has changed."

"Then someone is pretending to be her to stop people from worrying about her."

"What's 'er h-old man like, Mister Kyrano?" Parker asked. "H-Is 'e the sort to kidnap someone h-and then use 'is daughter's h-account to 'ide the fact?"

"I know little of him except that which we have discussed... However, I do know something of the region he farms."

Scott stood. "I've had enough of talking." He strode over to the twin lights on the wall. "I'll fly out there right away and check!"

"Wait, Scott," his father ordered and his son pulled up short. "I know what we've discovered is leading us to a logical conclusion, but I don't want to risk tying up our resources. At least not until we know what we're up against. If it turns out that we've got it wrong and Penny's on the other side of the world, I want Thunderbird One available to fly to her immediately."

"H-And when you do find 'er, H-I'm goin' too."

Jeff turned to Parker. "Are you sure? What if she's being held in rural Malaysia?"

"Don't matter. I '_ave_ to go."

"I know Penny appreciates your loyalty, but you've got to remember that we're not talking about Picaddily Circus."

"H-I know that but, beggin' your pardon, Mr Tracy, you h-and your fam-hily h-ain't 'ad the h-experience with crimin-hals what H-I 'ave."

Jeff managed a wry grin. "Apart from at boardroom level."

Parker gave a satisfied nod. "So you'll need my knowhow. Plus H-I know Lord Cow-barn Saint Anne Boleyn. H-I know what makes toffs like 'im tick."

Jeff had to concede that the butler was right. "Very well, Parker. If need be I will bow down to your experience."

"Thank you, Mr Tracy."

"Do you know of any of Penny's agents in Malaysia?"

"H-As a matter h-of fact, I do, Sir. She used to be one h-of your h-agents too. Miss Jen-Ling Simran. She was the one 'oo pretended to be Miss Tin-Tin. Not that she fooled Mister Alan," Parker chuckled. "She was H-International Rescue h-agent 82."

Jeff sat back. "I remember her. A resourceful young woman, but born and bred in Kuala Lumpur. How will she do in a remote farming area?"

"H-Only h-one way to find h-out, Sir."

"You're right," Jeff agreed, and turned to his computer.

"I've reloaded the details of the agents we still had contact with, so you should find her in there," Gordon told him. "I remember talking to Jen-Ling and her telling me that she'd already spoken to Parker."

Jen-Ling looked surprised to receive a call from the head of International Rescue. "How can I help you, Mr Tracy?"

"We have information that Lady Penelope may be held captive in Malaysia," Jeff explained. "But it's based on supposition. We need you to check it out. Can you do that?"

"Of course. Where is it?"

Jeff explained what little they knew. "All we need you to do is pay a visit to this farm and see if there's any possibility that Lady Penelope is being held by these people. This is only reconnaissance and I don't want you to do anything to risk your neck, or endanger anyone else's life."

"I understand." Jen-Ling nodded. "Does this mean that Lady Penelope's kidnappers are after International Rescue and not The Firm?"

"We don't know as yet, but my gut feeling, in part due to the fact that Penny contacted Kyrano rather than her present employers, is that it is someone who will stop at nothing to get information about us who's behind this."

Jen-Ling's lips formed a thin line. "You would think that since you risked your lives to, in effect, save theirs, then even the bad guys would respect you enough to leave you alone."

"Some people, Jen-Ling, are just plain selfish. Power means more to them than life."

"I know," she sighed. "I'll throw a few things into a bag and I'll leave right away."

"Good. Contact us when you have news."

"F-A-B, Mr Tracy." Then, unexpectedly, Jen-Ling grinned. "I've always wanted to say that in an official capacity. Jen-Ling Simran out…"

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

_Thursday November 2__nd__ 2079 – 7:13pm – Malaysia_

This had been the longest day of Lady Penelope's life. The little pain relief that Mahsuri's poultice had offered her shoulder was starting to wear off; her right leg had swollen around the shackle, which was cutting even more into her flesh; her ankle felt like it was on fire; and she'd spent the last twelve hours supporting her weight on her left leg.

She knew that she was in trouble. Despite Mahsuri's best efforts, her injured leg had become even more inflamed, leaving her simultaneously shivering and sweating. _Glowing, Penelope,_ she thought, still not willing to allow a little discomfort to lower her standards_. A lady never sweats… Even when tethered to a wall awaiting that final despatch._

She heard footsteps and was relieved to realise that it was Mahsuri carrying a basket. "I could not get away sooner," the young Malay apologised as she laid the basket down. "The Master made me wash all his linen." She made a face. "His habits are disgusting."

Lady Penelope did not have the energy to respond.

"I am going to renew your poultice," Mahsuri continued. "Has the old one lost its efficacy?"

"Yes," Lady Penelope croaked.

Mahsuri looked distraught at the rough sound. "I wish I could offer you more, but I dare not. Not even water."

"I… under…" Lady Penelope's mouth and throat felt parched. "…stand."

Mahsuri prepared the poultice. "Your message has gone," she whispered in the captive's ear as she applied it to the dislocated shoulder, trying to cause as little discomfort as she could.

Despite the care being taken, Lady Penelope couldn't help but grimace.

"But the Master changed it."

_Oh, dear._ "How?"

"He changed the sentence _I was comparing farms and farming methods, such as my father's, _with_ theirs_. Also he changed _'cow barn'_ to '_a building used for housing cows'_. I am sorry."

_Will Kyrano understand the significance of such a statement? Has The Hood changed the code too much?_

"Miss? I am sorry, Miss. But I couldn't stop him."

"I… know."

"Do think your friends will still understand it?"

"I… do… not… know." All Lady Penelope could do was wait_…_

And hope…

_To be continued…_


	49. Chapter 49 - Malaysia

**Chapter 49: Malaysia**

_Friday November 3__rd__ 2079 – Malaysia_

Jen-Ling stopped the hover-jeep's motor and stepped out of the vehicle. Ahead of her lay the building that she assumed was the home of the farmer who lived here; to her right was a collection of other buildings; and to her left, extending out to the dark green canopy that marked the farm's boundary, lay the fields.

It all had an unnerving air of neglect to it.

She glanced at a rusting tractor, jumping when a snake slithered out from underneath it and away into a clump of weeds.

She could have reported in then, but decided that it would be necessary to make a quick reconnaissance. Treading quietly, while trying to still give the appearance that she was walking naturally, she approached the house. She noted the cobwebs that descended down from the eaves, curtaining the front door. If anyone lived here, this was not their normal means of egress. Yet a dusty pair of boots waited patiently for their owner to step into them.

Skirting the building she surreptitiously peered through the grimy windows, streaked where the monsoon rains had run through the dust that coated them, but every glimpse inside did nothing to make her believe that the building had been occupied for some time.

The back door looked just as neglected as the front.

Completing her circuit she pushed on the front door and it swung open silently on its hinges. Wondering if she were doing the right thing she stepped inside.

The first room was a man's bedroom. The blankets had been pulled up haphazardly as if in an approximation of being made. Feeling like an intruder, she checked the drawers and cupboard.

The second room was a lady's bedroom. This was decorated with pictures of plants, and the shelves were filled with botanic books and others on local flora and fauna. The bed was neatly made and a pair of slippers sat primly on the floor, partially hidden by the bedspread. Jen-Ling's search of the drawers and wardrobe revealed that they weren't as full as might have been expected; a hint that the room's owner only lived here part time. The computer in the corner was unplugged from the wall.

The living area was comfortable and decorated with family photographs. Devoid of a TV, entertainment seemed to be provided by a piano and a stereo.

The ablutions area revealed nothing.

It was the kitchen and dining area that was of the most interest. A single half-eaten plate of food, mouldy in the tropical heat, sat on the table with the cutlery propped against its edge, waiting for the diner to return to their meal. In the kitchen the kettle, still turned on at the wall socket, was empty and Jen-Ling wondered if it had boiled dry. Next to the kettle sat two mugs, each holding an unused tea bag.

Jen-Ling had the unnerving feeling that she'd walked into one of those boats found drifting on the high seas with no sign of the crew.

Abandoning the house she started her examination of the neighbouring buildings. They were just as deserted apart from various spiders and lizards, and she'd almost given up finding signs of life from anything bigger when she heard a noise in the final shed. Crouching down low, her heart pounding in her ears, she listened for the noise again.

Something moved inside.

Her heart racing, her mind going just as fast as it tried to evaluate possible scenarios and her reactions to them, she reached for her pocket and pulled out a small flash drive. In the city such a thing was a natural item to carry on your person, but here in the country close to the sounds of the rainforest she felt a little bit foolish holding it, even if the device was not as it seemed. Extending the connection armed a stun gun and she waited, her thumb resting on the switch that would fire it should danger threaten.

Something bumped inside the shed again and there was a hoarse cry. Jen-Ling stood slowly, and, hugging the side of the building, began shuffling towards the door, ready to duck for cover or fire her flash drive if need be.

She reached the door and paused: listening. She could hear nothing, apart from the sounds of the distant forest and the insects that devoured what remained of the crops, plus, ominously, a loud monotonous drone from inside the shed, almost loud enough to mask her footsteps from whoever was inside the building.

Crouching again, she peered around the door. Inside, gazing towards her through the bars of its pen, was an animal. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the gloom and enable her to establish that the creature was a goat.

It bleated.

Jen-Ling stood and walked into the barn, her nose crinkling against the foul odour. The goat stuck its head through the bars towards her and bleated again: a pitiful sound.

Unused to farm animals she stopped just beyond its reach and it looked up at her as if it were trying to tell her something important. It didn't take a farmer's knowledge of livestock to realise what that something was.

The pen was filthy. Thick piles of goat manure lay on its floor covered by a moving mat of flies and it was the drone of hundreds of these insects that Jen-Ling had heard before. The area surrounding the stall had originally been filled with hay which had been nibbled back and the wooden framework showed signs of having been gnawed. The goat itself was scrawny with its ribs showing and it kicked its back leg to try to chase away the flies that clung there. Its neck was almost bald; its hair worn away as the animal had stretched through the bars in search of something edible.

"Oh… You poor thing," Jen-Ling breathed, taking a step closer.

The goat bleated and bumped its head against her hand as if hoping she was carrying something edible. Jen-Ling accepted the challenge, grabbed a pitchfork from inside the door and wrestled some hay to the pen's bars. Before she'd even thrown it on the ground the goat was snatching great mouthfuls and she was fearful that the poor animal would impale itself on the fork's tines. "Please wait," she begged. But, glad of fresh feed, the goat had more important things to concentrate on.

Jen-Ling was lost. It was obvious that the goat couldn't stay there, but she, with next to no knowledge of country life, didn't know what to do with it. What did goats like to eat? If she let it out of the pen would it run away? Would it be too strong for her if she led it to somewhere cleaner and more hygienic?

And was the goat's abandonment anything to do with Lady Penelope's abduction?

She got on the radio to International Rescue. At least there was one life they could save.

"What have you found, Jen-Ling?" Jeff Tracy asked.

"I had to wait in the local village until the stores opened, but none of them report having seen Karim Tan for at least two months. Mahsuri passed through the village en route to the farm, but no one's seen her since. Their assumption is that he's been ill and she came home to look after him. I'm at the farm now."

"And?"

"I'm a city girl, Mr Tracy," Jen-Ling admitted, "and I don't know much about farms, but this place looks like it's been deserted for weeks."

"So there's no sign of the Tans?"

"Nor Lady Penelope neither. There is no sign of life except for insects, snakes and one goat." She detailed the goat's condition. "I've given it some hay, but I don't know what else to do."

"This all sounds suspicious," Jeff admitted. "I grew up on a farm and I know how important these animals are. It's unlikely that a responsible farmer would leave a valuable animal unattended without good reason. And you say the meal was abandoned?"

"Yes. I got the impression that Karim Tan was having dinner when someone arrived and he got up to make them a cup of tea, but never finished making it."

"I'm beginning to think that if he's involved in Lady Penelope's kidnapping he isn't a willing participant."

"Me too, Mr Tracy. What do you want me to do now?"

"Wait there. We'll be with you as soon as we can."

"But what about the goat?"

"Does it have water?"

"Erm…" Jen-Ling hadn't noticed. "I don't know."

"Go and find out and report back to me."

"Yes, Mr Tracy."

Jeff signed off. Then he looked at the group clustered around. "You're flying out to Malaysia in Thunderbird One, Scott."

"Yes, Sir."

"Parker, are you willing to go with him? We're talking real jungle, not the city."

Parker pulled his shoulders back. "H-If 'er Ladyship's there, then my place h-is with 'er."

"Of course."

"Permit me to go too, Mr Tracy."

"Kyrano?"

"I know the area. I can be of assistance."

"And I'm sure your assistance will be invaluable," Jeff agreed. "All right and thank you. The three of you meet back here ASAP. And Scott…"

"Yes?"

"No uniform this time. If this is related to Penny's kidnapping and her kidnapping is related to International Rescue, we don't want to let whoever's behind this know that their assumptions about her are correct. Hide Thunderbird One at the farm and use Jen-Ling's hover-jeep to mount the search."

"F-A…" Scott pulled himself up short. "Yes, Sir." He ran from the room.

"I know this is going to be a redundant question," Gordon began, "but I want to help. Can I go too?" He waited, confident, if already disappointed, that he knew his father's response.

He was wrong. "Take Thunderbird Two," Jeff ordered. "And take Brains. Not only is Penny involved in a hostage situation, but the Tans could be too and who knows who else. It's a remote spot far from medical facilities and Thunderbird One isn't designed as a medevac vehicle. But stay in international airspace until your assistance is required. We're taking a risk sending in Thunderbird One. Thunderbird Two is an even more obvious target."

"Yes, Sir!" Gordon strode over to the painting of the rocket and placed his back against it. "I'll go and prep the sickbay. Tell Brains I'll meet him down there."

Anticipating a trip to the Malaysian rainforest, Kyrano had already found an old outfit of Jeff's that would fit Parker, and the butler arrived in the lounge shortly before the retainer who was almost unrecognisable in jungle kit.

Scott too was dressed for the jungle. "Everyone ready?"

"Yes, Mister Scott."

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

As expected the flight in Thunderbird One, high above normal flight paths, did not take long.

"Approaching the coast of Malaysia," Scott announced. "Activating cloaking mechanism."

Parker glanced at his watch. "We've made good time."

"What's that?" Scott called back over his shoulder.

Parker raised his voice above the engine noises. "I said we've made good time. H-It's h-only taken h-about ten minutes."

"Yes…" Scott glanced at Thunderbird One's chronometer. "It's only been a ten minute flight."

"May I look at the map?" Kyrano enquired.

"Pardon?"

Kyrano increased his volume. "May I look at the map, Mister Scott?"

"Oh… Of course." Scott pressed a button and an electronic map descended from the ceiling.

"Ah…" Kyrano's finger traced a path. "I believe… Yes…"

"You know where we're goin'?" Parker asked.

Kyrano inclined his head. "I believe so."

"That's good. H-I don't like the h-idea of walkin' h-into the h-unknown."

Kyrano looked grave. "There is much that we do not know about what we shall find."

"H-I know that. But H-I prefer the odds to not be totally h-against me."

"I understand."

"Thunderbird Two to Thunderbird One."

Scott turned the radio's volume up. "This is Thunderbird One. Go ahead, Gordon."

"I'm approaching the South China Sea."

"Good. Remain in international airspace until you hear from us. We don't want anyone to know that International Rescue is involved this time."

"F-A-B."

Scott checked his map reference. "Over Tan farm. Descending vertically."

"What h-are you gonna do with Thunderbird One, Mister Scott?" Parker asked.

"Sorry, what was that?"

"Thunderbird One! 'Ow h-are you going to 'ide 'er?"

"She's got several camouflage options. By the time we've finished you could be standing next to her and you wouldn't see her."

"Ah. Good."

"What?"

"H-I said _good_!" Parker and Kyrano glanced at each other.

"Safety restraints fastened? We're coming into land…"

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

Jen-Ling hated waiting. With Jeff Tracy's guidance she'd done all she could for the goat and had scouted around the farm's perimeter, chancing upon an overgrown track that led off into the rainforest.

She was feeling uncomfortable out here in the wilds and hoped, despite her willingness to do anything to help Lady Penelope, that she wouldn't be required to accompany International Rescue. Disguise her as someone else and send her on a shopping spree: just her kind of action. Despatch her down a dark alley into a gang headquarters: no problem. Send her into the untamed, wild animal-infested jungle and she wanted to run a mile… Back to the safety of the nearest ghetto.

So it was with mixed emotions that she looked up and saw a cylindrical aeroplane descend towards her; eerily silent in the cacophony of birdsong and insect noise.

Thunderbird One landed close to the edge of the forest before a kind of uneven curtain fell from the sides of the craft, breaking up her outline. Then, to Jen-Ling's astonishment, the rocket plane practically vanished when the curtain appeared to absorb and reflect the colours and patterns of the foliage behind it.

She approached the craft's location cautiously until she thought she was standing beneath it. Looking up she could see nothing but a dark, impenetrable tree canopy…

-F-A-B-

Inside Thunderbird One, Scott vacated his pilot's chair and stood. "Everyone ready?"

"Mister Scott…" Kyrano took a step so he was between the younger man and the exit. "Before we leave I have something that I must say…"

"Me too; to both of you. It's possible that things are going to get hectic out there and we're not going to have time for any formalities. Leave the 'Misters' on board Thunderbird One, okay? I'm Scott and you're Kyrano and you're Parker."

"Yes, Mist, er, Scott." Kyrano looked somewhat pained as Parker nodded his understanding. "Now I have favours to ask of you… But you are not going to like them."

"I'm not?" Scott looked astonished. "What are they?"

"Firstly, permit me to be in charge. This is my country and I grew up here. I know this land and its dangers."

Scott scarcely missed a beat. "Never let it be said that I don't acknowledge experience when I see it. Okay, Kyrano, I agree that you can be in charge in the rainforest. If need be we'll re-evaluate the situation when we get to Penny."

"We are about to enter a dangerous environment. It must be understood that I am in total control. There must be no hesitations or doubts. You must obey my every command."

"Understood. Are you okay with that, Parker?"

"Yes, Mi, ah, Scott."

Scott grinned at the butler's confusion. Then he frowned. "You said favours, Kyrano. What else?"

"Forgive me for saying this, for I do not wish to cause offence, but in your present state of health I do not believe that you are capable of undertaking this expedition."

"State of health?!" Scott stared at the Malaysian.

"I believe that you will be a liability."

"A liability?" Scott was still disbelieving. "Am I hearing you right?!"

"That is my point, Mister Scott. Your hearing has been compromised."

"But Brains replaced the patches on my eardrums."

"That is true. But both Mister Parker, er, Parker and myself spoke to you during the flight and each time we had to repeat our words. There are many noises in the rainforest, loud noises, and your affliction could be a handicap for us all. You may not hear danger until it is upon us."

"No offence, Kyrano, Parker; but I'm younger, stronger, faster, and more agile than both of you."

"This is true," Kyrano acknowledged. "I am sorry, Mister Scott, but you know that I would not make this request if I did not believe that it was for the best. You have agreed to let me take command. Are you going to disobey orders?"

Dumbfounded Scott turned to the other man. "Do you agree, Parker? Do you think I'd be a liability?"

"H-I, er, um…" The last thing Parker wanted at this time was to be placed on the spot. "H-I 'ate to h-admit h-it, Mister Scott, sir, but H-I do 'ave some concerns. H-I didn't before we left, but h-after that flight…" He raised his hands in an expression of defeat. "H-I'm sorry, Sir."

"I don't like the idea of you two going alone," Scott admitted.

"Miss Jen-Ling may accompany us," Kyrano reminded him.

"She probably would if pushed, but I read her CV and she's used to an urban environment, not the jungle." Scott thought. "How's this for a compromise? We all wear a Weiciao, which'll act like a hearing aid for me and let us all communicate with each other from a distance. We can set mine so that John can listen in too; there's nothing wrong with his hearing. And if we each wear vidspecs he'll be an extra pair of eyes; not that there's anything wrong with my sight… Or yours."

"Mister Scott…"

Scott was desperate to not give Kyrano the opportunity to stop him from going. "When we get to where Penny's being held I'll stay clear unless you need my assistance. Let's say…" he grabbed a pack with a green cross on it, "I'm the designated first aider."

Kyrano hesitated.

Hoping for backup, Scott turned to the other man. "Parker?"

"I… erm… Like H-I said H-I h-agree with Mister Kyrano that your 'earing's a worry…" Parker saw Scott sag a little. "But H-I'm a butler h-and a safe-cracker, not Doctor Livingston h-and H-I can't stop thinkin' h-about the lions h-and tigers that live in that jungle…"

"Lions live on the African savanna, Mister Parker," Kyrano corrected. "Not in the Malaysian rainforest."

Parker noted that he had not had his assumption about their proximity to tigers corrected. "H-If h-it weren't that 'er Ladyship needed me H-I wouldn't be 'ere. H-It's your call, Mister Kyrano, but H-I 'ave to h-admit that H-I'd be 'appier h-if there was more than two h-of h-us 'eadin' h-out. Safety h-in numbers, you know."

"I understand."

"H-Of course h-if Miss Jen-Ling were willin' to come too, we'd 'ave h-even more h-ears h-and h-eyes."

"I can not and will not lead a group where three out of four of us have no experience of the wilderness," Kyrano stated. "Ignorance is dangerous."

"I've done jungle training," Scott told him. "We all did as part of our preparations for International Rescue."

"H-And H-I can drive the 'over-jeep," Parker offered. "H-I've driven h-all sorts h-of vehicles h-over h-all sorts h-of terrain…" He neglected to mention that one such excursion, in FAB1, had been less than successful. "You can direct me where to go, Mister Kyrano."

"We will not be travelling the entire distance in the vehicle," Kyrano reminded his associates. "There will come a point where we'll have to continue on foot to escape detection. It will not be easy going."

"I won't have trouble keeping up." Scott looked at his watch. "We're wasting time. It's your call, Kyrano. I won't hold it against you if you want me to stay here."

Faced with a real dilemma, Kyrano hesitated again.

Parker decided that it was time to nail his colours to the mast. "H-I think we're gonna need 'im, Mister Kyrano."

Kyrano nodded. "Very well. But I repeat. You must both follow my orders. Our lives as well as that of Lady Penelope may depend on it."

"You 'ave my word."

"Agreed." Scott reached up into a locker and pulled out three Weiciao and three vidspecs; spectacles that videoed what the wearer saw for broadcast.

Outside Jen-Ling waited and wondered. What was taking them so long? Each minute was precious and could mean the difference between life and death.

Lady Penelope's life and death…

She was relieved when she saw movement from the canopy above.

Glad to be finally allowed to leave Thunderbird One, Parker was the first to exit. He was immediately struck by the humidity. "Cor… H-It ain't 'alf 'ot h-out 'ere... 'Ello, Miss Jen-Ling."

She smiled at him. "Hello, Parker. I know. It seems much hotter here than in the city… You were in there a long time."

Scott followed the butler out of his aeroplane. "We were discussing tactics… I'm Scott…"

"Hello, Scott."

He indicated the man following. "This is the leader of our expedition: Kyrano."

Kyrano bowed to Jen-Ling. "Selamat pagi."

She responded in kind.

"Do you have knowledge of the ways of the rainforest?"

He saw a flash of fear in her eyes and knew he'd made the right decision in leaving her behind. "No. I've always worked in the city."

Kyrano nodded. "Then you must stay here and guard Thunderbird One. We will take your vehicle."

Jen-Ling looked relieved. "There appears to be a road over there, but it is overgrown."

"That is the way we shall travel."

"Where h-is the 'over-jeep?" Parker asked. "H-I'd best h-acquaint meself with h-it."

Jen-Ling pointed. "By the barn."

"Ta."

Scott looked to where she was indicating. "Is that where the goat is?"

"Yes."

"Okay if I check it's all right, Kyrano?"

"Yes, Mister Scott…"

"Kyrano…"

"Sorry. Yes… Scott. I wish to get my bearings." Kyrano walked away into the middle of the fields.

Jen-Ling led Scott and Parker over to the farm buildings. "Is he Tin-Tin's father?"

"Yes," Scott confirmed. "He's going to be an asset. I think he lived nearby."

"How is Tin-Tin?"

"Well. She's presently in the States. My brother Virgil took her to a party with a whole lot of movie stars and she was having a ball until she heard about Penny."

"How is Alan?"

Scott became grim. "I wish I knew. He's been out of contact for nearly a week. We can only assume that everything's proceeding as expected."

"How long before he regains contact?"

"All going well, another seven weeks. But, going on past experience, it'll be about eight before we can have a meaningful conversation with him."

"Oh, dear," Jen-Ling sympathised. "It must be a worry for you all."

"It is, but not as much as if we knew there was an asteroid heading for Earth and there was nothing we could do to stop it."

"Especially after all you've already done," she said, stepping over a rut. "Ironic, isn't it; yesterday the world was holding all sorts of Thanksgiving ceremonies to thank you for your achievements…"

"Thank us for our achievements," Scott corrected. "You're a part of International Rescue."

"Thank you, but I didn't do much… As I was saying, they're all celebrating…"

"H-I thought H-I was h-at a celebration," Parker interrupted morosely. "But h-it was a kidnappin'."

Jen-Ling gave him a sympathetic glance. "I know. It just doesn't seem fair that the people who saved all our lives aren't allowed to celebrate too, because we're missing some of our own."

"There were a lot of things I missed about not being a part of International Rescue these past seven years," Scott stated, "but worrying about those I care about wasn't one of them."

The three of them entered the barn to be hit by the smell.

"Cor!" Parker exclaimed, taking a metaphorical and literal step backwards. "Wot a pong!"

Jen-Ling indicated the pile of manure on the pen floor. "Just imagine what it's been like for the poor animal for the last two months."

Parker covered his nose, "H -I can't stand this. 'Scuse me, Miss Jen-Ling," he apologised, "but H-I think H-I'll go check h-out the 'over-jeep." Out of habit he doffed his cap and gave a little bow before leaving the pair.

Scott, having some experience in rural life, wasn't so reticent. "Hey there, little lady." He reached over the side of the pen and the goat bumped its head against his hand so that he could scratch it. "How are you?"

Jen-Ling giggled. "I assumed it was a boy."

"Nannies are more valuable to farmers because of their milk," Scott explained. "Plus…" He crouched down and checked through the bars. "There are one or two other clues that she's not a Billy."

Jen-Ling blushed.

-F-A-B-

Standing in the middle of the field with its weed-infested crop, Kyrano turned slowly, studying the skyline and reminding himself of the various landmarks. The deep feeling of unease that had filled him when he'd first heard of Lady Penelope's kidnapping had intensified since he'd realised that she may have been secreted away in Malaysia. And now, as he recognised and named each peak and valley, that unease was so intense that he nearly wanted to collapse under its weight. This close to his former home, and the site of his betrayal, he was almost one hundred per cent certain who was behind it.

It was a reunion that he knew he'd have to endure one day and now it looked as though that day of reckoning was upon him. He must remain strong. Not only for Lady Penelope; but all his friends and family and, perhaps, the entire world.

He was, he had to admit, glad that Scott Tracy had come up with a solution that meant that he was to travel with them. As Parker had said, there was safety in numbers and there was no one that Kyrano trusted more to watch his back than a member of the Tracy family.

Kyrano took a moment to pray that Tin-Tin would remain safe, that Mister Alan would come home, and that their child, his grandchild, would be born into a healthy world free of betrayal.

Then he turned to the farm buildings. "Come," he called. "It is time we departed."

-F-A-B-

"Meet me at Thunderbird One, Parker," Scott instructed. "I'll get our gear and make sure Jen-Ling's safe."

"Rightio, Scott." Enjoying the chance at some informality, Parker swung himself into the hover-jeep and drove closer to where Kyrano was pushing through the waist-high weeds.

Scott and Jen-Ling entered the safety of Thunderbird One's flight deck. "You can stay in here," he said. "Don't leave her until we, or someone connected with International Rescue, returns. Remember that nothing can harm you in here. She's been in volcanic eruptions, and earthquakes, and even been shot down over the desert and she's always kept me safe. There's nothing that anyone can throw at her that she can't handle."

"I will remember that."

"And to save you from getting bored…" Scott opened a radio link. "Thunderbird One to Thunderbird Five."

John's face appeared on the screen. "Thunderbird Five. Go ahead, Scott."

"John, this is Jen-Ling. She's going to guard Thunderbird One for me."

"An honour indeed," John grinned at the Malaysian. "Scott doesn't trust just anyone with his plane, you know." He winked at her. "We think it's a bit of an obsession," he added in a conspiratorial whisper that was never meant to be concealed from his brother.

"Just make sure that she knows what's going on," Scott growled. "We'll be back as soon as we can, Jen-Ling."

"Good luck, Scott. Good luck to all of you."

Having lowered the rest of their equipment to the ground, Scott swung the first aid kit onto his back, jumped out of his aeroplane and ensured that she was locked down tight. Then, taking care that he was using a secure line, he got back onto the radio. "Thunderbirds Five and Two. Are you reading me, John? Gordon?"

"Strength five, Scott."

"Loud and clear, Scott."

"We're okay, but I'm just giving you the heads up. Kyrano tried to kick me off the expedition."

He heard two exclamations and John's "He did what!?"

"He was concerned that, with my hearing, I might miss something important."

"But didn't Brains fix that?"

"I thought so, but I did find it difficult to hear them with the background noise in Thunderbird One."

"I know what you mean," Gordon agreed. "I never realised that Thunderbird Two was so noisy."

"But what are you going to do?" John asked. "Stay behind at Thunderbird One?"

"We've reached a compromise. He's in charge, we're all wearing Weiciao and vidspecs, and I'm tagging along to make up the numbers and as designated first aider."

"Are you happy with that?"

"Don't panic, John, I'm not going to need to check in with Julie for a course of therapy. I can see his point. If I was leading an expedition like this I'd want to ensure that there weren't going to be any communication problems... Now, these are going to be my last instructions before Kyrano takes over. Gordon: Make sure you and Thunderbird Two stay well clear until Kyrano calls you in. Got that?"

"Hey! I always do what I'm told!"

Scott managed to resist a derisive snort. "John: You're part of the compromise that's keeping me on the team. It's your job to be an extra set of ears and eyes."

"F-A-B."

"I'm going to switch over to standard communications now." Scott made the switch as the hover-jeep pulled up alongside. "Are you reading me, John?"

"Strength five."

"Remember that all future communications are to be through Kyrano."

"F-A-B. Good luck, everyone."

"Thanks." Scott loaded up the hover-jeep and slid into the backseat. Parker gunned the motor and they were on their way, down the overgrown road and into the unknown…

-F-A-B-

_Thursday November 2__nd__ 2079 – 8:00 pm – John Tracy's apartment_

John's apartment was, in effect, several joined together by a communal area. It had been bought with the idea that the whole Tracy clan could stay under the one roof, while enabling each of them to maintain their independence. While the idea had merit, it had seldom been put into practise due to Jeff's reluctance to leave the sanctuary of his own home. And so the other units had remained unused except when business contacts were visiting Tracy Industries and John wanted to give them some privacy while keeping them close at hand.

It was into John's main living area that Emma, the two Tracys, Mrs Davies and Agents 115 and 116 decamped. At first no one had been interested in sleep and they'd sat together talking, but finally they'd all departed to the seclusion of their own sleeping areas – all except for one of the agents who'd accepted that his duty was to stay in the foyer of the apartment and keep watch.

Now, well over 24 hours after they'd left Emma's place, they had seen or heard nothing to cause them concern. Occasionally one of them had received a text message or a phone call to update them with the news that there was no news. Advice that was almost as depressing as the knowledge that one of their friends was in trouble.

That was until Virgil had received a text from his father to say that an attempted rescue was underway… Plus an advisement not to let Tin-Tin know that her father was leading the charge.

But that was two hours ago with nothing to report since, and so Tin-Tin and Emma had passed the time talking.

Warm, comfortable, and safe, Tin-Tin relaxed in one of John's easy chairs and regarded Emma Janes. Now that the other felt secure, the two women were beginning to enjoy each other's company and Tin-Tin had come to the conclusion that the "lady showing on John's radar", as Lady Penelope had described the object of his affections, had been the lady opposite. This hypothesis had been strengthened when, upon arriving at the apartment, Emma's first comment had been "where's John's favourite chair?" This had been followed by a brilliant red flush and a hasty explanation that she'd only been to her boss' private dwelling for business purposes.

Tin-Tin had noted Emma's reaction with interest, while the others, including Virgil, had been focused on contacting home and letting them know that everyone had arrived safely. Since then Tin-Tin had talked up John Tracy's character and done all she could to encourage Emma to believe that he was the man of her dreams.

Virgil, sitting off to one side with his feet up on a footstool and his eyes closed, wasn't taking part in the conversation. Initially, to pass the time, he had tried playing John's piano; starting by picking out individual notes to ascertain just how much of his hearing he was missing. Thoroughly depressed by what he heard, or more correctly didn't hear, he abandoned the instrument, collected his artist's satchel, and had spent the next few hours sketching.

That was until he'd received that message from Jeff.

To those who didn't know him they might have supposed that at this moment he was either asleep or listening to music through his headphones. But Tin-Tin did know better. His breathing wasn't slow and regular, nor were his feet tapping in time to the supposed music's rhythm. What he was doing, Tin-Tin knew, was listening in to the radio conversations between the rescue party, whichever Thunderbirds were involved, the space station, and Tracy Island. Occasionally he would send a text to add his own input into the drama and Tin-Tin wished he'd send her one to tell her exactly what was going on.

Mrs Davies bustled into the room, two plates of fragrant baking in her hands. "Anyone hungry?" She placed the plates on the coffee table before them.

Even more deaf to her words, thanks to his headphones, Virgil nevertheless sat up, enticed by the aroma. "Mmmn. I haven't smelled anything good as that since Grandma was alive." He reached out for something warm and delicious and had his hand lightly smacked away. Confused he looked up at Agent 62.

"You," she pointed at him, "are coming," she beckoned, "with me first." She pointed to herself and then to an adjacent room.

Tin-Tin, convinced that this game of charades was because Mrs Davies was just as curious about the rescue as she was, had to fight an impulse to get up and follow them. Partly as an act of frustrated retribution she sneaked Virgil's satchel from beside his chair and removed the recently used pad.

"Tin-Tin!" Emma gasped. "Isn't that private?"

Tin-Tin shrugged. "It is only Virgil."

"But isn't he an artist?" Emma glanced up at a starscape on the wall. "Won't he mind people looking at his sketches before he's finished the artwork?"

Tin-Tin ignored the question and flipped open the pad. The first couple of pages showed just how frustrated her brother-in-law was by his deafness. The following three, as he'd calmed down, were just general drawings, well executed, but nothing special. Then she turned to the sixth page.

"Wow." Emma had overridden her own objections to being nosey and was standing at her shoulder. "That's you, isn't it?" She sat on the arm of Tin-Tin's chair so she would be more comfortable.

Tin-Tin stared at the sketch of her, standing in pregnant silhouette, against a backdrop of the New York skyline. "I didn't realise I was that big!"

"Artistic licence?" Emma suggested, trying to be kind. "Maybe it's not as he sees you now, but how you will be just before the birth?"

"I hope you are right or else by then I will look like," Tin-Tin managed to avoid saying _Thunderbird Two_,"a whale."

Emma took the pad and admired the drawing. "He's talented."

"He told me he hasn't wanted to draw or paint anything in a long time, but he said that seeing me standing in his apartment admiring the view inspired him."

"It must feel special to be someone's muse."

Embarrassed, and now feeling a little guilty that she'd taken the satchel, Tin-Tin retrieved the pad and turned the page. At once she thought that she'd made a horrendous mistake.

"Isn't that Alice Ross, the movie star?" Emma asked.

"What?" Resisting the impulse to snap the pad shut, Tin-Tin took a moment to examine the picture in more detail. Her first thought had been that Virgil had been more than a little lax with International Rescue's security. Her second was that he had been quite clever.

The drawing was of an International Rescue operative standing in front of Thunderbird Two. Closer inspection revealed several differences that no one other than a member of International Rescue would be aware of. "Thunderbird Two" appeared rounder and longer than she was in real life. Her air intake jets were further back down the fuselage. Her distinctive wings, rather than being forward sweeping, were of a more conventional design. Her tail unit was almost totally the wrong shape. The words "Thunderbird Two", written across her nose, were depicted in a different typeface.

The operative, Tin-Tin realised once her heart rate had relaxed enough to take it in, was indeed Alice Ross; but in this version of International Rescue's uniform her hat was a cap, her shirt was open at the neck, her sash was on the wrong shoulder, and the _Hand across the world_ logo was now a bird of prey holding Planet Earth in its talons.

Virgil had created a picture of International Rescue that any person who'd followed the secretive organisation through the media might have created.

The pad was snatched out of her hands and shoved back into its satchel. Then, without a word to either woman, Virgil returned to his chair and sat down. He replaced his headphones, shut his eyes, folded his arms to shield the bag, and blocked out the rest of the world.

"Oh dear..." Emma whispered. "I think we've made him mad."

"No..." Tin-Tin shook her head. "I know him and that is not mad." But she wasn't sure what it was.

Emma returned to her own chair. "Why did he draw Alice Ross in that picture?"

"She was at the party. She told us that they want her to star in a movie about International Rescue saving the world from Doomsday. They were going to make her an engineer, but she said that she would have preferred to be the pilot of Thunderbird Two. My guess is that Virgil decided to make her into one."

Emma smiled. "That's sweet."

Tin-Tin leant closer so she wouldn't be overheard. "That's because he is sweet on her, and she on him. He taught her to weld for _Gas Light._ But he refuses to admit that he has feelings for her. He pretends that she is nothing more than a friend."

"I hardly know him, and I only know her from the movies, but if looks are anything to go by, they'd make a wonderful couple."

"I told him that."

"Do you know her?"

"I only met her at the party, but I think she would be perfect for him."

"Yes?"

"Yes. They have similar personalities."

"If you two must gossip, you can gossip about someone other than me."

Both Tin-Tin and Emma looked over at the man who was scowling at them from across the coffee table.

"How did you know we were talking about you, Virgil?" Tin-Tin asked.

"Just because I'm deaf doesn't mean that I can't see that you two keep glancing at me while you've got your heads together, whispering."

"Oh," Emma blushed. "Sorry."

Virgil checked his headphones were in place, closed his eyes, and settled back down to listen to the drama on the other side of the world.

Knowing that he was upset with her, Tin-Tin watched him for a while. Then she stood and picked up one of plates from off the coffee table. Carrying it to his side she touched him gently on the shoulder. "Virgil?"

Not removing his headphones he looked up at her.

Holding the plate towards him, Tin-Tin made a circular motion with her fist flat against her chest and her thumb extended. _Sorry_.

Virgil hesitated and then accepted one of the still warm delicacies. _Thank you_ he signed.

Tin-Tin smiled.

-F-A-B-

The road was so overgrown that none of the men in the hover-jeep seriously thought that anyone had driven along it in months, if not years.

"'Ooever kidnapped 'er Ladyship must 'ave flown h-in," Parker commented as he wrestled the vehicle around a fallen branch. "That's h-assumin' we h-ain't h-on a wild goose chase."

"This is the right track," Kyrano confirmed.

"'Ow do you know that?"

"I have confidence that I know where we are going."

"You 'ave confidence? 'Ow?'

Kyrano thought for a moment. It wasn't right that he knew more than his colleagues; not when they were about to enter a potentially dangerous situation. But the deep sense that some things that were private should remain private had so far held him back from enlightening the others. Still, he knew, the time had come to reveal all. "The farm that now belongs to the Tan family was previously owned by the brother of my mother."

"That's your h-uncle's farm?"

"It was. It is no more."

"So you've spent a bit h-of time 'ere?"

"I have spent many hours playing there and assisting my uncle with the farm, yes."

"No wonder you looked like you knew the h-area."

"I also know where we are headed."

"'Ow would you know that? Was there another farm h-around h-abouts owned by your h-aunty?"

"No. I believe that our destination is some old ruins. A temple once built by priests many centuries ago."

"Why there?"

Kyrano was silent.

"Mister, erm sorry, ah, Guv'nor?"

Kyrano knew that he must speak. "Many years ago when I was a young man, a short time before the age of majority, my younger brother and I departed for an expedition. We had heard of these ruins and both wished to explore them. At least that was my desire. I did not realise that my brother had another reason to visit this remote place. We travelled on foot from my Uncle's farm and the journey took us much of the day to reach our destination."

He continued. "We arrived on sunset. I set up our camp site while my brother explored. He arrived back at the camp much excited. He had discovered a plant that he had never seen before. He thought that perhaps it was a new species and that he was to become immortalised by this plant being named after him. Even then I had an interest in botany and I was keen to see this plant, although I doubted that it was a new species, and so I followed him into the ruins."

"Why do H-I get the feelin' that was a mistake?"

Kyrano nodded slowly. "My brother directed me to the location of the plant. It was, he said, growing out of the stones of the temple at the base of a pillar of stone. He said there was little room there, and so he encouraged me to examine the plant alone."

There was a long period of silence. During this time neither Parker nor Scott pressed Kyrano to continue his story.

"What I did not realise was that my brother was on the other side of the pillar and that the mortar between the stones had deteriorated. My brother was a strong man, even at that age, and he pushed the stones on top of me. I was trapped; pinned; as good as dead."

"Lummee!" Parker exclaimed. "'Oo needs enemies when you've got family like that?"

"He is my half-brother," Kyrano elaborated.

"That don't make h-it h-any better."

"I was unconscious and my brother did nothing to assist me. I believe that he ate the meal I had prepared, spent a restful night at our camp, arose late, and proceeded back to our home to give my mother the news that I was dead. Crushed by fallen masonry and scavenged by wild animals."

"H-Even though you weren't?!"

"My mother was grief stricken. Since the death of my father, whom I now believe died at the hands of my brother, she had not been well. My reported death made her even weaker, both body and mind…"

"Didn't people go lookin' for you?"

"Yes. A good many people searched for my remains so that I could be interred alongside my father, but my brother directed them to the wrong location."

"Didn't your h-uncle remember that you'd been h-at 'is farm?"

"He was at the market and did not see us. I remember that I left a note indicating our path, but I can only assume that my brother removed it."

"H-I've seen some rum 'un's h-in my time, but your 'alf-brother takes the cake! Why'd 'e do h-it?"

"My mother had long before decided that when I, as her eldest son, reached the age of majority then I would inherit the family's wealth and land."

"But now she thought you was dead."

"Yes. Her ill health made her frightened that the family would be destroyed by strangers and so transferred ownership of all, but the land, to my brother."

"Why not the land?"

"My father was buried there and she could not bear the thought of someone else owning his remains; not even his own son. My brother was angered by my mother's reluctance to give him the greatest source of power: land; and so he ensured that she became weaker, physically and mentally. I believe that his aim was for her to die so that ownership of the land would pass to him."

"While h-all this was goin' h-on, what 'ad 'appened to you?"

"I was fortunate that I was discovered by a botanical expedition. They were searching for rare and unique plants. They found my broken body under the remains of the pillar."

"Didn't they alert someone that they'd found someone?"

"They did, by radio. But of course there were no reports of anyone missing…"

"Since you was dead h-elsewhere h-in the country."

"So no one alerted my family. I was airlifted to hospital where I remained in a coma. I regained consciousness a short time before the expedition concluded and I was able to thank them for saving my life."

"H-And let your mother know that you was h-okay."

"Yes. My mother was overjoyed. My brother was not."

"H-I'll bet."

"I did not meet my brother again; for the night that I contacted my mother and let her know that I was alive, he absconded with everything of value. By the time I was well enough to return to the farm it looked similar to the one we have just left. With no money to employ farm hands, and in ill health herself, my mother had been unable to keep the farm operational."

"That's h-awful…" Parker sympathised. "But H-I bet that 'aving you 'ome made 'er feel better."

Kyrano appeared to consider the statement. "A period of time later, after my mother's death and my marriage to Tin-Tin's mother, I left to find a better life in Europe. There I once again met members of the expedition. It was they who supplied me with employment at Kew Gardens in London."

"So h'all's well that h-ends well."

"Yes. If it had not been for my brother's actions, I should have remained a farmer. I would not have married my wife; I would not have had the opportunity to further my education in a subject I loved; I would not have met Mr Tracy; I would not have had the chance to be a part of International Rescue; and I would not be living the fulfilling life that I now l… Stop here! I must regain my bearings."

As requested, Parker stopped the hover-jeep and Kyrano alighted to survey the surrounding terrain.

Parker turned to the man in the back seat. "That was a story h-and a 'alf."

Scott leant forward. "I'll say. I didn't want to say anything in case he clammed up."

"You didn't know?"

"I don't think even Father knows what Kyrano and his family went through."

"Bet h-it makes you glad you got brothers 'oo won't stab you h-in the back for a few pieces h-of silver."

"Yes." Scott smiled. "I am glad I know I can trust them."

"What H-I don't get, h-is why 'e's convinced that we're h-on the right track. Does 'e think 'is brother's 'oled h-up h-in this temple with 'er Ladyship...? H-And why? Why would a Malaysian farm boy kidnap a H-English Lady?"

"Half the time I don't know what Kyrano's thinking. The fact that he's told us so much about his past is revealing though. Perhaps he knows more of what happened to his brother in the years since he left the farm than he's willing to tell us."

"P'raps." Parker looked through the windscreen at the figure that was crouching down examining the soil. "_H-Aways look h-on the bright side h-of life_," he sang.

Scott chuckled. "What was that?"

"Don't you know that one?"

"No."

"Your h-education's been sadly lackin', Mister Scott. H-I'll show you h-and your brothers the movie when this h-is h-all over."

"Deal."

There was a thump on the roof as Kyrano climbed onto the hover-jeep to gain some height so he could further his examination of their surroundings. Then he scrambled down and got back inside. "We will travel on 100 metres and then hide the vehicle. From there we must continue on foot."

"Rightio, Guv." Parker drove on, parking behind a bushy shrub. Then he reached for the car door, intent on getting out.

Kyrano caught his arm. "Before we move, we must take on some sustenance."

"H-If h-it's h-all right with you, H-I'd rather get movin'. 'Oo knows what 'er Ladyship's goin' through."

"I understand, but we must eat and drink first. Once we begin it will be too dangerous to stop. We will need to sustain ourselves for many miles. Plus it will make our bags lighter." Kyrano gently waved an insect away that was buzzing around his face.

Parker looked back at Scott who shrugged. "Makes sense to me." He took a pack from the seat next to him and handed it to the men in front.

Stopping for a relatively relaxing meal wasn't such a bad idea, Parker decided when he tucked into the food Kyrano had provided. It was certainly tastier than he was expecting for an expedition into the deep, dark jungle.

When the meal was finished and their packs rearranged to spread the load evenly between them, the three men camouflaged the hover-jeep and then set off along the hot, steamy road, which seemed even more overgrown than it had at the beginning.

"Try not to leave any evidence of our path," Kyrano instructed. "We do not want our presence known."

"That's h-easier said than done," Parker grunted, glad that his vidspecs stopped his eye from being poked out as a branch slapped him across the face. "H-It's a bit 'ard not to leave h-our dirty great 'oof prints h-in the mud."

"Just do what you can," Scott advised.

Kyrano stopped walking, holding up his hand to encourage his colleagues to do the same. "We must turn off here."

Parker looked about him. "Where to?" He wiped sweat from his forehead and the back of his neck.

"Follow me."

"No worries h-about that, mate," Parker muttered. "H-I h-ain't too keen h-on runnin' h-around a jungle h-on me Pat." He replaced the cap on his water bottle and clipped it back to his belt.

The undergrowth, vines and creepers were even more dense off the track and Kyrano gave the instructions to remove their packs, get down on their bellies and crawl; pushing their bags before them.

Hot, sweaty, and itchy from the leaves and twigs that kept on stabbing him, Parker was beginning to wish he'd stayed back at the farm, mucking out the goat. But the knowledge that Lady Penelope was counting on him, and that all three of them were experiencing the same discomfort, stopped him from expressing his opinion to the others.

"Down there," Kyrano pointed down into a gully to their left. "Up here his monitors will discover us. The gully is well hidden and I am hopeful that he will think no one will know of its presence."

Parker slapped at something that was trying to lunch on the back of his exposed hand. "'E bein' your brother?"

"Yes."

"Right."

They soldiered on; walking, crouching, crawling as Kyrano demanded. Eventually they stopped for a break.

Parker drank greedily from his water flask. "One thing H-I glad h-of," he admitted. "H-I h-ain't seen h-any snakes."

Scott lowered his own flask, wiping his hand on his mouth. "Hate to tell you this, Parker, but you've probably been no further than that far," he held his hands apart, "away from a snake this entire trip."

"Rubbish. I h-ain't seen h-any."

"That's because they don't want to be seen. They probably think you're a bigger threat to them than they are to you."

Kyrano nodded. "This is true."

"How much further do you think we've got to go, Kyrano?"

"I believe just over two kilometres. From now on we must operate in silence."

-F-A-B-

Gordon yawned. He'd spent the last however-many hours sitting in Thunderbird Two's flight deck doing nothing. The big aeroplane, hovering in international airspace over the South China Sea, needed no input from him to maintain her position. All he could do was sit in the pilot's seat, wait for instructions to move in (or out), and drum his fingers.

He sensed as much as heard Brains enter the flight deck. "A-Any news?"

"Nope. All I can hear is their breathing, the rustle of leaves, and the cracking of twigs."

Brains' experience of Gordon's deafness in the confines of Thunderbird Two's cabin made him think that the pilot would have been unlikely to hear even that. "That must mean that they are, er, proceeding."

"Yeah."

There was a scratching sound from the radio and Brains took a step back from the speakers as the volume threatened his own hearing. Trying to make conversation he said: "I never knew that K-Kyrano had a brother."

"I did."

Brains looked at his friend in interest. "Y-You did?"

"Yes. Years ago one of my brothers had really ticked me off. I can't remember which one and I've got no idea why…"

"P-Perhaps you had done something to them and they were getting revenge?"

Gordon responded to the friendly accusation with a light-hearted grin. "Probably... I do know that I was fed up with all of them. I was in a real mood and Kyrano tried to calm me down. I told him that since he didn't have any brothers there was no way that he could know what it was like having to deal with four. He then told me that he had a brother and if his brother had had been as good a brother to him as any of my brothers were to me, then he would have been lucky to have such a brother – Or words to that effect. But he never said any more about what happened between them. I don't think any of us knew."

"E-Even Mr Tracy?"

"Even Dad… They say that still waters run deep..." Then Gordon grinned. "Parker's started calling Kyrano, _Guv_. I think he finds it easier than trying to remember not to call him _Mister Kyrano_. He doesn't seem to be having any problems calling Scott _Scott_."

"I-I should think that Parker is well outside his comfort zone."

"Hopefully not for much longer. Their homing beacons are giving me a fix on their position, and they don't look like they're too far away from where Kyrano said the ruins were. We should see some action soon."

Brains peered at his friend through his spectacles and Gordon was reminded of an owl. "What kind of, ah, action are you envisaging?"

"I have no idea. But somehow I don't think it's going to be a joyous reunion as two long lost brothers run into each other's arms."

-F-A-B-

That last two kilometres seemed to take an eternity; until, finally, crawling on their bellies like the snakes that Parker was desperate to avoid, they arrived at their destination.

Only it wasn't the ruins they'd expected.

Ahead of them, towering over a large clearing free of any potential cover, rose up a magnificent temple. This was clearly a building dedicated to the worship of someone or something, but none of the men observing it from the darkness of the rainforest were sure just what the object of worship was.

"H-Is this what you h-expected, Guv?"

"No."

Scott brushed clear the bead of sweat the threatened to drip off his nose. "What do you want us to do now?" he whispered.

"You and Mister Parker must wait, while I reconnoitre," Kyrano slid back into the greenery. "You may follow my progress on the vidspecs."

"Rightio, Guv," Parker acknowledged. "Give h-us a shout when you're ready for h-us to move."

"I shall." Kyrano slipped away into the foliage.

With nothing else to do Parker and Scott lay on the damp ground, tried to ignore the energy sapping heat and annoying bugs, and waited for Kyrano to return. What they saw next shocked them.

Kyrano, looking as if he was having a casual stroll along the short path between his greenhouses and the villa, walked across the open area from the rainforest to the temple. Scott and Parker, stunned by his brazenness and unwilling to call out to him, could only watch. It was John, observing what was going on through their vidspecs, who yelped: "Kyrano! What are you doing?!"

But Kyrano didn't acknowledge or respond to the question.

"H-And 'e 'ad the cheek to say that you was deaf," Parker whispered to his companion.

"What's the idiot doing?" Scott hissed. "John?"

He heard the response in his earpiece. "I dunno, Scott. He's just walked into the building calm as you like. Almost as if he knows where he's going…"

_To be continued..._

"_Always look on the bright side of life" written by Eric Idle._


	50. Chapter 50 - Reunion

**Chapter 50: Reunion**

_Deep in the Malaysian rainforest._

Kyrano stopped walking just inside the door. It was cool and gloomy inside the temple and he wanted to give his eyes a chance to adjust to the lack of light. When he felt confident enough to move forward he did so, turning left down a corridor.

Everything was different, and yet the same. He knew where he was going, why he was going there, and what he would have to do when he got there. All his life, all those unexplained 'episodes', seemed to have been building to this moment.

There was a door to his right and he stopped outside, his hand resting on it, feeling and listening to the room within. Then, when he was satisfied that he wasn't going to walk into an underworld gathering, he pushed the door open and slipped inside.

A spider scuttled away, but that was the only sign of life. The humanoid figures that surrounded him were made out of stone.

Treading as quietly as a cat, Kyrano moved around the edge of the room, finding protection behind the low plinths that ran between the tall stone pillars that supported the high-vaulted ceiling.

On the other side of the room, he could see a figure seated at a table. The light that flickered on the bald head told Kyrano that the man was accessing a computer. He hoped that it wasn't linked into a security system and that Scott and Parker's hiding place hadn't been discovered.

This was it. It was time…

Kyrano removed his vidspecs and placed them on a plinth so that their camera was pointed to the centre of the room and then, ignoring the shouted "Kyrano! What the heck are you doing!?" in his earpiece, stepped out of the shadows and towards the seated figured. "Good day, my brother."

The figure turned and Kyrano knew that his instincts, if that's what they were, had been correct.

"So…" Without any indication that he was surprised by the unexpected intrusion, The Hood stood. "After so many years, we meet at last, Kyrano… Are you still known by that name?"

"I am. Out of respect to the man who gave us life. And you, my brother, by what name do you go now?"

He saw The Hood puff out his chest. "I am called by those who fear me _The Master_."

"I do not fear you."

"Then you are a fool."

"No. I am your brother."

"Half-brother," The Hood spat. "We do not share a mother!"

"My mother cared for you as if you were her own."

"Until the day that she learnt that I tried to dispose of her pitiful flesh and blood son."

Kyrano decided that it would not be wise to remind his brother that he had failed in his attempt. He was treading a fine line between bravery and foolhardiness and he had no wish to fall off that line onto the wrong side.

The Hood smirked. "And what reason do you have for coming back here? As if I did not know."

"I grow old, as do you…" The smirk changed into a snarl. "…and I desired to return to the places that held meaning in my youth. As a part of that wish I travelled here to revisit the site where I last shared the company of my brother. I walked alone through the gully that you and I traversed all those years ago hoping to rediscover that grove of orchids that so entranced me. Failing that I continued on, expecting to see the ruins that nearly claimed my life. Instead I discovered a grand temple." Kyrano indicated the tall stone walls and statuary.

"Are you impressed?"

"I am." Kyrano spoke the truth. "I have travelled the world and not seen a building such as this…" He watched the gloating sneer appear on his brother's face. "However you do not appear to have travelled far from the place of your birth."

"Not travelled far?" The Hood laughed and the sound echoed throughout the chamber. "There is not a nation that has not witnessed my power! And soon, maybe with even your help, I will conquer the world."

"Through Inter-national Rescue?" Kyrano ignored the exclamations in his ear. "I have never understood why you felt the need to continuously query me about the organisation…"

-F-A-B-

"What!?" Alone, back on Tracy Island, Jeff watching and listening to the live feed from the heart of the Malaysian rainforest, felt as if his heart had dropped down to the bottom of the lava chamber under the island. "Kyrano?"

"Dad?" John, framed by his portrait, looked just as startled as Jeff felt. "What is he talking about? This guy knows about Kyrano's relationship to us?"

"I don't know, John."

"Has he ever said anything to you?"

"No." Jeff's face was grim. "I'm learning many things about Kyrano today."

"Oh…" Nonplussed, John didn't know what else to say. "Ah… At least we know Kyrano's never betrayed us."

"Do we?" Jeff growled.

"Not Kyrano. He wouldn't! He said as much!"

Jeff looked at his clenched hands on his desk and then back up at his son. "No, John, you're right. Kyrano wouldn't… not willingly."

John relaxed somewhat. "Then what's his brother talking about?"

"I wish I knew. If we keep listening, we may learn more…"

-F-A-B-

The Hood looked intrigued by his half-brother's statement. "You knew that I contacted you?"

"Not immediately. I would feel faint and lose contact with my surroundings. I would then awaken dazed and confused. It was not until the night when I slept that I would hear and understand your words and know it was you saying them."

"You never told anyone?"

"I failed to see the need. I have no links to Inter-national Rescue."

"You lie."

"Years ago I was approached by a stranger to develop a food that was easily stored, could be prepared without effort, and yet would be flavoursome. It was a challenge that intrigued me and I developed many such foods. It was not until years later when I first heard about Inter-national Rescue, that I realised that my creations were destined to be consumed by those people. Then I felt proud and humbled to have been involved in such a small way."

"You lie," The Hood repeated.

Kyrano inclined his head. "If that is your belief, then so be it." He sensed that a crack of doubt had appeared in The Hood's cocky self-assurance.

Then the bigger man puffed himself up. "Are you curious as to how I contacted you over all these miles?"

"I will admit that I am."

"Through this!" The Hood extended his arms in a grand sweeping gesture as he turned to a circular beaded curtain suspended from the high ceiling above. The curtain retracted as if by magic, revealing a statue that appeared to be the back of a figure in traditional robes.

Kyrano assumed that he was meant to be witnessing a grand illusion, however he remained unimpressed. "I am not an ignorant soul. I know of such things as infrared beams."

"It is not through mere illusion that I expect to make you fall quivering to your knees, begging for my mercy, Kyrano!" The Hood crowed. "Behold the source of my power over you!" And again he raised his arms to the statue. "Turn and face me!" he commanded.

-F-A-B-

Those watching and listening were only aware of Kyrano, his half-brother, and the two men's reactions to what Kyrano's vidspecs couldn't see. All the video feed showed them, off to the right side of the picture, was a brief flash of light and movement as the beaded curtain swayed. Now they could hear a light grinding noise; like metal scraping against rock.

"What the heck is going on?" Gordon muttered.

_What's happening?_ The echoing text appeared on Thunderbird Two's cockpit windscreen.

"We don't know, Virgil," John admitted. "All the action's happening off camera. They're looking at something, but we don't know what..."

Gordon glared at the video screen that told him nothing. "Can't someone go in and find out?"

"Scott promised that he wouldn't, and I guess Parker's waiting to find out where Penny's being kept."

"I'm sure Kyrano would understand if Scott broke his promise."

"You know Scott; he's a man of honour. He wouldn't go back on his word."

"He doesn't have to go in all guns blazing; just wait in the shadows as backup."

_Can Kyrano hear you?_

"Not us, Virg." John responded. "I thought he'd appreciate being left to concentrate on what his brother's doing. If we need to contact him we'll have to do it manually. But his Weiciao's still picking up Scott and Parker's conversation…"

-F-A-B-

At The Hood's command the statue had begun to spin about slowly, turning to face its master. At its feet a conveyor belt of latex masks followed its progress. But as the statue came to a stop it wasn't the row of faces that impressed Kyrano. "You flatter me."

The Hood's eyes glittered. "With this, your image, I can do more than that. The Gods decreed that you foiled my attempt to orchestrate your death for good reason. And that reason is that you have been of more use to me alive! Although I failed to take your life, I later succeeded in taking something more valuable. That little piece of Kyrano is secreted inside this statue. With that I have ensured that you and I have always been in contact... No matter where in the world you are."

Kyrano remained his usual calm, in command, self. "Indeed."

"But now you are here and I have no need of this!" With another dramatic upswing of his arm the beads swung shut and the room was silent; apart from the curtains' quiet clinking as the beaded strands continued to undulate, bouncing off one another.

The Hood smirked. "Now are you fearful?"

"No."

The Hood did not appear disappointed. "You need proof of what I am capable of...? Karim!"

Those eavesdropping jumped at the shouted name, but Kyrano showed no visible reaction. Not even when a door opened behind him and a figure scuttled inside.

The newcomer seemed unaware that his master had a guest. "Boléh, tuan," he said, as he prostrated himself on the floor before him; the soles of his worn slippers displayed to Kyrano.

"Get up, Karim."

"Yes, Mas..."

Those watching electronically shuddered or gasped, and even Kyrano flinched as the word and Karim's life were cut short by The Hood's blow to his servant's neck. The force of the hit sent the farmer's spectacles flying as he crumpled to the ground and lay there, still and lifeless.

"Mahsuri!"

Mahsuri's response to The Hood's summons was a second slower than her father's. But she, rather than entering with a display of obsequious grovelling, let out a cry of horror. "Bapa!"

"Yes!" The Hood jeered. "Your _Bapa _is dead!"

"No!" Mahsuri ran to her father's side and, sobbing, buried her face into his chest. "Bapa..."

The Hood sneered at Kyrano. "Now you are aware of what I am capable of, Kyrano. Destroying a family by taking a life."

"I was already aware you held that capability," Kyrano reminded him quietly.

"Then you should fear me."

"I do not."

Mahsuri's continued sobs irritated The Hood. "Take him away, Girl!" he snarled.

Tears streaming down her cheeks, Mahsuri did her best. She grabbed her dead father under his arms, trying to slide him away from his murderer.

-F-A-B-

"Fellas!" John Tracy almost yelled into the microphone. "Did you see that?! He moved! Karim's alive!"

Scott's reply was quieter. "Can't be."

John's video screen was bigger than the image projected onto those on the ground's vidspecs. "I tell you he is! I saw his cheek twitch when Mahsuri touched him."

"Cadaveric spasm?" Scott asked.

"No, definitely not."

"Right." Taking care to remain concealed by the foliage, Scott sat up. "Come on, Parker."

"What h-are you doin'?" Parker exclaimed. "The Guv said we was to wait h-until 'e called h-us."

"He also agreed that I was the designated first aider." Scott swung his green-crossed bag onto his back. "So I'm going to administer first aid. Are you coming?"

"Course H-I h-am."

-F-A-B-

Bereft by the loss of her father, Mahsuri had only managed to drag Karim until he was at the edge of the shadows cast by a pillar. Without the energy to pull him any further she let out another wail.

"Quiet!"

At the menacing shout from the feared man in the middle of the chamber Mahsuri bit her hand to silence herself. Then, when she had her emotions under control, she reached out for her father's arms again.

From out of the shadows a hand snared her around her mouth and waist, once again silencing her as she was dragged behind the pillar. She struggled against her assailant.

"'Old still," someone whispered into her ear. She could smell tea.

Hidden by another pillar she could see another man. He placed a finger to his lips indicating that she should remain silent and then crept around the pillar; reaching out for the unconscious Karim.

Kyrano had an idea of what was happening in the shadows. Determined that The Hood should remain ignorant of the rescue, he took a minute step to the side, forcing his brother to turn a few degrees away from the other side of the room. Then he spoke. "Inginneraan indeito."

The Hood smirked. "Saikako melakoenmawa."

-F-A-B-

"What the…?" John made a dive for Thunderbird Five's console and made some adjustments.

"John?" It was Gordon. "What did they just say?"

"I don't know?"

"You don't know? You speak every language known to man..."

"I don't."

"...and you don't know?"

"Shush! Let me listen!" John tuned into the exchange between the brothers in Malaysia, while his own brother waited impatiently. "I don't know," he repeated. "Thunderbird Five can't pick it up either. I recognise the occasional Malay word, and some English, and that sounded kind of Dutch, but…"

"So guess!"

"I can't. Most of it's gibberish to me. It must be some code that the pair of them had as kids… Just like you and Alan."

"And you managed to work ours out right away."

"Anyone could have decoded it. You were a couple of kids playing with a variation of Pig Latin."

"And this is two grown men; one of whom is about to knock the other's brains out."

"Maybe it won't come to that."

"You are kidding me, aren't you? He's a kidnapper who admits that he attempted to murder Kyrano! You saw what he just did to Karim. You've got to decode it!"

"Have you thought that the reason why Kyrano started that conversation was because he doesn't want us to understand what they are saying?"

"Or because he thought you and Thunderbird Five would be able to understand, but that his brother wouldn't realise that?"

"I doubt it."

"Try, John," Gordon demanded. "For Kyrano's sake! You and Thunderbird Five should be able to work it out together!"

"We can't!"

Gordon looked disgusted. "Ou'reyay areway othbay useayesslay."

"Don't be rude."

-F-A-B-

Scott pulled Karim into the relative safety of the shadows behind the pillar and checked his pulse. Then he smiled up to Mahsuri.

Parker felt her relax in his arms. But, still fearful that The Hood had a hold on her, refused to lessen his own grip.

Trying to be as quiet as it was humanly possible, Scott removed a cervical collar from his bag and slipped it about Karim's neck. Then he pointed at Mahsuri before placing his finger back on his lips. _You quiet?_

She nodded against the restraining hand, which hesitated a moment and then, along with its associate around her waist, released her. She dropped to her knees and took her father's hand, holding it to her cheek as she caressed his face.

Parker bent down and picked up Karim's legs, while Scott prepared to take hold of the older man's upper body, but Mahsuri held out her hand to stop them. Peering over around the pillar she could see that The Hood and Kyrano were still more interested in each other than her activities, but she knew that her continued silence could set alarm bells ringing in her former master's mind. As she had when she first rushed into the room, she buried her head into her father's shirt. "Bapa..." She sobbed. "Don't leave me, Bapa..."

Scott and Parker looked at each other. Mahsuri's performance was worthy of an Oscar.

Convinced that, at least in the short term, The Hood would continue to believe that she was behind the pillar mourning her dead father, Mahsuri pointed towards the door they'd entered. This was in The Hood's line of sight, and she shook her head to show that they couldn't exit that way. Then she pointed towards a door concealed behind the beaded curtain.

Parker and Scott nodded their understanding and got to their feet, carrying the unconscious body of Karim between them. After emitting a final sob and strangled "Bapa..." Mahsuri walked at her father's side, supporting his head as the two strangers carried him through the door.

This room held an ornate bed and regal furnishings, yet was modern and comfortable with electric lighting; but Mahsuri knew they were not yet safe. This time it was her turn to communicate that none of them could speak before she indicated that they should exit through the door at the far side of the room.

This door led to a small anteroom, barely big enough for the four of them, and she rushed ahead to open the door beyond revealing the kitchen. It was only then, when Karim had been laid with care on the table, the door behind them had been closed and she'd placed a chair in front of it to hold the door shut, did she speak. "Thank you."

"You're Mahsuri Tan?" Scott clarified as he started his examination of the injured man. "And this is your father Karim Tan?"

"Yes. That is correct. You are the friends of the English lady?"

"Lady Penelope! She's 'ere?" Parker stepped forward, eager to find out more.

He was stopped when Scott clamped an iron hand to his shoulder, holding him back. "Yes, Mahsuri. I'm Scott and this is Parker. The man through there laying his neck on the line for us all is Kyrano. We assume that the English lady you speak of is Lady Penelope?"

"The English man calls her Penelope."

"'Ow h'is she?" Parker pressed.

"Injured. Her shoulder is dislocated and she has a fever brought on by an infection. I tried to help with poultices, but there is only so much I can do..." Mahsuri cast a frightened glance at the barricaded door. "Only so much the Master would let me do."

"How many people are here?" Scott asked, pulling a sling out of his bag.

"Five. Bapa and me. The Master, the English man, and the English lady."

"I'm liking our odds a lot more than I did." Scott had finished his brief examination. "I'm no doctor, but I think his main problem is a broken collar bone."

Mahsuri wrung her skirt. "Perhaps losing his spectacles has rendered him unconscious."

"I'd say that a very hard blow to the neck knocked him unconscious."

Parker had picked up on something curious in Mahsuri's statement. "What was that h-about spectacles?"

"The English lady and I both suspect that they produce some kind of hypnosis which keeps the wearer under the Master's power. Both my father and the English Man. We were concerned that removing them might cause some kind of neurological damage."

"Where is the Englishman?" Scott asked.

"Mucking out the pigs."

Parker grinned. "H-I call that po-hetic justice."

Scott was more concerned about getting out of there safely. "How does... I'm not going to call him the Master. How does that guy get in and out of here? What transportation does he use?"

"A helijet," Mahsuri told him.

"A Limosa 360?"

Mahsuri frowned. "I do not know."

"Can it seat eight in the rear cabin?"

"I did not notice..." Mahsuri's frown deepened. "It may do. There were four of us, and the English lady was lying unconscious... drugged," she amended when she saw Parker's alarmed expression, "in the rear cabin when we came here. The Master…" She corrected herself. "That man piloted and the English man sat next to him in the cockpit."

"Good. Then that's our way out of here... Once we've got Penny."

"Can you fly it?"

"'E can fly h-anything?" Parker boasted. "You're lookin' h-at a real Top Gun."

Scott, more interested in seeing their getaway vehicle, wasn't listening to the praise of his piloting prowess. "Let's get Karim on board and then go get Penny. Where is it, Mahsuri?"

"One minute." Mahsuri ducked out of the kitchen through a door off to one side and Parker and Scott listened to the sounds in the neighbouring room.

"Can we trust 'er?" Parker whispered.

"I think her father's her priority. So long as we're helping him I think she'll be on our side."

"D'ya think she h-actually posted those messages?"

"You can ask her later..." Scott smiled when Mahsuri re-entered the kitchen carrying an ironing board.

"I thought we could use it as a stretcher for Bapa." Mahsuri placed the board next to her father. "Will it be long enough?"

"Not really, but it's better than the way we've been carrying him," Scott approved. "Help us shift him onto it."

After tethering Karim to the ironing board with bandages so he wouldn't fall off, the two men picked him up. "Lead on, Mahsuri," Scott commanded. "We're in your hands."

Mahsuri escorted them through a series of doors and into an outbuilding attached, like an afterthought, to the side of the temple. Inside was standing a Limosa 360 helijet.

Still holding the ironing board and injured man, Scott stopped walking as Mahsuri rushed forward to open the Limosa's hatch. "Is it alarmed?"

"No."

"What about the entrance to the hangar?"

"It is not alarmed either."

Parker, with an almost instinctive tendency to 'case the joint', was doing just that now. "'Ow do you get h-it h-out h-of 'ere? That h-ain't big h-enough." He indicated a standard door off to one side.

The Limosa's hatch was lowered and, taking care not to spill Karim, Scott started climbing the steps. "My guess is through the roof."

"You are right." Mahsuri made room for her father who was placed, still strapped to his ironing board, on one of the rows of the helijet's seats.

Scott got a cushion and placed it under the injured man's legs. "Is the roof alarmed?"

"No."

"Good. But we don't want to alert him that we're here, so we'll leave opening it until we're ready to take off." Scott walked into the cockpit and slipped into the pilot's seat. "Sweet..." he approved, running appreciative hands over the control yoke. Then he pulled a tablet PC from out of his pack. "Scott calling John."

John, who'd been following their adventures while still keeping a watchful eye over Kyrano, quickly stripped off his sash. When he appeared on screen he displayed nothing that could reveal to the Tans who he worked for. "I'm here, Scott."

"How's Kyrano?"

"They're still talking. But I think that guy's getting itchy feet. You'd better mount a rescue soon."

"Understood."

"You are going to rescue the English lady?" Mahsuri clarified.

Parker threw back his shoulders. "That's why we're 'ere."

"She is in the dungeon. Will you let me show you the way?"

"H-I was countin' h-on h-it."

Mahsuri thought for a moment. "To get to her we must go past the M... that man and your friend. We shall need a diversion."

"There h-ain't h-another way?"

"No."

"Maybe Kyrano could come up with a diversion?" John suggested. "Make that guy even busier than he already is?"

Scott negated the suggestion. "I don't want to ask him to risk his neck more than he is..." He thought quickly. "We could set off a small explosion in his bedr…"

"Too late, Scott," his brother interrupted. "Kyrano's been listening in on the Weiciao, remember? And I think he's got something planned…" The video screen changed to the view filmed through Kyrano's vidspecs. "See?"

As Scott and Parker watched they realised that Kyrano's stance had changed. He and The Hood had given up on their language game and now they were squaring off. Kyrano's hands were relaxed, but slightly raised, and he appeared to have shifted his weight forward onto the balls of his feet. "Do you remember the challenges we used to offer each other?" they heard him say.

"Mere sparring between boys," The Hood sneered.

"And now we are men," Kyrano placed his hands together. "I challenge you." He bowed to the man opposite.

Everyone heard The Hood's derisive laugh. "I see you still follow the ways of the old ones." Suddenly he struck out at the bowing Kyrano, just as he'd incapacitated Karim moments earlier.

Only this time his victim didn't worship him as a blameless god, but knew him to be the untrustworthy man that he was. Kyrano, alert to such an attack, parried the blow with his arm and straightened, using his momentum to twist The Hood's body around before kicking out and knocking his opponent's leg out from under him. The whole manoeuvre had taken less than a second and, taking a step back out of reach, he smiled his benign smile at the man lying on the floor. "And I see you still do not respect the ways of the old ones."

"Cor!" Parker exclaimed, gobsmacked by what he'd just witnessed. "H-I though you said you was faster h-and more h-agile than 'im!"

Scott had watched his friend's moves with something akin to awe. "I take it back. He makes me feel old and I'm nearly half his age." He looked at Parker. "There's your diversion."

"You're not comin'?"

"I promised not to go in, remember? I'll stay and look after Mr Tan. That way if Kyrano needs me I won't be too far away."

-F-A-B-

Snarling, The Hood got back to his feet. "I shall allow you that one point… For 'old times' sake. But it will be the last time that you master me."

Kyrano relaxed into a preparatory position. "We shall see."

"You know that I would take much pleasure from causing you suffering."

"I do not share your appreciation."

"You will beg me to spare your life."

"Such words will not sway you. Therefore I shall not say them."

"That is your decision." The Hood flexed his muscles and clenched his fists. "Prepare to fight, my brother… To the death!"

-F-A-B-

Hugging the wall of the temple, Mahsuri led Parker to the door the rescue team had originally entered. She inched it open, peering inside, looked over her shoulder at the man standing behind her and nodded, then slipped inside.

Wondering if this counted as the biggest mistake of his life, Parker quickly followed.

He expected Mahsuri to creep through this initial corridor, just as he and Scott had done earlier, but instead she walked normally; her only concession to the danger that lurked in the nearby room was the silence of her tread.

That was until she came to the door that led to the main chamber. Here, her finger to her lips, she hesitated.

Parker waited.

Mahsuri cracked the door open. Inside the two men were battling, oblivious to what was happening just metres away. She slipped through the door, holding it open so that Parker could follow and then closing it as silently as she'd opened it. Then she motioned for him to wait before scurrying back around to where they'd first met.

Crouching with his back against the wall; feeling open to attack, knowing that there was an angry man who committed murder as easily as most breathed only metres away; Parker waited and wondered. If the way that Mahsuri had just gone was the way they had to go, why couldn't they have re-entered through The Hood's bedchamber? Why had Mahsuri left him here alone? Where had she disappeared to?

How was Lady Penelope?

Instinctively he ducked when the sounds of the fight got alarmingly close. Feeling even more exposed he scurried across to a pillar and braced his back against it.

Kyrano, kicked by a just visible gold pantalooned leg and sandaled foot, landed next to the startled Englishman. The two briefly locked eyes, before, belying his age and the fact that he'd just been floored, Kyrano leapt back to his feet and charged at his opponent. Parker heard the sound of hard flesh meeting flesh and The Hood said something in Malay that probably would have had his mother washing his mouth out with soap.

Then he heard Mahsuri. Once again she was keening for her deceased father and Parker understood that she was maintaining the illusion that she was in mourning behind the pillar, but still he wished she'd return and lead him out of the dragon's den.

He'd no sooner finished thinking that when she was back at his side, beckoning him in the direction away from her tableau. Glad to be moving, Parker followed her.

The chamber was round and they hugged the walls until they reached an alcove. Opening the door that resided in there, Mahsuri indicated that Parker should enter. He found himself at the end of a long, dark, corridor. Feeling in one of his pockets he found his torch and pulled it out, showing it to Mahsuri for her approval. She nodded and he switched it on, shining it into the darkness and lighting a series of grotesque figures that lined the walls.

They started walking.

The further they proceeded into the darkness, following the twisting and turning passageway, the more Parker lost his sense of direction. If they hadn't been following the one main corridor he would have been totally lost.

Every now and then they passed an alcove set into the wall and he wondered what was behind the associated door.

Fortunately Mahsuri seemed assured that she knew where she was headed.

Parker stopped and looked back into the darkness, then he checked his watch. They'd only been walking for one minute, yet it seemed longer.

"I'm still tracking you, Parker." John's voice in his Weiciao was a welcome distraction.

"H-I'm glad to 'ear that," he breathed in reply.

Mahsuri stopped. "Did you say something?" she whispered.

"Uh, no. Just thinkin' h-out loud. 'Ow far do we 'ave to go?"

"Not much further. We are..."

Whatever they were Parker was never to find out.

A figure stepped out of the shadows and Mahsuri let out a gasp while Parker, in an automatic reaction from his days on the wrong side of the law, clenched his fists ready to go on the attack.

Standing in the middle of the corridor, blocking their passage, was Lord Ralph Cockburn-Saint-John.

Parker's first thought was that Cockburn-Saint-John must have recognised him and that shock was the reason why he was standing stock still instead of questioning, running, or ready to put up a fight.

His second thought was that Cockburn-Saint-John never took any notice of anyone 'below stairs' and probably didn't recognise Lady Penelope's butler, especially in civvies, and was simply surprised to see somebody other than the Tans or The Hood standing in a dark, dank corridor in his "Master's" temple.

After a long moment Parker's third thought was that Cockburn-Saint-John's brain didn't seem to be processing anything at all. _Not that that's much diff'rent to normal_.

Every second since Parker had realised that Cockburn-Saint-John had kidnapped his mistress, he had promised himself that when he came face-to-face with the aristocrat Lord "Cow-barn Saint Anne Boleyn's" face would have a very satisfying introduction to his fist. But now that the moment arrived he held off. Instead he played his torch over the other man.

Cockburn-Saint-John didn't move. Behind his spectacles his eyes barely reacted to the shifting light.

"'E don't seem to be 'imself."

"He is under the hypnosis," Mahsuri explained. "He only responds to..." she nodded back the way they'd come, "him."

Parker nodded. "H-I get h-it... Lovely pair h-of shiners 'e's got."

"The English lady struck him."

Parker grinned. "Good h-on 'er. Knew she wouldn't let 'im take liberties." He thought for a moment. "You said 'e h-only responds to that guy back there?"

"That is right."

"Does 'e call 'im the Master?"

"He does now."

"H-It's a long shot, but H-I wonder if this'll work... Lord Raif, the Master 'as said that you h-are to let h-us past."

"I understand." Cockburn-Saint-John took a step back, turning so the way past was clear.

Mahsuri watched this happen in some wonder. "This seems too simple. Try something else."

"Rightio... Lord Raif. The Master said you was to always respond to me with' Mister Parker, sir'_._ Understand?"

"I understand, Mister Parker, sir."

Despite the gravity of the situation, Parker cackled a laugh. "H-I wish Dion was 'ere to 'ear that... Lord Raif. The Master said that when you get back to H-England you was to always call your butler Dion; never Jeeves. 'E h-also said that you were to h-offer Dion retirement h-on a full pension – h-if 'e wants h-it."

"I understand, Mister Parker, sir."

"I wish I had tried this on Bapa," Mahsuri sighed.

"H-It might not work with a lady's voice, Miss. Plus, where could you run to? That geezer knows where you live."

Mahsuri sighed again. "True."

"But with h-us 'elpin' you we'll be h-able to free you from 'is power." Parker turned back to the aristocrat. "We are going to collect Lady Penelope, Lord Raif, and the Master said you was to come with h-us h-and 'elp h-us. Understand?"

"I understand, Mister Parker, sir."

"Good. The Master said you was to lead h-us to 'er."

"Follow me, Mister Parker, sir."

Suddenly feeling happier with the situation, Parker and Mahsuri did just that. They came to a flight of stairs and without hesitating Lord Ralph started descending. Mahsuri showed no sign of hesitation either, and after the briefest of pauses Parker followed them.

The stairway curved around as it descended and slowly Parker became aware of a dim light, growing brighter. At last they stepped out into a stone-walled, torch-lit room. On the opposite side Parker saw the distressing sight of a familiar figure spread-eagled against the wall. "M'Lady!"

Lady Penelope's head was down and her matted blonde hair hid her face. Her body was limp against her restraints and Parker noticed that her right arm was pulled back at an unnatural angle.

There was no reaction to his voice.

Despite his desire to help her, Parker didn't want to take the chance that The Hood might sneak up on them. "Lord Raif. The Master said that you was to wait there," he instructed, pointing to a spot at the bottom of the stairs. "You are to tell h-us h-if you 'ear h-anyone coming."

"I understand, Mister Parker, sir."

Practically running, Parker hurried the few steps across the room to his mistress. "M'Lady...?"

There was no response from the limp, filthy figure.

"Can you 'ear me, m'Lady?" Parker was relieved to see that she was breathing. "Please, m'Lady..." he begged, brushing her hair back so he could look into her face. "Say somethin'."

"Pa'k'r?"

At the sound of the weak whisper, Parker felt as if his as if his heart had been simultaneously lifted and broken. This wasn't the voice of the strong-willed independent woman that he knew and honoured, but that of a wounded, weakened, child. Still, she was alive, and with life there was hope. "I'm 'ere, m'Lady. H-I'm gonna get you h-out h-of 'ere."

"M'arm... Please... R'lease my arm."

"Yes, m'Lady. Can you stand? Take the weight h-off h-it?"

"My leg..."

He glanced down, seeing the swollen, oozing limb. "Can you support yerself h-on the h-other one? Miss Mahsuri will 'elp you."

"Mah...suri?"

"Yes, Miss?"

"It... worked..."

"Yes, Miss." Mahsuri reached out and placed her arm about Lady Penelope's waist. She looked past the victim up to the shackle. "You can undo the clip," she suggested.

"Yeah," Parker agreed, "but that'll mean she's still got to carry the weight h-of the chain h-on that shoulder. H-I'll h-undo the lock h-instead." He fished in his pocket and pulled out his prized toolkit.

"Undo the lock?" Mahsuri queried. "But he keeps the key about his person."

Parker grinned. "'Oo needs a key...? H-I'll be h-as gentle h-as H-I can, m'Lady," he promised, reaching up to the shackle.

It only took a second for the restraint to fall free and, wishing he had something to ease her pain, Parker took the injured arm's weight. "H-I'm gonna 'ave to strap h-it to your body to stop h-it bouncin' h-about," he told her. "This may 'urt."

Through pain-filled, heavily-lidded eyes Lady Penelope gave him a look that spoke of her complete faith in him.

Trying to cause her as little additional pain as he could, Parker brought the arm down and, using the few slings and bandages he'd been able to carry, strapped it across her chest. Unhappy with the job he glanced over his shoulder. "'Ey! Lord Raif! The Master said you was to give me your belt."

"Yes, Mister Parker, sir." The expensive strip of leather was handed over and Parker wrapped it about Lady Penelope's torso, immobilising her arm. Then he ducked down and, ignoring the foul smelling pus, unlocked the shackle that bound her infected ankle before, using his last roll bandage, quickly binding the wound. Then he transferred his attention to the other ankle restraint before standing and reaching up to remove the final impediment to their escape.

"I can't hold her," Mahsuri gasped as, finally unsupported, Lady Penelope sagged in her grasp.

"Lean h-on me, m-Lady," Parker offered. "H-I'll be 'as gentle h-as H-I can." Picking her up, he cradled her ladyship in his arms. "Right, Miss Mahsuri. 'Ow h-are we gonna get h-out h-of 'ere?"

"Why do you not get the English man to carry her?" Mahsuri suggested. "There are a lot of steps."

"No way. 'E's not gettin' 'is 'ands h-on 'er." Parker turned. "Lord Raif," he commanded. "The Master said you was to lead the way. No one must 'urt Lady Penelope."

"I understand, Mister Parker, sir."

Despite everything Lady Penelope couldn't help but twitch her lips into the smallest of smiles. "You train'd Ra'f well."

"H-And h-it looks like you've taught 'im a thing h-or two."

"Most detest'ble. Headbutted 'im."

Despite the strain of carrying her with care up the stairs, Parker smiled. "Nice one, m'Lady. Knew you could look h-after yerself."

"You're 'lone?"

"H-I'm 'ere with Mister Scott h-and Mister Kyrano, m'Lady..." Parker felt Lady Penelope go limp in his arms. "M'Lady?!"

Mahsuri heard the alarm in Parker's voice and turned back, reaching out to feel the pale throat for a pulse. "The pain must be too much for her. I can make an analgesic poultice and another for the infection."

"We h-ain't got time to muck h-about with that. Besides, Mister Scott's waitin' h-in the 'elijet. Sooner we get there, the sooner we can fly h-out h-of 'ere."

He heard a voice in his Weiciao. "Don't forget Kyrano, Parker. We can't leave without him."

"Lummee… 'Ow h-are we gonna get past that brute fightin' the Guv'nor?"

"There is a door out of this passage at the top of the stairs," Mahsuri offered. "It leads outside."

"H-It does?" Trying not to jar her, Parker adjusted his hold on her Ladyship. "Why didn't you tell h-us that before?"

"Unless you are _him_ you can only open it from the inside. There is no handle on the exterior."

"Oh," he responded. "Just like Number Ten."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Doesn't matter. Where's this door? H-I want to get 'er Ladyship to 'elp."

"This way…"

-F-A-B-

"Stand by, Gordon," John commanded. "It won't be long before you'll be moving in."

"I've been standing by for the last five hours! I can move in now."

"Oh, no you don't. Not until someone on the ground gives the command. This isn't an International Rescue mission and we don't want anyone to know we're involved. Virgil would not be impressed if you got his 'bird shot out of the sky by a trigger-happy general because you're in Malaysian airspace without being welcomed."

_You've got that right!_ … _ I'm watching you, Gordon._

Gordon read the text messages. "Great," he grumbled. "I'm miles from anywhere and I've still got two big brothers watching me."

Despite all his worries John laughed. "I would have thought you would have been used to that by now."

"I'll admit that I don't have a blemish free record when it comes to making decisions, but I wish you guys would show a little faith."

"Hey, we're not reining you in because we don't trust you!"

"You're not?"

"No. It's because we're jealous."

Intrigued, Gordon looked at the video screen that showed John's image. "Jealous?"

"Yep. You're going to be the big hero; swooping in to save Lady Penelope from the evil clutches of her kidnapper. All we can do is sit back and give advice."

"Oh…" Mollified, Gordon grinned. "Yes. You're right." He sat back in the pilot's seat to continue waiting.

-F-A-B-

"Here is the door." Mahsuri reached out for the handle.

"Wait!" Parker ordered. "Lord Raif!"

"Yes, Mister Parker, sir."

"The Master says that h-are to forget that you've seen me h-or h-anyone h-else connected to this rescue."

"I understand, Mister Parker, sir."

"The Master says that you h-are to forget that Miss Mahsuri 'elped h-us."

"I understand, Mister Parker, sir."

"The Master says that you are to forget that you know that Lady Penelope's been rescued from the dungeon."

"I understand, Mister Parker, sir."

"The Master also says that you are to go h-and do whatever h-it was that you was goin' to do before you met h-us."

"Yes, Mister Parker, sir. I understand, Mister Parker, sir."

"H-Off you go."

"Yes, Mister Parker, sir." And Lord Ralph Cockburn-Saint-John, his eyes still blank and unemotional, turned back down the corridor and disappeared into the darkness.

"Right," Parker grinned at Mahsuri. "Let's get h-out h-of 'ere."

Mahsuri twisted the handle and peered through the door into the bright sun. Parker was aware of a blast of humid heat before the door was pulled shut so that only a tiny slither of light was visible. "There's someone out there!" she hissed.

"'Oo!?"

"I don't know!"

"Parker?" The slither of light darkened. "It's me…"

"Mister Scott?"

"Yes."

Parker blinked against the harsh sunlight as Mahsuri pushed the door open again. "You gave h-us a fright."

"Sorry… John directed me to where your signals were coming from, but I couldn't find the door." Scott checked Lady Penelope's pulse, his face grim. "Let's get her into the Limosa. Would you like me to carry her, Parker?"

Parker had promised himself that he'd care for Lady Penelope until they were well clear of the temple, but his arms were starting to ache and he was frightened that he'd drop her. "Yes, Sir."

Scott gently took the unconscious lady into his arms and started walking. "Kyrano and the other guy are still going for each other and the sooner we get her settled the sooner we can pull Kyrano out of there… I would have brought a stretcher, but this guy doesn't seem to believe in first aid equipment. He's definitely got nothing in the 'jet."

"How is my father?" Mahsuri asked.

"With a little medical treatment he should be all right," Scott reassured her. "You can stay with him now. You've done all we're going to ask of you." He carefully manoeuvred the limp body he was carrying through the narrow door and into the helijet, laying Lady Penelope on one of the rows of seats. "Let's get some fluids into her."

Parker sat on the seat next to Lady Penelope's head and brushed her hair from her face. "You've got somethin'?"

"One bag of saline. It's not much, but it'll do until we get her to medical care." Working quickly and with characteristic efficiency, Scott inserted the intravenous drip into Lady Penelope's uninjured arm and then handed the bag to Parker. "Hold that above so it drains freely. And buckle up, both of you. When Kyrano and I get back we're not going to be hanging around waiting for that guy to join us."

"You're goin' to get the Guv?"

"Yeah." Scott pulled what looked like a gun from out of his pocket and checked it. "I've been watching them and I think he's going to need some help extricating himself from the fight. I know you'll want to stay with her Ladyship, so that leaves me to act as the cavalry. We'll be back within seconds."

"Rightio, Sir."

Mahsuri watched, wide-eyed, as Scott jumped out of the helijet. "What is he going to do?"

"What 'e h-always does." Parker grinned. "Go to the rescue."

This time, reassured by John that The Hood was still engrossed in his battle with Kyrano, Scott had no hesitation in letting himself inside the temple. Nor did he pause before entering the inner chamber, where he hid behind one of the plinths. He lowered his vidspecs into place over his eyes to watch the scene broadcast by Kyrano's discarded spectacles.

The brothers were still fighting, but both were clearly tired and battle worn. Kyrano, the skin around his eye reddened and bruised, was limping, while the Hood, blood congealing under his nose and his ear swollen, was favouring his arm. They both looked ready to drop on the spot, but neither was willing to admit defeat.

That was until The Hood decided that he'd enough. He announced this by taking two steps backwards, raising his arms as high as they would go and declaring: "This – stops – now!" He spun on his heel until he was facing the statue. "Kyrano!"

Kyrano's vidspecs still showed nothing of what had been hidden behind the bead curtain and Scott decided to take a chance, peering around a pillar. Looking past The Hood he was in time to see the bead curtain pull back. It took a moment for his eyes to focus in the gloom.

He caught his breath. This was the first time that he'd seen Kyrano's effigy.

"Kyrano!"

Horrified, Scott saw his friend clutch at his head and, with a sound that was part moan, part scream, stagger backwards.

"Kyrano!" There was a menacing tone in The Hood's echo of his own words. "You are in my power!"

"No," Kyrano moaned.

"Yes! You will obey me!"

Kyrano fell to his knees. "No… I – will – not!"

The Hood turned back so he was facing his anguished brother. "You can not deny me."

It had to be a trick of the light; an optical illusion brought about by the torches in the darkness of the chamber, but Scott could almost believe that The Hood's eyes were glowing.

Kyrano cowered, his head cradled in his arms as he tried to protect it from whatever was assaulting him. "I – will – not – obey – you."

"You will! You will tell me where International Rescue is based!"

"I –will –not…" Kyrano gasped. "I – will…"

"Yes, you will!" The Hood gloated. "Speak to me Kyrano! Tell me what I must know!"

"I…! It… Int…"

Kyrano was battling the hold The Hood had over him, Scott could see that; but he could also see that it was a losing battle. If Kyrano, and International Rescue, were to escape from this temple unscathed, he was going to have to act. But any action would have to leave The Hood unaware of who had helped his half-brother. International Rescue must not be implicated.

A memory from two weeks earlier surfaced and he pulled his laser gun from out of his pocket and switched it to its lowest setting. Still using the pillar as cover he leant around it, pointed the gun at The Hood's face and squeezed the trigger.

With a screech of shock and anger, it was The Hood's turn to stagger backwards; his hands protecting his eyes. "I am blind!"

It was a temporary condition, Scott knew that, and he didn't want to hang around any longer than necessary. But still he switched the laser to the other end of the power scale and squeezed the trigger again, this time aiming squarely at the chest of the stone and gilt figure standing on the plinth. It exploded into a million shards; shrapnel raining down on the three men, as, collecting Kyrano's vidspecs on the way, Scott ran towards his friend.

His instinctive reaction was to urge Kyrano to follow him, but he didn't want The Hood hearing the voice of one of those who had upset his maniacal plans. And so he grabbed Kyrano's arm and turned, nearly tripping over something that had rolled close to his feet. Glancing down he saw that it was roughly the size and shape of a cannonball and he scooped it up in one arm, pulling Kyrano to safety with the other. Together the two men ran, leaving curses, howls of misery, and the sounds of someone blundering blindly about in their wake.

It wasn't until they were outside the temple that Scott finally addressed his friend. "You're in the co-pilot seat."

"Co-pilot?"

Scott practically pushed Kyrano into the hangar and then pulled down the lever that retracted the roof above them. Not waiting to watch the sunlight flood the room, he ran around the helijet and jumped into the pilot's seat, triggering the engine before he'd settled into the cushioned chair. "Hold that," he instructed almost throwing the lump of stone and gilt to his co-pilot.

"What is this?"

"Souvenir..." Scott discarded his vidspecs. "Take off now!"

There was a roar and the Limosa 360 left the ground, flying upwards through the roof of its hangar and out into Malaysian airspace.

-F-A-B-

"Right, Tin-Tin!" Virgil got to his feet. "Get your bags. We're going."

"What? Where…?" Tin-Tin stared after him as he, carrying his artist's satchel, disappeared through the door to get his own gear. "Virgil!?"

"What's happening?" Emma asked.

The secretary looked as bewildered as Tin-Tin felt. "I do not know."

Mrs Davies' phone rang and she answered it. "She has…? That's wonderful news…? Yes. We'll stand down… I think they're about to leave… Will we get a full report later…? That's good… All right. Thank you. I'll talk to you soon. Bye." She hung up the phone. "That was Lady Penelope's Malaysian agent…"

Tin-Tin stared at her. "Malaysian?"

Mrs Davies smiled. "Lady Penelope's been rescued."

"From Malaysia?"

"I don't have the full story," Mrs Davies admitted. "But I assume that Virgil's intending to take you both home. I dare say you'll get all the facts there."

"But what about Emma?"

"Emma's perfectly safe." Mrs Davies smiled at the bewildered lady. "And with the repairs that have been done to her apartment, and me living next door, she will continue to be perfectly safe."

"But… But…" Emma stammered. "How did Virgil know she'd been rescued before you did, Mrs Davies?"

Before the elderly lady had a chance to respond, Virgil returned to the lounge. "Have you got your bags, Tin-Tin?"

Tin-Tin suddenly felt foolish for keeping him waiting. "No."

"Then hurry up, I want to get moving. Do you mind doing the take off?"

"No," Tin-Tin repeated.

"Good."

"Virgil? What has happened?!"

"Does it have anything to do with Lady Penelope's rescue?" Emma added.

"Uh… Yes."

"Is she all right?"

"Mostly."

"Mostly!?"

"Virgil!" Tin-Tin was about to interrogate him again when he interrupted her.

"I'll tell you on the flight home, but we've got to get moving. Are you coming?"

"Yes." And Tin-Tin took off for her room leaving an even more bewildered Emma in the lounge…

-F-A-B-

Those in the passenger cabin heard a moan.

"Bapa!" Mahsuri released her safety harness and knelt on the floor by her father. "Bapa? Can you hear me?"

"M... Mahsuri?"

"Yes, Bapa. It is me."

Confused, Karim Tan looked about him. "Where... Where are we?"

"Just rest, Bapa. We are flying to safety."

"Safety? Safety from what...?" Karim went to raise his hand and hissed in pain. "My shoulder. It hurts."

"I know. It is broken."

"Broken? Did I fall off the tractor?"

"No... Do you remember anything?"

"I remember... I remember sitting down to my meal... There was a knock at the door..." Karim frowned. "Was that you, Mahsuri?"

"No, Bapa. It was a man."

"A man? I do not remember any man." Karim looked past his daughter to the pale unconscious figure of Lady Penelope and the more alert personage of Parker.

"Wasn't me, h-old son," Parker told him. "The geezer Mahsuri h-is talkin' h-about h-is back there with a bad case h-of h-eye strain."

Mahsuri clung to her father's uninjured hand. "Do you remember..." she hesitated, frightened that mentioning the name might reawaken some unwanted hypnotic suggestion, "The Master?"

"Who?"

Mahsuri let out a cry of delight and kissed her father.

"Tell her to sit down and buckle up." Parker heard Scott's voice through his Weiciao. "We're coming in to land. But don't let them get out until Thunderbird Two's down. We don't want them to see her."

"Gotcha," Parker acknowledged. "Miss Mahsuri..."

But Mahsuri was too happy to have her father back to listen.

"Miss Mahsuri!" Parker repeated and, surprised, she looked over her shoulder at him. "Sorry, Miss, but we're landin'. You've got to do your safety belt h-up."

"Oh, of course…" Mahsuri did as she was told. "Is it going to be a rough landing?"

Parker grinned. "H-I doubt h-it."

Like Parker, Kyrano had expected nothing less than a feather-light touchdown and he felt relaxed enough to examine the dented and scarred object in his hands. It was the head of the statue. "Why did you bring this?" he asked.

As the engine wound down, Scott undid his harness. "Two reasons. Your brother said he had a bit of you in that statue, and that was what gave him his power over you. I figured that something like that would be hidden in one of two places: the statue's head or its chest. I blasted the chest to smithereens, but if it was in the head I didn't want to take any chances."

"You are very accepting of my brother's powers."

"It's hard to deny what I just witnessed… Of course, it may have been the power of suggestion."

Kyrano considered the statement. "And the second reason?"

Scott grinned. "I thought your daughter might like a bust of her father." He patted Kyrano on the shoulder and climbed into the back of the helijet.

There was a tremendous roar and the Limosa was rocked by a blast of hot wind from outside that whipped up the leaves and branches of the surrounding trees, flinging them deep into the rainforest. Screeching their alarm, birds flew and animals ran, jumped and slithered to safety, while the sky above darkened until the world seemed devoid of natural light.

Then all was still: like the calm before the storm instead of the reverse.

Frightened by the maelstrom outside and the world's sudden disappearance into the darkness, Mahsuri crouched low next to her father; protecting him the best she could with her arms. "What is happening?"

Parker grinned. "The cavalry's h-arrived."

"Cavalry?"

There was some movement from the seat next to him and, ignoring Mahsuri's query Parker crouched down next to the person in his care. "M'Lady?"

Lady Penelope's eyes fluttered open. "Parker?"

Despite the weakness of her greeting, Parker smiled. "'Ow're you feelin', m'Lady?"

"Frightful."

"Don't worry…" Parker glanced over his shoulder as the rear door to the Limosa slid open to reveal both Gordon and Brains, each carrying collapsible stretchers. Matching white lab coats hid their clothes, including Gordon's uniform. "'Ere's 'elp now."

"Oh dear… I must… look a sight."

"You do." Gordon Tracy grinned down at Lady Penelope. "A sight for sore eyes. We've been worried sick about you."

Brains appeared at his shoulder. "Will you assist Scott to help Mr Tan onto the stretcher and into the infirmary, Gordon? I'll see to Lady Penelope."

"Sure thing. Don't run away, Penny. We've only just found you. Don't make us go hunting for you again."

Scott had assembled the stretcher so its back was raised like a reclining chair by the time his brother had negotiated the various bodies crammed into the Limosa. "I'm pretty sure his only problem is a fractured clavicle."

"In that case," Gordon turned to Karim. "Do you think you could sit up, Mr Tan?"

"I… think so," Karim grunted, as he tried to sit up unaided.

"Easy does it," Gordon assisted the injured man onto the gurney. "Just relax. This stretcher's got better suspension than a Rolls Royce, so you shouldn't get a lot of jarring on the trip… All right?"

Karim nodded.

"Be back in a minute, Brains," Gordon called over his shoulder as he and Scott, accompanied by Mahsuri who was still clinging tightly to her father's hand, slid the stretcher out of the helijet.

Brains' examination of Lady Penelope was brief, but thorough. "A-As I am sure you are aware, you h-have an elevated temperature," he told his patient. "You have also lost a lot of fluids, so I am going to replace the saline that Scott installed, and then give you a more through examination once we have you on, er, the other craft on the way to the hospital."

Lady Penelope frowned. "Hospital?"

"The damage to your shoulder could be, ah, extensive, and if an operation is necessary I do not have the prerequisite skills. Then there is the issue of the infection…"

"Do not… want to go… to hospital."

"I-I'm sure you don't. But I believe that it is for the best."

Parker, nearly as keen as Lady Penelope to get her to safe familiarity, frowned. "H-Is that because she's a lady? H-And H-I mean a little L lady h-as h-in female, not a capital L Lady, h-although to be a capital L Lady you've gotta be a little L lady…"

Brains held up his hand. "I kn-know what you mean."

"Cos' h-if that's your reason H-I'm sure Miss Jen-Ling would be willin' to 'elp you. You're not h-exactly used to workin' with females."

"Nor am I well versed in the necessary techniques required to repair such an injury," Brains reminded the butler. "It has been over seven years since I have put my medical training into practise, and theory and procedures have advanced. I understand your need to get to somewhere near friends," he told Lady Penelope, "but I would be remiss if I did not insist on you getting proper medical treatment. However you may count on my support when you are discharged."

She gave a little nod. "Thank you… Brains."

The two Tracys re-entered the Limosa. "How is she, Brains?" Scott asked.

"As well as can be expected, but I would like to get her to medical care as soon as possible."

"Okay. I'll release Jen-Ling from Thunderbird One and she can travel with you all in Thunderbird Two. We'll be back in a minute."

Gordon had assembled the stretcher intended for Lady Penelope. "I guess you're not up to cha-chaing from that seat to this, Penny," he said, laying his hand on the gurney. "Are we going to slide her across, Brains?" He pulled out a long, thin sheet of metal from beneath the stretcher bed.

"Y-Yes… So long as we are careful. I have given her a mild analgesic, but her shoulder will still be painful."

"We'll be gentle," Gordon promised. "I'll just ease it under your head, Penny. Is that okay?"

"Yes."

"Now to slip it under your shoulder…" Gordon saw Lady Penelope pale despite his care. "Sorry."

"I… know."

"Okay if I keep sliding it under you?"

Lady Penelope wasn't about to stop a friend from helping her. "Yes."

"Right… Here goes…" Gordon continued to slip the plate beneath her torso. "Just like sliding a pizza out of the oven."

"Don't start… tossing me… Gordon."

Gordon laughed. "I'm glad you haven't lost your sense of humour."

The transfer to Thunderbird Two went without a hitch, and as he walked between the two craft Parker noted that the megalithic aeroplane had landed so close to the Limosa that her wing shielded the helijet from the sun and that all of her distinctive markings were hidden. The Tans had never suspected that they were being escorted into one of the famous aeroplanes of the International Rescue fleet.

Kyrano held back when the others boarded Thunderbird Two. "May I travel with you, Mister Scott?"

Scott was surprised by the request. "In Thunderbird One? Why? You must have sustained quite a few bruises and Two's going to be much more comfortable for you."

"I am aware of that. I am also aware that our mission is over and that we have achieved our goal of rescuing Lady Penelope from her kidnapper. I therefore no longer have any claim of superiority over you. You have the right to deny me my request."

"I'm not about to deny you." Scott started walking towards Thunderbird One with Kyrano limping at his side. "I'm just curious why."

"You are not planning to return to Tracy Island immediately, are you?"

"No. We still have unfinished business."

Kyrano watched as the hatch to Thunderbird One was opened. "Business involving my brother?"

"Yes," Scott confirmed. "And Lord Cow barn."

Kyrano followed him inside the rocket plane. "May I ask what your plans are?

"Plans? I don't have any as yet. I was going to wing it. I just know that while he's got a base of operations from which he can arrange kidnappings, murders, and I hate to think what else, he's a threat to every person on this planet." Scott settled into his pilot's seat and did up his safety harness. "I know he's your brother, but I want to put that guy out of action for a long time."

Kyrano felt a slight stirring of misapprehension. "And what do you plan to do?"

Looking out through one of the cockpit windows, Scott watched as Thunderbird Two's VTOL jets were ignited and she lifted off, taking Lady Penelope to much needed medical care. "Destroy his temple."

"I understand your need to do this," Kyrano admitted. "But I ask you to remember that the temple has been there for centuries. It was built by peaceful men who would not condone its present incarnation."

"I'll remember." Thunderbird One's own jets ignited and Scott coaxed his aeroplane into the air. "My first concern is to ensure that he doesn't realise that it was International Rescue who stole Lady Penelope away from him."

Through the cockpit window Kyrano could see the temple he had escaped minutes earlier. "By attacking him in a Thunderbird?"

Scott adjusted the volume of his Weiciao. "I'm keeping the sun behind us. If his eyes are anything like mine were a couple of weeks ago, he's not going to be able to look towards anything bright, plus," he flicked a switch and Thunderbird One's powerful spotlight shone out from her nose cone. "All he's going to see in the sky is a blinding glow."

The video screen descended from Thunderbird One's ceiling and as Kyrano watched its image as he saw his brother stumble out of the temple. The bald man looked towards the sounds of jets, trying to shield his eyes from the glare directed at him. He shook his fist skywards as another man, Lord Ralph Cockburn-Saint-John, followed him out of the building and stood at his side.

"Ah, good," Scott grunted. "That means the building's unoccupied." He entered some numbers into the computer.

"You do not wish to harm them?"

"I'm sure Lord Cow barn will be dealt with adequately by the authorities; The Firm will see to that. He's not clever enough to escape them for any length of time. As for your brother..." Scott concentrated on lining up a set of crosshairs on a screen with the top of a tower.

"You do not harm him because he is my brother, despite the fact he harmed your friend?"

"I don't harm him because it's not what we do. I can make him very uncomfortable though." Scott gave a grim smile and rotated a knob on the control panel, increasing the power.

As Kyrano watched the material that made up the tower, the newest part of the structure, started to melt. "How are you doing this?"

"The computer's working out the structure's resonant frequency. By causing the building's atoms to vibrate or oscillate at that frequency the structure disintegrates. The newer part of the temple, the bit your brother added to the original ruins, is made up of different material to the original."

"Therefore the new material will oscillate and disintegrate, while the original materials remain intact."

"That's the idea."

Kyrano watched as one tower collapsed and his furious brother turned to watch the destruction. The Hood was yelling something and he doubted that it was complimentary.

"We used to use it for removing unwanted rubble from situations where we didn't want the base framework to collapse on anyone trapped beneath," Scott explained as the crosshairs moved across the temple's roof to another tower. "I'm surprised it's still working. It wasn't a high priority on the checklist before Doomsday."

"We have a lot to thank Mister Brains for."

"We do that." Scott watched as The Hood, his fist still waving at his nemesis in the sky, disappeared inside his crumbling castle. "Keep a look out for where he re-emerges. I doubt he's crawled under his bed to cry for his mama."

Scott was right. When he reappeared The Hood was carrying something that looked like a cross between an obscenely big gun and a cannon. His injured arm made it difficult to hold and he ordered Cockburn-Saint-John to kneel on the ground so his back could be used as a support. Then, squinting against the sun, he pointed the firearm in the approximate direction of Thunderbird One.

"Oh, no you don't," Scott told him and the crosshairs were redirected to the weapon. There was a frightening moment when nothing seemed to be happening before The Hood fell back, dropping the gun, which seemed to ooze more than fall to the ground. Once again he shook his fist at his unseen enemy before making an unexpected grab at his nether regions.

Kyrano permitted himself a quiet chuckle at his half-brother's predicament. The buckle of The Hood's belt had been made of the same material as the gun and, like the gun, had disintegrated. He watched as his sibling scrambled to retrieve his pants from around his ankles.

So caught up was he with this sight that he almost missed Cockburn-Saint-John's transformation. The aristocrat had picked himself off the ground and stood there, staring at something in his hand. It took a moment for Kyrano to realise that Lord Ralph was holding the remains of the spectacles that The Hood had used to hold him in the hypnotic trance. It appeared that the glasses had been made of the same material as the weapon and the belt buckle and, like the former, had melted.

"Let's finish the job and get out of here." Scott redirected the crosshairs back to the top of the temple.

As the remaining towers collapsed in a cloud of dust, Cockburn-Saint-John fled in fear to the relative sanctuary of the rainforest. Then he seemed to remember that this was a real jungle and not Kew Gardens and reversed his course, stopping in the middle of no man's land. Deciding that in this confusing environment it was safety in numbers, he took off after The Hood who, possessing more purpose and a better sense of direction, was running around the newly recreated ruins towards his concealed hangar.

"If you're planning on flying away from here," Scott told the fleeing villain, "then you've lucked out. We've got the Limosa... Which is too good a craft for someone like you," he added as an afterthought.

Kyrano watched as the final tower fell, punching a hole through what remained of the roof. He felt a sense of release, as if his invisible burden had been released.

"Okay, Kyrano." Scott pushed forward on the twin levers and Thunderbird One gained height. "Time to move out."

"I am pleased to hear this," Kyrano admitted. "My body is ready for my bed."

"I'm not surprised. But you're going to have to take part in the debriefing first. Tin-Tin's debriefing."

"My daughter will be most anxious to hear of our activities."

"Yep. And will probably make my life miserable for letting you get into a fight… Thunderbird One to Thunderbirds Two, Five and base. Heading for home."

"F-A-B, Scott," John acknowledged.

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

Thunderbirds One and Two, without Parker who'd stayed behind with the hospitalised Lady Penelope, returned to base without further incident. With the stresses of the last two days gone, the members of International Rescue were relieved to finally have the chance to rest.

"Tracy Three to Tracy Island. Requesting permission to land."

It was Gordon who was closest to his father's desk and so it was he who responded to Virgil's call. "Tracy Island to Tracy Three. Permission granted."

"My father," The change in voice told him that Tin-Tin had taken control of the radio. "Is he there?"

"He's here, Tin-Tin," Gordon responded. He glanced over to where Kyrano stood, his traditional robes hiding his bandaged leg and most of his bruises except for those on his face. "He's got a lot to tell you."

"Is he all right?"

"He's fine…"

"May I speake with him?"

Kyrano limped over to the desk. "May I?"

"Yep. Virgil's piloting. He can't be worried about his hearing this far out in the middle of nowhere."

Kyrano claimed the microphone. "Hello, my daughter."

"Father!" Everyone in the lounge could hear the relief in Tin-Tin's voice. "Are you all right?"

"I am well."

"Are you sure? Virgil told me you were in a fight."

"Do not worry about me."

"I do worry."

"I am aware of this. I shall explain to you soon what happened. Now we must allow Mister Virgil to land the aeroplane without interruption."

"Yes, Father."

Jeff negotiated his walker into the lounge. "Virgil and Tin-Tin signing in?"

"Yep," Gordon confirmed. "Tin-Tin's itching to hear all about it… I hope you've got your facts straight, Kyrano…" His eyes twinkled as he looked towards his bruised friend. "You're about to be interrogated."

Scott wandered into the room. "Did I hear Tracy Three?"

Gordon indicated the view through the windows down towards the runway. "And if you look down there you'll be able to hear _and_ see them..."

Forgoing many of the recognised procedures undertaken after landing an aeroplane, Tin-Tin and Virgil didn't waste any time leaving the craft and heading up to the lounge. No one had the opportunity to greet them before, with a relieved "Bapa!" and a wince of pain from Kyrano, Tin-Tin grabbed her father and held him tightly.

The others left them to their reunion.

"How's Penny?" Virgil asked.

"They were f-fearful that she had sustained damage to her tendons and nerves," Brains explained. "They're g-going to operate on her shoulder this evening..." He glanced at his watch. "In f-fact they should be doing it now. It's relatively non-invasive surgery and should leave minimal scarring. However they will keep her in for several days until the infection has passed."

"I'm surprised they're operating while she's got the infection."

"They do not wish to risk scar tissue inhibiting the use of the limb. When do you want me to replace your tympanic membrane patches?"

"Before we start the debriefing. I don't want to miss a word."

Gordon nodded over to where Tin-Tin was still hugging her father. "How'd she take it?"

"I took over piloting once we'd left American airspace and told her what happened." Virgil grimaced. "If I wasn't deaf before, I am now after the roasting she gave me for not telling her what was going on."

Kyrano was still locked in his daughter's embrace. One that, although he welcomed it, was causing him some discomfort. "Perhaps you and I can have a private conversation later, Tin-Tin? We have things we must discuss."

"Things?! That we must discuss?!" Tin-Tin released Kyrano and stepped back. "Did you discuss getting into a fight with a kidnapper?! A murderer!" She shook her finger at him. "What were you thinking, Father?!"

"He was my brother. Your uncle. I know him."

"Years ago! He tried to kill you! Twice!"

"Only..."

"Didn't you think about what you were doing?!"

"I thought..."

"You didn't think! What about me? Didn't you think about the stress I was going through and the effect it was having on my unborn child?! Your grandchild!"

"I did..."

"Did you consider that maybe it would like the chance to meet its grandfather?!"

"Of..."

"Don't you want to meet your grandchild?!"

Realising that he would have been wasting his time, Kyrano declined to attempt a response.

"What if that man had killed you?! And you!" Tin-Tin whirled around until she was facing Scott. "What _were_ you thinking, letting my father go into that temple alone?!"

"Whoa!" Scott held up his hands as a barrier against her onslaught, as everyone else took an instinctive step away from the secondary target of Tin-Tin's fury. "I wasn't in charge this time. Your father was the commander of that expedition. What he did was without authorisation from me or anyone else."

"Oh!" Tin-Tin huffed, spinning about again to glare at her father. "You!" And she burst into tears, hugging him as tightly as she had before.

"I know we all want to hear the full story," Jeff stated. "So why don't we all sit down and then we can start at the beginning."

"That is a good idea." Kyrano removed his daughter's arms from about his neck. "Come. Sit next to me, Tin-Tin..."

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

_Sunday November 5__th__ 2079 – early evening_

"May I join you, Mr Tracy?"

Jeff looked up from where he was sitting on the patio, a pitcher of juice on the table at his side, watching the gentle breeze ruffle the palm trees down on the beach. "Of course, Kyrano."

"Thank you," Kyrano placed his teacup onto the table, sank into a chair with a quiet groan, and lifted his sore leg onto another.

Jeff watched him. "We're a fine pair, aren't we? We're about as mobile as a plane with no wings."

Kyrano smiled. "You are pleased that Lady Penelope has been discharged by the hospital?"

"I'm pleased that she feels well enough to leave. I'm not happy that she chose to discharge herself. She'd only been in there for two days!"

"Lady Penelope is a woman with a strong personality. She would not take kindly to being ordered about by the nursing staff, even if it was for her own good."

Jeff chuckled. "True. Brains is going to have his work cut out for him."

"Plus, after being in the presence of evil, I am sure that she is glad to be back in the company of friends."

"Yes." Jeff cast a reflective gaze out over the scene before them. "The only good thing about this little episode is that it stopped me from worrying about Alan for a few hours…" He took a sip at his glass of juice and then stared at it. "I owe you an apology, Kyrano."

Kyrano's eyebrows dipped into a slight V. "An apology?"

"When I was listening to you talk to your brother, there was a moment, an _instant_, when I doubted you and your loyalty to International Rescue."

"And my loyalty to you?"

Jeff swirled the ice cubes in his drink. "Until John reminded me that the idea was ridiculous and I knew he was right."

"Mister John is an intelligent man."

"He is that." Jeff sighed and finally looked at his friend. "I'm sorry."

"I know." Kyrano smiled his quiet smile. "And I understand. There is much that I did not tell you that perhaps I should have. The fault rests with me."

"We should share the load." Jeff returned the smile. "Thank you, my friend." He saw someone walk into the lounge. "Parker!"

Parker came to the patio doors. "Yes, Mr Tracy?"

"Grab a drink and come and join us."

Parker appeared surprised at the invitation. "Me, Mr Tracy?"

"Yes. Get yourself something and have a seat. After all, you're a member of the _Not Over The Hill_ club too."

"Oh… Erm…. Thank you, Sir." Unsure what to make of this, Parker helped himself to a beverage and joined the other two men on the patio; placing his chair so that he was a part of the group, while still keeping a respectful distance.

Jeff smiled at him. "Good. You deserve a break… How's Penny?"

"Restin'. She's a bit sore, which h-is h-understandable." Parker poured his drink into his glass. "Not that she's complainin'."

"The ol' British stiff upper lip, huh?"

"Yes, Sir. Miss Tin-Tin said she'd sit with 'er for a bit, so H-I thought H-I'd get some fresh h-air. H-I don't like 'ospitals much. Too stuffy."

"I can understand that," Jeff agreed. "You deserve a vacation. Let the boys wait on her for a few days. It won't hurt them. They haven't got much else to do now."

"Thank you, Mr Tracy," Parker said, a little nonplussed. "Erm… Mr Tracy…? What was h-it you said I was a member h-off?"

"The _Not Over The Hill_ club."

"Oh…" Parker still looked confused. He was beginning to wonder what precisely was in Jeff's pitcher. "The what?"

Kyrano shifted in his seat so he was looking at his friend. "I too was wondering what you meant."

"The _Not Over The Hill_ club," Jeff explained. "We've proven that none of us are over the hill. Land out of control planes; fight the bad guys; save damsels in distress; it's all in a day's work for a member of the _Not Over The Hill_ club."

Kyrano sipped his tea, holding his delicate cup with both hands and grimacing slightly as he lowered his arms. "I do not believe that my body agrees with you, Mr Tracy. It has been a while since it has competed against such an adversary."

"I don't say that it's easy, just that we're still capable of doing the things we did."

"Capable, but at an age when, perhaps, we should know better?"

Jeff grinned. "Most likely."

"Listen to 'im!" Parker chortled. "'You're a proper caution, Mister Kyrano. We wouldn't think that butter would melt h-in your mouth h-and then you challenge a master crim to a duel. Seein' you h-in h-action was like watchin' one h-of them h-old Kung Fu movies. H-Only with better lip synchin'."

Kyrano looked abashed by the praise. "You needed a diversion, Mister Parker. Therefore I created a diversion for you."

"Bloomin' h-effective h-it was too, me h-old China."

Now it was Kyrano's turn to appear confused. "But I am from Malaysia."

"No. H-It's Cockney rhymin' slang. China plate – mate. I was sayin' you was h-effective, me h-old ma..." Parker saw Kyrano's quiet smile as Jeff laughed. "You're teasin' me?"

"I am sorry, Mister Parker, but I am well aware of the phrase. One of my fellow gardeners at Kew was a Cockney. He had great pleasure in teaching me a selection of his slang. He would quote one and I had to guess his meaning."

"Oh, yeah?" Parker's eyes twinkled. "H-Apples and pears."

Jeff chuckled. "Even I could get that one."

"Stairs," Kyrano stated.

Parker moved his chair closer to the table. "Tea leaf."

"Something I am sure you have not been called for many years, Mister Parker. Thief." There was an almost never before seen impish gleam in his eyes as Kyrano sipped from his cup. "I also take it that you are not Listerine."

Jeff managed not to look puzzled as Parker roared out a laugh. "H-I'm not that, Mister Kyrano," he spluttered between chortles. "H-and H-I'm sure you h-ain't neither."

"No." Kyrano picked up his cup again, and looked into it. "I appear to have finished my Rosie Lee."

"_That_ I understand." Jeff had started getting the feeling that they were on a tour through some foreign land and was glad that they were finally back on home soil. "I'll ask one of the boys to get you some more."

As Kyrano waited for a fresh cup of tea he sat back, ignoring his muscles' twinges. "Permit me to ask you, Mister Parker, are you a true Cockney? Were you born within the sounds of the bells of St Mary-le-Bow?"

"H-I h-am. Least H-I would 'ave been h-if they could've been 'eard over the sounds h-of the traffic and me mam's screams." Parker chuckled.

Gordon arrived, carrying a teapot. "There y'go, Kyrano."

"Tom Hanks, Mister Gordon."

Gordon looked bewildered as both his father and Parker burst out laughing. "Uh... Right... Anyone else need anything?"

Parker shook his head as Jeff said "No. Thank you, Son."

With several confused glances over his shoulder, Gordon returned to the house.

Jeff refilled his glass from his pitcher and gazed out over his island. "It's hard to believe that not too long ago we thought that there was a strong possibility that every person on the planet would die today."

"It is thanks to your sons that we no longer have the threat of Doomsday hanging over our heads," Kyrano said.

"Not only them," Jeff corrected. "It was a team effort." He raised his glass high. "Here's to the _Not Over The Hill_ club. Long may we continue to do what we do best." He toasted his two companions. "Mister Kyrano… Mister Parker."

They raised their own drinks in salute. "Mister Tracy."

_To be continued..._

_Listerine: Septic tank = yank. Listerine = someone who is "anti-septic" i.e. anti-American. Thank you, Stephen Fry and Qi._


	51. Chapter 51 - Jovian Greeting

_As I'm going to be away for two weeks with limited Internet coverage (Thunderbird Five isn't talking to me), I thought I'd make up for it by forgetting about my usual Tuesday and Friday postings this week, and giving you an extra chapter. I will try and upload while I'm away, but don't be surprised if it happens on odd days._

:-) _Purupuss_

* * *

**Chapter 51: Jovian Greeting**

Alan Tracy, sitting in the centre of his universe at Thunderbird Three's control panel, studied the various screens and readouts around him.

Time to do what he'd travelled so far and so long for.

A video screen showed him asteroid 2070SB. Arnie filled the viewfinder, blocking out the even more impressive and intimidating image of Jupiter.

He knew that he could be wasting his time. The calendar programmed to follow the Earth's rotations about its axis told him that if his brothers hadn't succeeded in saving the Earth from Doomsday, then what he was about to do was probably redundant.

But still he had to do it in case it was vital to the survival of the planet he knew as home.

He had trained Thunderbird Three's telescope back towards planet Earth receding into the distance, and had been relieved to see that the globe was still revolving around the sun, but space and cloud cover told him nothing of the condition that his planet was now in.

Pushing aside any negative thoughts about what might, or might not, have happened, and trying not to let his mind wander into the unknown, Alan focused on the task ahead of him.

1) Affix the rocket booster to Arnie.

2) Move clear.

3) Fire the rocket.

4) Use the remote control to steer the astronomical lump of rock away from Earth and into Jupiter's gravitational pull, or else Jupiter itself.

5) Head for home.

Piece of cake. He done this many times before.

In computer simulations.

As his spaceship had drawn closer and closer to its target, it had regularly taken various types of photographs and scans of the asteroid. Each had revealed more detail about Arnie's surface, structure, and strongest and weakest points. This data had been fed into both the main and simulations computers to try and compute the best angle of attack.

Every day, latterly twice or three times a day, Alan had run a simulation to practise what he was going to do when the moment finally arrived that he had to do it for real. In theory, all he would have to do was steer the ship as the computer did the donkey work. His main role was to keep an omnipotent watch over proceedings; ready to override any system should he see a flaw in the computer's logic.

This is what he'd practised day after day. Hour after hour…

He never knew what fishhooks the computer was going to set for him. Would this simulation be a straightforward event, with no dramas to test him? Or would there be a minor hitch? Nothing to worry about… So long as he kept his head and his cool. Or would it be a major? Something catastrophic like the rocket exploding while still inside Thunderbird Three, shearing off the nosecone and catapulting what remained of the spaceship into Jupiter…?

Alan had woken up in a cold sweat for several nights after that one.

But now he took a deep breath and entered the initiation code. The first step was to find the best place to position the rocket. A helpful set of crosshairs on the asteroid's image solved that problem and, with a deft touch to the control levers, he inched his space ship around until her nosecone was parallel with the asteroid and lined up precisely with the centre of the crosshairs. He'd practised this so often that the control levers almost felt like extensions to his arms and that his body and Thunderbird Three's body had become one as he inched her into place. A comforting beep told him when they were in position.

The second step involved entering another code and transferring the operation over to the computer. Placing and arming the rocket was an exacting process; one which couldn't be rushed, and this was why it was the computer's job to ensure that it would fire properly. It accepted the task with alacrity and he watched, maintaining his feather-light hold on the levers, as the hatch in the nosecone folded back. He felt a tremor run up his seat as a robotic arm stretched and flexed, before withdrawing the rocket from where it had resided for the previous eight weeks. The arm reached out to place the rocket into position...

"_Warning!"_ a harsh voice suddenly announced. _"Meteoroid shower off Particle Accelerator Three. Speed: 42 kilometres per second. Time until impact: Eighteen point five eight minutes. Angle of impact: 90 degrees. Estimated external damage upon impact: 32 percent. Estimated internal damage upon impact: variable. Estimated damage level after impact: critical."_

Alan had heard that voice often enough during various practise scenarios to not jump when he first heard it. That didn't stop a chill running down the length of his spine as his eyes flicked over the various instruments to discover just what that emotionless voice hadn't told him.

The meteoroid shower was a collection of small space rocks; probably the jetsam after one asteroid had crashed into another. He'd once heard someone say that Jupiter was a kind of "cosmic vacuum cleaner" with its enormous gravity sucking space debris into its orbit, preventing catastrophic collisions with the Solar System's inner planets such as Earth. It stood to reason that he'd run into some of those bits of rock attracted by the gas giant.

A pity Jupiter hadn't lured Arnie without his intervention, he thought.

He was relieved to see that the majority of meteoroids heading in his direction were grain-of-sand sized or smaller. If his craft was in flight mode, he wouldn't be under threat as Thunderbird Three's plasma shields were powerful enough to deflect the larger, coin-sized meteoroids in the shower.

What was concerning Alan was the open bay in Thunderbird Three's nose cone. As a result of its present task, this was totally unprotected by the plasma shield. Should any of the larger meteoroids plough into that hole in Thunderbird Three's fuselage, at the speed it was travelling it would punch a hole right through his craft.

Alan didn't panic. He had years of experience of quickly evaluating threats and the best way out of them, both in his former life with International Rescue and in his motor racing career. Eighteen minutes was plenty. All going well, the computer would deploy the rocket onto Arnie within seventeen minutes, leaving him one minute to make a hasty exit. The only other option was to abort the mission and risk damaging the rocket, the robotic arm, or Thunderbird Three.

He took a deep breath. "Keep cool, Alan."

With what seemed to be agonising slowness, the robotic arm continued to reach towards the asteroid.

"_Impact: fifteen minutes."_

The robotic arm was at full extension now. It paused, and then changed its mind, drawing the rocket closer to itself before stretching out towards the new optimum point.

"_Impact: eleven minutes."_

Alan could feel sweat beading on his upper lip and he quickly cuffed it away.

The computer finally decided that its robotic arm and, more importantly, the rocket were in the optimum position. The first of the bolts that were to hold the rocket in place was blasted into the surface of the asteroid.

"_Impact: ten minutes."_

The second bolt was fired into Arnie. Followed the by third, and finally the fourth.

The robotic arm retracted…

"_Impact: nine minutes."_

…but it hadn't finished its job. Reaching up to the tail of the rocket it hooked a 'finger' through a loop and pulled the entire tail section clear revealing the multi-directional jet units.

"_Impact: eight minutes."_

The removed section was carefully deposited back into the open bay for disposal back on Earth.

"_Impact: seven minutes."_

Now Alan was really starting to sweat. All of these precautions and all the steps that had been put into place to ensure that there was no chance of premature ignition of the rocket, were taking up precious time.

The robotic arm grasped a section around the circumference of the rocket and turned it clockwise.

That was the first stage of arming completed.

"_Impact: six minutes."_

Moving closer to the part of the rocket that was now attached to the deadly asteroid the robotic arm grasped another section; turning it anticlockwise.

Second stage of arming completed.

At its next announcement the automatic countdown seemed to have taken on an air of increased urgency. _"Impact: five minutes!"_

"Come on…" Alan muttered. "Get on with it!"

The robotic arm had shifted its attention to the middle of the rocket. Another section was rotated.

The explosive fluids that would provide the thrust to move Asteroid 2070SB out of its present orbit were now mixing together; ready to react with one another. But in order to stop them from turning into a useless slush in the cold of space, they were going to have to be stirred in a continuous motion.

"_Impact: four minutes!"_

A panel was opened in the rocket and a button pushed before the panel was sealed again. Now the fuels were being mixed together and the stir would continue until the rocket's life was over. If they'd had more development time Brains would have made the stir automatic once the fuels were combined, but instead he'd opted for the slower, but just as effective mechanical start to the process.

"_Impact: one point five minutes!"_

"What!" Alan jumped at the announcement. Time seemed to have moved up a gear. Something, maybe even Arnie's weak gravitational pull, had increased the meteoroid shower's velocity. A glance at the computer screen appeared to confirm this when he realised that the meteoroids' trajectory had been deflected towards the asteroid. This wasn't necessarily good. The combined force of impact, even from such minuscule particles, could counteract the rocket's thrust… That was if the rocket wasn't damaged by the meteoroids' assault and rendered useless.

And, if anything, Thunderbird Three with her open cargo bay was now even more vulnerable.

"_Impact: T minus sixty seconds!"_

But after all the preparations the rocket was armed and ready to fire. Seeming to be unaware of the impatient human inside the spaceship that was its brain, the robotic arm meandered to the jet unit at the tail, reached inside and pressed another button.

A light glowed on Alan's computer and he sat up straighter, his hands ready to tighten their grip on the control sticks and get him out of there. Soon it would be his turn to take control.

"_Impact: T minus thirty seconds!"_

Moving languidly, the robotic arm made sure it was well clear of its handiwork before folding itself up and retracting back into its storage bay.

"_Impact: T minus fifteen seconds!"_

A green light glowed on the console. The robotic arm was packed away. Now it was down to Alan. He had to get Thunderbird Three clear of Arnie; but he had to do it without damaging or dislodging the carefully positioned rocket.

"_Impact: T minus ten seconds!"_

He couldn't rely on gravity or any other external forces to get him clear. It was down to him and him alone. He punched the button that would shut the bay door…

"_Nine seconds…"_

Nudging one of the levers, two of Thunderbird Three's horizontal jets fired. She began a lethargic roll; rotating the unprotected bay out of harms way…

"_Eight seconds…"_

With the tiniest of touches to her rear jets, Alan encouraged the revolving Thunderbird Three forward...

"_Seven seconds…"_

The spaceship had made a quarter turn away from the converging menace, but her holding bay door was still closing. Despite this Alan couldn't risk increasing her velocity or speed of rotation; even to stop meteoroids from ramming into her interior. Not while he was still so close to the rocket that was designed to save Earth...

"_Six seconds…"_

A bit more power… A bit more speed… A green light on the console showing that the holding bay was locked and sealed… And he was clear!

"_Five seconds…"_

Now Alan was able to apply the power and fly Thunderbird Three out of the path of the meteoroids. "Fire rockets!"

"_Four…"_

Back on Arnie another chemical was released into the others being stirred. The resulting explosion was channelled back through the rear jets with a force that demanded that Newton's third law of motion be obeyed. Matter was forced in one direction, therefore the rocket had no option but to travel in the other, pushing asteroid 2070SB before it. By carefully increasing the rate of thrust on one side of the rocket and decreasing the thrust on the other, Alan was able to shift Arnie's angle so the astronomical rock became a shield to the unit that was propelling it.

"_Impact!"_

The meteoroids ploughed into the asteroid's unprotected surface, sending up an even more minute shower of harmless space dust.

Alan breathed a sigh of relief. That was one hazard averted. Time to do what he'd travelled so far to do.

With careful manipulation of the rocket's thrusters he set 2070SB back on course for its rendezvous with Jupiter's gravitational pull. Slowly at first and then with increasing speed, the asteroid left its path of destruction and moved out of harm's way. As he watched its progress on a monitor time seemed to speed up and it drew closer and closer to the gas giant before finally settling into orbit around the solar system's biggest planet.

"_Simulation complete. Diversion of asteroid: successful. Earth saved. Equipment damage: nil. Congratulations, Alan."_

"Thank you." Alan relaxed back into his seat. That had been one of the more stressful scenarios the computer had put him through and he was glad that it was over. Now he could take a moment to relax, mull over what he'd just experienced, and prepare for next time.

He still had about three weeks to go before he'd be doing it for real.

-F-A-B-

_Thursday November 9__th__ 2079_

Standing at Landing Control, Lady Penelope bid farewell to the departing aeroplane with a regal wave. Then she hesitated, contemplating her next move.

"What are you doing down here, Penny?"

Looking over her shoulder, Lady Penelope treated Jeff to a smile. "Bidding Commander Foveaux adieu."

"You could have done that up at the house," he scolded gently. "Commander Foveaux would have understood."

"I needed to stretch my legs."

"You're meant to be resting them. Honestly, Penny, you're worse than the boys were when they were injured on duty!"

Lady Penelope declined to comment. Instead she looked down at the aforementioned limbs and tried to work out how to encourage them to turn. Her dislocated right shoulder was bound tightly in a sling and her infected right ankle was still too weak to support her weight. To compensate, strapped to her torso, she wore a frame that offered her a degree of mobility. Operating a left-mounted lever moved an artificial 'leg' on her right side, but she was still getting used to trying to coordinate the movements of her left hand with the actions of that right crutch in such a way that allowed her to progress in the direction she had planned.

"Would you like someone to give you a hand?"

"No, thank you. I am sure that I am perfectly capable of returning to the villa without any assistance." With care and a delicate frown of concentration, Lady Penelope managed to negotiate a 90 degree turn.

"Are you sure?" Jeff queried as she attempted a second quarter turn. "I could page Brains."

"No, thank you, Jeff." Lady Penelope was of the opinion that Brains would rather not be involved. The engineer had stuttered and stammered his way through the installation of the frame and had turned apoplectic red as he'd strapped the harness about her waist.

"One of the boys won't mind helping."

"I do not need their assistance."

He persisted. "Or I can call Parker."

"Parker is enjoying a well earned rest."

"As you should be. The doctors told you to keep off that leg…"

Lady Penelope shuffled forward.

"…and Brains' second opinion confirmed their diagnosis!"

Lady Penelope ignored him as she "walked" her crutch leg over the lip of the monorail car.

Jeff, frustrated by the aristocratic snub, but knowing better than to continue with his protestations, followed her on board.

With another slight hesitation as she considered how to manipulate her various limbs, Lady Penelope sat down on one of the seats. "I do appreciate Brains creating this walking aid for me, but it is quite tiresome to have to rely on a metal frame for support."

"Tell me about it." Jeff patted his walker as he sat in the seat opposite. "Your debriefing didn't take very long."

"There was little I could tell Commander Foveaux. He asked me if I could describe my rescuers, but, sadly, due to being unconscious during my liberation, I was unable to furnish him with any information. I believe that he wished to honour them with a reward."

"It's a shame you don't know who they were," Jeff grinned as he pressed the button that started the monorail moving towards the villa. "I'm of a mind to offer them a reward myself."

Lady Penelope gave her walking frame a nudge to stop it from digging into her ribs. "I believe Briney was quite pleased that my good friends the Tracys are willing to care for me during my rehabilitation."

"Glad to be of service. Any word on your kidnappers?"

"Ralph was detained at Kuala Lumpur airport. He was stopped by immigration, trying to board a flight from Malaysia to England without a valid passport. I have been informed that he is quite put out to discover that a member of the English aristocracy is bound by the same laws as every other citizen on the planet and that the Malaysian authorities have no qualms about holding him in accommodation quite beneath his social standing."

"Did The Firm arrange his detention?"

"The Firm have requested that their Malaysian associates hold him until they can discover evidence of his involvement in the kidnapping of one of their operatives."

"Fair enough," Jeff grunted. "What about Kyrano's brother?"

"He, sadly, has vanished without a trace."

"From what we know about the guy, they'll never catch him. Nothing seems to stop him."

"Unfortunately," Lady Penelope agreed.

"What'll they do to Ralph?"

"The decision has yet to be made," Lady Penelope told him. "I assume that Ralph will be returned to England. He will be granted bail, for I doubt that he is a flight risk. However…" she gazed over Jeff's shoulder with a reflective expression, "I have been wrong about him before."

"You were right about him, Penny. He simply was a tool manipulated by someone cleverer and with less scruples than him."

Lady Penelope sighed. "I almost feel sorry for him. He did save my life."

"Just shows you that he's not all bad, and that you're all good." Jeff felt sorry for her. "Don't forget that you're welcome to stay as long as you like."

She treated him to a gracious smile. "I know, Jeff. Thank you."

"It'll give you a chance to get some colour back in your cheeks. I'm not used to seeing you without your peaches and cream complexion."

"You flatter me."

"And you worry me…" The monorail stopped and Jeff levered himself to his feet. "Let me get someone to help you."

"Jeff..."

"Penny! Whether you are willing to admit it or not, you are not well! Now, let me get someone to help you!"

"Mr Tracy!" Lady Penelope found her way to her feet and gave him a look that would have had most mere mortals cowering. "I am not helpless! Please do not expect me to repeat the lecture that I gave you over your treatment of Tin-Tin!"

Unfazed by the look, Jeff stood his ground. "It wouldn't work this time. Tin-Tin is pregnant, and that, as you rightly said, is a natural state of affairs. However there is nothing natural about someone trying to twist your arm off!" Ignoring his guest he spoke into his watch. "Kyrano. Do you know where Parker is?"

"_He is with me, Mr Tracy."_

"Good. We're in the monorail: station 1B. Lady Penelope would appreciate his assistance."

"Jeff!"

"_Mister Parker has said to tell you that he is on his way."_

"Thank you, Kyrano." Ignoring Lady Penelope's admonition, Jeff lowered his arm. "Sorry about this, Penny. Like I said you are welcome to stay as long as you wish, but as long as you are here, I insist that you abide by my rules. And those rules are that, until such time as Brains gives you the all clear, you are to take it easy and allow us to assist you when necessary."

"You are treating me as much a prisoner as Ralph and that... that man!"

"Penny…"

Lady Penelope reigned in her temper. "I am sorry, Jeff. That was uncalled for. Please forgive me."

"I understand." While they waited for Parker's arrival, Jeff sought to turn the conversation to less controversial topics. "Is Commander Foveaux an old friend?"

"I have known him for years. Since before I first worked for International Rescue."

"He could have stayed longer if you wished. It's not as if we're on standby for any rescues."

"Briney had to return to The Firm on urgent business. I have offered him my resignation and he must reassign all my cases and find someone to replace me."

Jeff stared at her. "You've resigned? But why?"

"Because of The Firm's unwillingness to trust Parker and supply him with the necessary tools, I could have died: either through the Hood's actions or because of them."

"But Penny?" Jeff regarded her with a concerned frown. "What will you do? I can't imagine you sitting around all day knitting."

"The doctor has informed me that my shoulder will take some time to heal, and there is little that I can do during that time. Also I am confident that a more rewarding role will be offered to me in the near future."

Jeff looked confused. "You are?"

Lady Penelope smiled an enigmatic smile. "Yes, Jeff. I am."

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

Gordon, having received word that he had a phone call to make, retired to his bedroom. Once there he dialled a number. "Could I speak to Crawford, please," he asked when his call was answered.

"Of course, Mr Tracy."

After a short delay, Gordon was face-to-face with his solicitor.

"Thank you for calling me back, Gordon," Crawford began. "I hope you have recovered from your illness."

"I'm fine, thanks." The truth was that Gordon was feeling the best he'd done in weeks. "Do you have news about my divorce?"

Crawford hesitated. "I have received a communication from your wife."

"Marina? But she's been ordered to keep away from me."

"I believe that is why the…" Crawford hesitated again, evaluating his response for the pros, cons, positives and pitfalls, just as he did with every other legal situation, "communication was directed to your legal representation… and not despatched direct to you."

Gordon had to admit to being a little curious. "What does she say?"

"She has... requested… an attempt at reconciliation."

"What?!"

"She states in her letter… And I quote… _I know that worrying about doomsday affected both me and Gordon. Now that doomsday has past_…" Crawford paused, his lips pursed in disapproval at the use of the wrong word, "_I would like to start our relationship again…_ She then requests that I arrange a meeting between… the pair of you."

"Nope," Gordon stated. "No way. I'm not interested."

"Is that your… final word?"

"That's my final word. Tell her I still want the divorce."

"I shall." Crawford nodded. "In light of your decision… I assume… that you would like to see some of the evidence that the private investigator has… produced against her?"

"He has some?"

"The private investigator has photographs… taken recently… of your wife… and an individual whom we have ascertained goes by the name of…" Crawford checked his notes to ensure that he had his facts right, "Rory Braithwaite… Does his name mean anything to you?"

"Rory Braithwaite?" Gordon repeated. "No… Wait a minute! I do remember Marina saying that she turned to a 'Rory' for comfort when I left her. I'd never heard his name prior to that."

"Do you wish to see the photographs to see if you recognise this… gentleman?"

Gordon had no complaints about seeing a few photos. "Sure."

The first picture was flashed up on screen. It was of Marina and another man; skinny, sallow-skinned, dark hair, and hard features; almost in every respect the antithesis of Gordon. The couple appeared to be sitting at a table at an outdoor café having a conversation.

"Is that him?"

"I believe so," Crawford said with his inevitable caution.

"When was this taken?"

"I was informed that it was yesterday." The notes were checked again. "11:46am."

Gordon studied the picture. It appeared to have been taken at a distance and with a telephoto lens. It was followed by a second, similar photo. The third photo was close to a carbon copy of the first two and Gordon guessed that the photographer had taken a series of shots in rapid succession. In all three Marina looked happy and her eyes were fixed on 'Rory' with something that could have been interpreted as adoration. 'Rory' seemed more interested in his coffee.

In the fourth photo Marina had raised her hand and the fifth had her caressing 'Rory's' face. The sixth showed him pulling her hand away with a scowl and a furtive glance about as if he was scared that they were being observed. Marina looked disappointed and hurt.

Gordon watched this montage of pictures parading by and wondered at his reaction. He was feeling no sadness for the loss of a relationship past, nor anger at the dismissal of future happiness. What he did feel was disquiet at the voyeuristic way that the photographer had intruded into a private moment of a couple; even if one half of that couple was supposed to be loyal to him till death they did part.

But most of all he felt complete and utter apathy towards the woman that he'd married. "This can't be used as evidence of Marina's infidelity against me while we were together, can it?"

"No… But now that we have these photos and the name of this," Crawford rechecked his notes, "Rory Braithwaite… we can look back into the time that you were together and… search out that evidence."

"Is there any point?" Gordon asked. "If I'm honest I don't care anymore. I just want the divorce settled and her out of my life. Is there any point bringing up past misdemeanours? If she's happy with this other guy, let her be happy. I'll cut her free with no strings attached."

"May I suggest caution?" Crawford's tone was begging for it. "Prior to today's communication your… former wife had requested a… rather large settlement."

"Not so large that I'm going to be a pauper though, is it?"

"No…"

"It's only money and she had to put up with me and my moods when we were together, so I'll agree to her terms. My only stipulation is that I keep the houseboat and she removes the 'improvements' that she made to it."

"The investigator that I have retained is… convinced that he will find evidence of further…" Crawford took longer than usual to seek out the right word, "infidelities."

"Leaving me looking like an idiot for not being aware of what was happening beneath my nose. Look, why make it difficult for both Marina and me and put us through public humiliation? Agree to her terms and let's get it all over and done with. What's that stock phrase they use? Irreconcilable differences?"

"Do you have a need for a swift settlement?"

Gordon seemed a little confused by the question. "A _need_? No."

"You have no legal requirement to be legally single?"

"No… Why?"

"You have no plans to remarry?"

"No. I'll have to find someone first."

"Gordon…" The lawyer was almost panicking, evidenced by his lack of contemplation of his words. "In that case my advice to you is to not make this decision now. Remember that she has asked for reconciliation, yet we have evidence of further infidelities."

Gordon had to admit that this was a fair comment.

"Any settlement will take time to be processed. Now that we no longer have to fear Doomsday the courts are full to overflowing and their backlog is likely to last for months."

Gordon evaluated the statement.

"All I ask is that you do not make a final decision until your case is ready to be processed and that you continue to permit me to make further enquiries into your former wife's activities as I see fit; just as I have for the previous four months."

Gordon considered the compromise. "And if, when the courts are free enough to process the divorce, I still don't want to put up any barriers, you'll process it without a fuss?"

Crawford seemed almost relieved. "If that is your instruction at that future date… Yes."

"All right then, I'll agree to your terms."

The solicitor appeared relieved. "Thank you, Gordon. I am sure you will not regret this."

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

_10:15pm Tracy Island time_

Tin-Tin stood on the patio, a tablet PC in her hands, looking upwards towards the multitude of tiny lights in the sky. Then she looked down at the computer, trying to make sense of what it was telling her.

She gave up and turned on the videophone function. A moment later her brother-in-law's face was revealed to her. "Hiya, Honey. What can I do for you?"

"Where is Jupiter, John?"

He frowned. "Jupiter?"

"Can I see it from here? Is it in the sky above Tracy Island?"

"Uh, yes it is."

"I've been looking for it and I can't find it. This computer is useless."

"Why?"

She made an irritated sound. "I want to know where Alan is!"

"Oh…" Now John understood. "Sorry… Let's see… You know what Crux looks like, don't you?"

"The Southern Cross? Yes. And Alpha and Beta Centauri."

"You mean the triple star Alpha Centauri A, Alpha Centauri B, also known as Rigel Kent along with Proxima Centauri in the constellation with Beta Centauri…"

"John!"

"Sorry. You know I'm a stickler for these things… We'll call them The Pointers, shall we?"

"Yes," Tin-Tin agreed. "Lets."

"Okay, Crux..."

"You mean the Stingray," she interrupted.

John was surprised and confused by the interruption. "The what?"

"Buruj Pari: the Stingray. It's what the Malaysian people call the Southern Cross."

He chuckled. "Touché. That constellation is almost due south at the moment; about five to ten degrees above the horizon."

"I've found it," she admitted.

"Good. Do a quarter turn to the west..."

Tin-Tin turned right as she'd been instructed. "I've done it."

"Good," John repeated. "Now, at about twenty degrees above the horizon..."

"How do I work out how many degrees is twenty?"

"Make a fist, hold it out at arm's length, and position the bottom of it so it's on the horizon," John suggested. "The top is roughly five degrees..."

"Palm down or sideways."

"Sideways... Make sure your thumb is lying next to your fist and not on top. That adds an extra two degrees."

"So four fists, one on top of the other, would be 20 degrees?"

"Roughly... Now, turn back east an azimuth of..."

"A what?"

"Bearing." John kept his cool. "Turn to your left about fifteen degrees."

"Is that three fists palm downwards?"

John grinned. "You've got it."

Tin-Tin placed the tablet on a table, measured along three fists, up four and squinted along her arm.

"See anything?"

She sighed and picked up the tablet again. "Lots of little lights. If only there was an arrow saying _This is Jupiter!_"

"Okay, try this," John suggested. "Where are you?"

"On the patio."

"Are the lounge lights on?"

"Yes."

"Is anyone using them?"

"No. Everyone has retired to their rooms."

"Can you turn them off and still find your way back to the patio?"

Tin-Tin huffed to herself. "John…!"

"I don't want you tripping over something and hurting yourself, that's all."

Tin-Tin did as she was told and then returned to her vantage point on the patio, using the light from the tablet as a torch. "I can see the stars much clearer now."

John grunted, wondering why anyone would try to view the night sky in the presence of light pollution. "Turn on the rear camera, point the tablet to the vicinity of where we were just looking, and take a photo."

"Then do you want me to send it to you?"

"Yes, please."

The monochromatic picture was duly sent. "Have you got it, John?"

"Got it. I'm just checking that I'm looking at the right object. Things look different from up here… There…" A circle around a bright dot appeared on the screen. "Have you got it?"

Tin-Tin held the tablet to the heavens and compared what she was seeing with the photograph. "I can see Jupiter now, John. Thank you."

"Any time, Honey. Give my best to Alan."

Tin-Tin turned off the tablet, placed it on a table, and allowed the dark night to envelope her.

She was still standing there, gazing towards that faint light, when her father found her ten minutes later. "What are you doing, Tin-Tin? It is late. You should be in bed."

"I am not tired," she admitted. Then she pointed up to the sky and showed him the tablet. "See that star?"

"It is special?" her father enquired.

"It is not a star. It is Jupiter."

Kyrano understood. "You miss your husband."

"Yes. I wish that I knew that Alan was all right."

Kyrano took his daughter's hand. "Believe that he will return to you unharmed, Tin-Tin, and he will do so," he stated.

Tin-Tin looked at him. "Do you really believe that?"

He caressed her face. "I know that. Just as I know that he would want you to take care of yourself and your baby so that when he returns the three of you will be a family."

She took the hand caressing her cheek and held it. "Thank you, Bapa. Thank you for always being here for me."

"That is my duty as your father. Now…" Kyrano looked up into the sky. "Shall we bid him a good night together?"

Tin-Tin turned back to the planet. "Good night, Alan," she called. "I miss you." She blew a kiss to that dot in the sky.

Kyrano gave a little bow in the same direction. "Be safe, Mister Alan. Know that you are not forgotten… Come, Tin-Tin. It is time for bed." He extended his arm and guided his daughter back into the lounge.

_To be continued…_


	52. Chapter 52 - Arnie

**Chapter 52: Arnie**

_Two weeks later_

_Tuesday, 14__th__ November 2079_

"Happy birthday, Brains." John Tracy smiled at his friend from out of the video screen.

"What?" For a moment it seemed as if Brains had forgotten the date. "Oh. Thank you."

"It's been ages since we talked, so I thought I'd call you up for a chat and see how you were."

"I am quite well, thank you, er, John." Brains ran his eyes over his latest project and shifted a piece away from the camera. "And I have been, er, busy."

"Busy? Today of all days I thought you'd have been taking a rest. After all those hours you put in to getting the ACGs and the asteroid deflector rocket ready you deserve a break."

"You know me. I like to keep working on my p-projects." Brains moved a piece of silver foil.

"I know," John sighed, wishing he had more to keep him occupied. "Anything I can help you with?"

Brains picked up his screwdriver and studied it. "No. Thank you."

"Well, if you think of anything, let me know. It's been nearly two weeks since Doomsday was supposed to cause chaos and now that the excitement's over I've got nothing to do. I know I keep harping on about it, but I'd been looking forward to some time for myself. The only problem is I had envisaged using that time to do some work with my telescope."

Brains looked at him in sympathy. "You have other, er, telescopes, don't you?"

"Yes, but they're not as powerful. I had planned on keeping an eye on Alan, but now I have to rely on reports from other astronomers."

Now genuinely interested, Brains laid down his screwdriver. "What do they say?"

John managed a chuckle. "At first they thought Thunderbird Three was just a piece of space junk. Then, when they realised that it wasn't following the accepted laws of physics and was moving under its own power, there were whispers that maybe it was the first sign of extra-terrestrial life. That was until they realised where this UFO's destination was. Most of them have heard about asteroid 2070SB's collision path with Earth and now there is intense speculation that International Rescue is going to save the day once again. I'm nearly tempted to confirm it as the Space Monitor of Thunderbird Five, but I'm staying away from the speculation. To them I'm just John Tracy, enthusiastic amateur."

"I'm sure that your former c-colleagues think of you as more than that," Brains corrected. "You were top of your field."

"A decade ago," John corrected. "Now I'm just another space nut with his own substandard observatory… Albeit one with computer access to the best astronomical research on the planet."

"Are you going to be able to follow Thunderbird Three when Alan rendezvous' with 2070SB?"

"Not clearly. She's too small and will have a highly reflective planet overexposing the view. If there are any optical telescopes trained on that part of the sky when the action goes down, which, in light of the interest everyone has in it, is probable, I might ask one of my former colleagues if I can piggyback on their systems. But even their telescopes aren't as good as the one I had up here until Thunderbird Five saved my life; the atmosphere sees to that. All I'll be able to see is 2070SB changing its course, and maybe the flaring of your rocket... And that'll be half an hour after the event, thanks to the speed of light. We still won't know how Alan is until he's on the return journey and through the magnetosphere."

"Won't radio telescopes see more than optical ones?"

"They have their limitations."

"Well…" Brains thought. "Aren't there other satellites you can utilise?"

"They've all been programmed to study their own parts of the universe. No one's focussed on Jupiter."

"Bother," Brains said mildly. "As a part of this s-speculation, when do they expect, er, International Rescue to act?"

"Their calculations think Thunderbird Three will be arriving at asteroid 2070SB in two weeks time."

"Do you agree with them?"

"It's what we were aiming for."

"I notice that the W-World President hasn't told the world about 2070SB."

"No. After all that happened with Doomsday, I guess she doesn't want to start the panic all over again." John sighed. "I wish I had my own telescope."

Brains looked at his disconsolate friend. "Cheer up," he suggested. "You, er, might get a clearer view than you think."

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

_One and a half weeks later_

_Wednesday, 22 November 2079_

Alan rubbed his sweaty palms on his trousers. This was it. This was the day that he'd travelled all those millions of kilometres to reach. This wasn't a dream. This wasn't a simulation.

This

Was

It.

His own version of Doomsday. Get it wrong and it would be curtains for him and possibly planet Earth.

Get it right and he could turn for home.

If he still had a home.

He realised that his hands were sweaty again and wiped them a second time, reflecting that it had been a waste of time putting on a clean uniform for the occasion. He turned down the temperature in Thunderbird Three's cabin.

A video screen showed him asteroid 2070SB. Arnie filled the viewfinder, blocking out the even more impressive and intimidating image of Jupiter.

Only this wasn't a photograph. This wasn't a computer generated model. This was a live video feed. That was a two kilometre diameter asteroid only metres away from what seemed to be a tiny spaceship.

Trying to save the material of his trousers, Alan got a cloth to wipe his hands on.

He took a deep breath and entered the initiation code. The familiar set of crosshairs appeared on the asteroid's image and, with a deft touch to the control levers, he inched his spaceship around until she was lined up precisely with their centre. A comforting beep told him when they were in position.

Now he entered the second code and transferred the operation over to the computer. Maintaining his feather-light hold on the levers, he watched as the hatch in the nosecone folded back and felt the tremor run through his craft as the robotic arm stretched, flexed, and withdrew the rocket from where it had resided for the previous eight weeks. It reached out to position the rocket right where it was supposed to go...

Alan watched the computer's readouts as they told him that each of the bolts had been blasted into Arnie to adhere the rocket to the asteroid. Then the robotic arm went through its paces, just as it had almost every other time in the simulations. It removed the tail section, exposing the jet units, and deposited the section in Thunderbird Three's open bay for disposal back on Earth. One... Two... Three locking-rings were rotated until the fuels were intermingling. The button was pressed and the stir began. The robotic arm retracted back into the bay and the door behind it closed. The green light on Alan's console showed that it had been sealed against the harsh environment of space.

Taking care not to undo all of the robot's good work, and with thoughts of what happened to his family at Yelcho, Alan moved Thunderbird Three clear until she was well beyond the range of the explosive chemicals in the rocket.

All was ready. Time to see if he'd achieved what he'd set out to do two months earlier on the 25th of September. With another deep breath and after wiping his hands on the cloth once again, Alan felt the fingers of his right hand close around the control stick that he would use to steer Arnie towards Jupiter. "Fire rocket!"

The rocket fired.

Arnie reacted to the shock of the forces applied by revealing its weaknesses. A crack sheered along the line of the left-hand bolts that had been rammed into the rocky surface. A crack that was deepening...

Lengthening...

Widening…

At first Alan was unaware of what was happening. As he'd done so many times before he applied more thrust, adjusting the angle of the jets so that they were pushing Arnie away from Earth and towards Jupiter….

…And pushing a fragment of rock away from the main body of the asteroid.

If Alan and Thunderbird Three hadn't been in the so-called vacuum of space, he would have probably heard an almighty crack as asteroid 2070SB broke into two. The smaller fragment, following the course set by Alan's carefully deployed rocket, headed in the general direction of the giant neighbouring planet, while the larger body continued on its original path uninterrupted.

"NO!" Stuck for anything productive that he could do, Alan slammed his fist against the control panel. Something beeped its annoyance, but he ignored it. "No, no, no, no, NO!"

He had failed. Arnie had been split into pieces and the biggest section, he estimated about 90 per cent of the original asteroid, was still on a heading for Earth. There was always a chance that it had been nudged into a slightly different trajectory, but that could either mean that it would harmlessly pass the planet on this orbit or else ensure Earth's total destruction.

He slumped in his seat; his head in his hands.

He had failed.

He'd flown all this way and for all this time and all for nothing. He'd failed the people of the Earth; he'd failed International Rescue; he'd failed his family…

He'd failed his unborn child…

No. He sat up straight. He wouldn't fail: not without a fight. There must be something else that he could do to divert that giant rock from targeting Planet Earth, but he knew he was limited in the tools he had available to him.

"Think, Alan, think!"

Alan thought.

_Reuse the original rocket?_

That was already out of reach and being sucked further and further away by Jupiter's gravitational pull.

_Use another form of propulsion?_

He didn't have another. Plus the robotic arm in Thunderbird Three's holding bay was designed for one deployment and that had been completed.

_Spacewalk? _

What would that achieve? Even if he had some explosive that would work in the hostile environment outside, donning a spacesuit and working out there was too dangerous to contemplate without support from inside his spaceship. It would have been dangerous even if he had backup.

_What else have I got?_

_Thunderbird Three?_

But what could she do? She was only a transporter; a shuttle designed for flights between Earth, Thunderbird Five and those in need of her help. Most space rescues had used the payload that she carried, not the actual spacecraft. Her nosecone was designed for aerodynamics; to allow her to cut through the atmosphere upon re-entry while minimising the build-up of heat in the craft. She wasn't designed to act as a battering ram for a planetoid-sized hunk of space rock.

Besides, was 20 million newtons of thrust enough to cause a two kilometre diameter asteroid to disobey Newton's First Law of Motion: that a body in motion would to stay in motion?

What if he didn't use her fuselage, but her power source? Newton's Third Law of Motion stated that for every action there was an equal and opposite reaction. That meant that when Thunderbird Three fired her thrusters in space the forces caused by the gases exploding backwards had the equal and opposite reaction of pushing the spaceship forward.

So, what if Thunderbird Three were to 'sit' on the surface of Arnie and fire her forward-facing retros? Would that be enough power to push the asteroid backwards into a more favourable trajectory? Or if he were to fire her retros _and_ her thrusters, so that she was giving out equal power fore and aft, in effect locking her in place, would the more powerful force of her thrusters push Arnie away from the spaceship and towards Jupiter?

Alan knew there were major flaws in both ideas, aside from the fact that they might not work.

Oxygen…

And fuel.

Together these elements were used for launching, landing and course corrections. He only had a limited amount of either and that had to get him back to Earth.

When Thunderbird Three was originally designed, mankind was only just starting to venture back out into space. Accordingly International Rescue's spaceship had been designed to work within the current technology's limits. In other words she could easily sustain rescues to satellites, the Moon, Mars, and even distances as far away as the Sun, but there had been no indication that she'd ever need to travel as far as Jupiter. If Space Scientists had started making murmurings about sending manned flights that distance, Thunderbird Three would have been upgraded accordingly, but last time International Rescue had been in action, there'd been no need to take such mammoth journeys.

This was why Alan had been so intent on conserving his resources. Thunderbird Three's engines were nuclear, but she still used chemical rockets to create the explosions needed for major acceleration and course changes. Those explosions created fire and fire needed oxygen to burn.

Out of necessity Thunderbird Three was made up of a series of closed systems, including one for life-support and another for rocket propulsion. Any by-products of day-to-day life on-board, such carbon dioxide, carbon monoxide, and waste water were filtered, scrubbed and broken down into their constituent parts before being stored ready for reuse. This ensured that the spaceship had a never-ending source of clean water and oxygen available for preservation of life, and for motive power.

Both life-support and propulsion were kept separate, but, as a safeguard, they were connected. It seemed foolhardy to have two similar vital systems that were able to support each other, and yet not be able to tap into one should the other fail. In other words, if Alan used all of the chemical rockets' oxygen now, then he'd still be able to use that which was earmarked for keeping him alive to give him momentum. But if he used a portion of his breathable oxygen to assist in completing his mission, then there was every chance that he wouldn't have enough to sustain him through the two-month return journey.

As things stood, he would have no problem returning home, but shifting Arnie carried the probability that he would sap that finite resource. The best worst he could imagine was that he could make his way back to Thunderbird Five, but then he and John would be trapped and unable to return to Earth.

The worst worst was that he'd never make it back at all.

Alan wished that John was here with him, or at least able to be contacted by the radio. He would have valued his older brother's knowledge, experience, and scientific brain. Instead he fired up the computer and started researching and calculating, hoping that the memory banks and his own intelligence would lead him to the solution.

After a couple of hours mental labour he'd come up with a plan. He would in effect launch Thunderbird Three off Arnie. By firing the retros to hold his ship steady so all her energy was forced downwards he hoped that the blast would push that giant rock towards Jupiter. This would mean the expenditure of vast amounts of fuel, but he'd calculated (correctly he hoped), that he would still have enough in reserve for all necessary manoeuvres on his return to Earth.

This plan also meant that before he'd finished Thunderbird Three would be starting to battle against Jupiter's gravitational force.

_Use the force, Alan._

As far back as the earliest space missions to the moon many of the spacecraft had used what was known as free-return trajectory. "Free", because no fuel needed to be expended during the manoeuvre. Put simply, the spaceship used the moon's gravitational pull to whip the craft around the dark side of the satellite before 'slingshotting' it back to Earth. The most famous example of such a circumlunar trajectory was during the ill-fated Apollo 13 mission, where the three astronauts' lives were saved by this longer, but more fuel-efficient, trip around the moon.

Alan was going to have to use a much larger space body. Get his 'circumjovian' trajectory right and he would be home free. Get it wrong and he would either be flung out deep into space or sucked into that swirling ball of gas.

He thought he had it right.

At least he hoped so.

The time for stalling was over. The longer he waited, the further Arnie was getting from Jupiter and the more resources he'd have to use.

Swinging Thunderbird Three around, he dropped her down onto the asteroid, noting that his readouts were telling him that even the relatively small lump of rock was exerting a gravitational pull on his spaceship. It might not have been much, but releasing himself from that force field was going to take more energy than he'd planned.

As he keyed in the numbers that told his spaceship what he required of her, he wondered what he would do if the thermal shock caused by the sudden application of her rockets' heat caused Arnie to shatter; or if Arnie melted, damaging Three's propulsion systems or even worse, glued her to the space rock.

_Don't think about it, Alan. This will work._

Data inputted, Alan took a moment to double and then triple-check his figures, before he ignited Thunderbird Three's rockets in their first test burst. This lasted only ten seconds, but it seemed an eternity before they shut down and he was able to check her readouts.

_It's working! _

Arnie's forward momentum had slowed. Not a lot, but enough to prove that Alan's theories were correct and that there was a real chance that he was going to be successful. Relieved, if still aware that there was much that could go wrong, he told the scanners to check the surface of the asteroid.

Arnie appeared intact.

With a breath of relief, followed by one of nervous anticipation, Alan fired off a second burst of the rockets; this time longer and more powerful. As the computer counted down, monitoring the forces being applied and the fuel being consumed, his eyes flickered over his readouts looking for signs of trouble or, more optimistically, signs of success.

_Come on…_

It seemed to take forever, but, after several heart-stopping moments, he read what he had hoped to read. Asteroid 2070SB was slowing… stalling… and then, almost miraculously, reversing; moving away from Earth and closer to Jupiter.

_I'm not seeing things, am I? It has worked, hasn't it?_

Alan rechecked his readouts. Thunderbird Three, still resting on the asteroid's surface, was heading away from Earth. Arnie's orbit had been shifted until, according to the computer's gravitational readings, the Sun's influence over the space rock was waning and Jupiter's hold was growing.

_Now what should I do? Is there any chance that Arnie will just settle into another solar orbit and crash into Earth in the future?_

_No. It can't do that. Jupiter will pull it into its gravitational field and we'll all be safe._

_But what if it doesn't?_

Doubt overtook him. He had no plans to remake this journey and he wanted, no, he _needed_ to guarantee that asteroid 2070SB could never again threaten Earth. A quick check of her systems confirmed that Thunderbird Three was still within her theoretical safety margins. He could give Arnie one final push and then head for home.

He prepared to give the booster rockets another blast…

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

_Wednesday, 22nd November 2079 – 10.32pm_

_Half an hour later_

"Any news, John?"

The family had been waiting for hours. The sun had only just touched Tracy Island before they'd congregated in the lounge of the villa, all concentrating on the one portrait that was their link with John and news. Kyrano had even served breakfast in there so they wouldn't miss anything…

And then served lunch…

And dinner...

It was now dark and they'd barely ventured from the room all day in case they should miss notification that Alan had been successful…

Or notification that he'd failed.

All they could do was wait…

And wait…

Unencumbered by a walking aid of any sort, but with her right arm still bound in a sling, Lady Penelope returned to the lounge. "Has there been any word?" She thanked Parker and settled into the chair he held out for her.

Jeff looked over from his habitual seat at his desk. "Not yet. We're still waiting."

"This is driving me crazy," Scott admitted. "I've wanted to go and do something else all day, but I haven't wanted to go and do something else in case something happens."

"You won't see anything," John reminded him. "Like I told you before, I can do a conference call on your telecoms when things get interesting."

But no one moved from the room.

Gordon shifted in his seat. "How much longer, John?" he complained. "It's been hours!"

John only just managed to refrain from showing his exasperation at hearing the often repeated question yet again. "Alan may attempt to move 2070SB today, or he may not. Our calculations may be out and he may not reach the asteroid until tomorrow or the next day. He might deploy the rocket at midnight our time, or midnight England's time. He might decide to hold off deployment until conditions are more favourable…"

"More favourable? How much more favourable can conditions be? It's not like he's going to run into a storm or heavy seas or anything!"

"Calm down, Gordon," his father instructed. "John can't make him go any faster."

"I wish I could," John sighed. "Or at least communicate with him to find out how he's doing."

Virgil had been sitting at the piano for much of the day, but the lid had been shut and he'd spent his time tracing the scrollwork around the keyboard with his fingers; a mannerism which showed that he was just as anxious as the rest of the team. "How many telescopes did you say you were following?"

"Six, all around the globe."

"With all that information coming in you can't expect to keep an eye on everything." Virgil's fingers stopped their tracing. "Can't you patch something through to here? It's got to be better than looking at nothing."

"Okay, Virg. But don't expect a Technicolor slideshow." A pale image flashed up onto the central portrait.

"Which, er, locations have you chosen, John?" Brains enquired.

John had explained all this, and more, many times before, but, rationalising that it helped to fill in the time, he kept his cool and started the explanation again. "I've tried to find the best vantage points around the globe so that Jupiter's covered, no matter the time of day. The video I'm feeding through to you is from my telescope on Tracy Island. I've also tapped into Gran Telescopio Canarias, La Palma, in the Canary Islands, and the large binocular telescope on Mt Graham, Arizona. Also Gillet, aka Gemini North, on Mauna Kea in Hawaii," another, similar image appeared in place of Scott's portrait, "in tandem with Gemini South in Chile. I would have used one of the telescopes at La Serena, but they were damaged in the Doomsday quakes. Plus I've got Thunderbird Five listening out for any chatter about us or 2070SB instead of words of help."

Gordon had moved closer to the first picture so he could get a better look at the blob on screen. "That looks like nothing else on Earth," he grumbled.

"That's because it's not on Earth. It's Jupiter."

Brains had also moved closer to the hazy, gently pulsing, muted-toned sphere where Virgil's portrait normally resided. "Can you, er, explain what we are, ah, looking at, John?" He squinted at the picture and pointed at a large blemish on Jupiter's surface. "I assume that's the Red Spot?"

"Right," John confirmed. "Now, can you see a black spot in the upper right quadrant?"

Brains peered closer, blocking the view of Jupiter from some in the room. Then he removed his spectacles and rubbed his eyes before picking up his tablet PC from off the table. Bringing the same video of Jupiter up on the smaller screen he zoomed in to the top right of the planet. "I-I think so."

"That's the shadow of 2070SB."

"The shadow?" Gordon had picked up a tablet of his own and zoomed in.

"2070SB's too small to see from here."

"I'll say it's too small. Can't you increase the resolution?"

"I know, it's hard to see, but if I try to blow it up I can't make it any better. See…" On screen Jupiter became bigger and less focussed, while the shadow appeared to dissolve into the patterns on the surface of the planet. "I'll overlay a reference grid." Some lines appeared on screen. "When 2070SB moves beyond them, you'll know it's moved into a different orbit."

"It may be easier to view if Jupiter wasn't, ah, shimmering," Lady Penelope commented. "What is causing this phenomenon?"

John didn't miss a beat. "You know that kids' nursery rhyme _Twinkle, twinkle little star_? The twinkling, or as you said, shimmering is interference from Earth's atmosphere."

"How tiresome it must be for you."

"It is, Penny; believe me, it is."

"Isn't there an optical telescope satellite you could use?" Jeff asked.

"None pointing the right way at the moment. You've got to remember that all the space telescopes are in orbit around Earth and, because of those orbits, are only able to focus on Jupiter when they are on the side of the Earth facing Jupiter. Even if Thunderbird Five's telescope was functional I'd only be able to keep watch for part of the day. Geostationary orbit has its limitations."

"Then why aren't you using radio telescopes or some other type?" Scott demanded.

"I'm trying to. Non-optical telescopes are probably going to be more informative, because they'll be able to 'see' any changes in 2070SB's orbit long before the optical ones can pick up any visual displacement."

Tin-Tin had been hugging a cushion for much of the day. "What are the non-optical telescopes telling us?"

"Not a lot."

"What!?" Scott exclaimed. "There must be something you can access that'll tell us more than that picture."

"If I could, I would. Most were launched at great expense to view deep-space objects, not planets in our own solar system. They aren't programmed for close up work…"

"Close up?" Parker exclaimed. _Jupiter ain't close h-in my book _he thought_._

"Not only that," John continued, not hearing the exclamation, "but Earth's faster orbit around the Sun is causing it to move further and further away from Jupiter."

"Surely some information's better than none," Gordon told him.

"I agree and there are some space satellites that I'd love to tap into, because I'm sure they'd give me more information; but they no longer recognise me as a bone fide astronomer, so they won't let me access their data. I could go in the back way, but they all have military-grade software encryption to their computer systems. I don't want to risk hacking into them in case one of them uses my signal to trace me back to Thunderbird Five. I'll have to wait until I can intercept any data that's streamed back to Earth."

"And you've got Five following their reports?" Scott confirmed.

Despite all his worries John grinned. "Following and recording. Don't worry, Scott. We may not have a direct link to Thunderbird Three, but we'll still be some of the first people to know when Alan's successful."

Tin-Tin smiled back at him. "I appreciate your optimism, John."

"You've got to be optimistic in this job. Otherwise you'd be a nutcase."

"How would we know the difference?" Gordon ducked when Scott raised his hand.

The eldest Tracy son cocked an eyebrow towards his space-bound brother. "Want me to punish him?"

John appeared to consider the offer. "Nah. He can keep. I've got plenty of time to think of something more appropriate, as well as more satisfying… for me."

"Hear that, Gordon" Scott grabbed the back of his brother's neck and gave him a gentle shake. "You're on notice."

"I'm shivering in my shoes." Gordon snorted. "Not."

"Would the Lunar or Martian bases have better views?" Tin-Tin asked, ignoring the byplay between the brothers. "They do not have to deal with our atmosphere."

"Mars has its own atmosphere to deal with, plus its orbit is out of alignment with Jupiter at the moment," John admitted. "It's on the other side of the sun and that's the worst light pollution you can get. The Lunar base's rotation means that at present it's on the side of the moon facing away from Jupiter, but if Alan waits to do his heroics until it's back in position it could be an option later on."

"I wonder if the World President will let the peoples of the world know about this asteroid once she knows that Earth is safe from it," Kyrano mused.

Scott shrugged. "Guess we'll find out soon enough."

With no further questions, everyone settled back into pensive contemplation of the indistinct video images.

It was a full five minutes later before a beeping sound had John pouncing on a tablet PC. "I think something's happening!" He checked another computer.

Everyone crowded closer to one of the many computer screens in the room.

"H-I can't see nothin'," Parker grumbled. "H-It don't look h-any different h-on screen."

"It's too far away to see any changes yet," John told him, "but 2070SB's definitely moved out of its existing orbit."

Jeff wasn't willing to get too excited yet. "Away from Earth?"

"Hold on…" John's full attention was on his computers. "I'm waiting for more reports…"

Everyone waited as John waited. It was a wait that seemed to go on for hours. They watched as he checked one computer and a slow smile spread across his face. Then, trying to suppress the smile and not quite succeeding, he checked another report. The smile returned. Then, just to make sure that neither his left nor his right eye were deceiving him, and while his family watched him with barely concealed impatience, he checked a third reading. "Ladies and Gentlemen: I think we have a result."

His father leant forward. "And the result is?"

"Be aware that this is only an interim report,"

"Understood."

"And remembering that I could be misinterpreting what I'm seeing."

"Any data is open to misinterpretation," Brains reminded John, "b-but we all trust that your readings will be correct."

"Thanks, but I want you all to remember that this early on, any number of variables could be giving us an incorrect reading."

"We have faith in you," Virgil told his brother. "Just tell us what you're seeing."

"What I'm seeing is a lot of raw data that needs further analysis."

Gordon groaned. "This isn't a business meeting where you're trying to score the best deal. Just tell us what you see!"

"Okay…" John paused, a teasing twinkle in his eye.

"John!" Scott snapped. "We're all making our own assumptions based on the way you're behaving, which may or may not be correct. Just give us the facts as you see them!"

"Okay." John repeated, and grinned. "I think Alan's been successful."

His announcement was met with happy smiles, but no cheers or shouts of delight.

"You're telling us," his father clarified, "that Arnie is no longer a threat to the Earth?"

"I'm not prepared to state that as a one hundred per cent categorical fact just yet, but 2070SB has been moved out of its existing orbit. It may yet settle into another orbit that will collide with Earth in ten, one hundred, one thousand years' time; or it may settle into orbit around Jupiter and never bother us again. But I think it is extremely doubtful that it will meet with Planet Earth next year."

"That's wonderful news, John," Jeff told him. "Any sign of Alan?"

"He's too far away and too small to be seen from Earth, but I'll keep watching."

"Good. Thank you, Son."

"I know we should be celebrating," Virgil hadn't opened the lid of his piano, "but I don't feel like it. Not while Alan's not here."

Scott nodded his agreement. "I know what you mean. I'm happy that he's succeeded, but until we're able to share this moment with him, then I don't feel like getting excited."

"Then we should share this moment with him!" Tin-Tin exclaimed. "Come outside everyone and we'll wave to him!"

"Wave to him?" Lady Penelope queried. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that we can see Jupiter outside, and Alan's next to Jupiter! Will you turn off the lights, Father?"

"As you wish."

Feeling that this was going to be a poor second best, everyone dutifully followed an excited Tin-Tin out under the starry sky.

Taking care not to pull the tender muscles of her right shoulder, Lady Penelope looked skywards. "Where should we look? Everything is so different in this part of the world. I feel quite lost without the North Star to guide me."

"Up there," Tin-Tin pointed to a group of stars close to the horizon.

Now that the lights to the lounge had been extinguished, Parker was gaping upwards. "Which h-one h-is h-it?"

"Ten degrees left of west and seven degrees above the horizon."

"Huh?" Gobsmacked by her explanation, as well as the fact that he was being asked to pick out one glowing dot amongst hundreds, Parker stared at Tin-Tin. "Where's that?"

"Face west." Leading by example, Tin-Tin stood by his side to ensure that he was facing in the right direction. Everyone else, either to humour her or because they needed her guidance, mimicked her actions.

"Sorry, Kyrano." Jeff's turning walker had scraped against his friend's leg.

"Do not let it concern you." Kyrano smiled. "It did not cause me pain."

"Hold your right arm out so your fist is on the horizon," Tin-Tin instructed, "holding your hand palm down…"

"Will my left arm suffice?" Lady Penelope indicated her bandaged limb. "I am afraid that I am rather handicapped at this precise moment."

"Yes, of course," Tin-Tin agreed. "Now, keeping your thumb tucked out of the way, lie your fist flat on the horizon with the edge of your little finger, if you're using your right hand, or pointing finger if you are using your left, due west. Your fist is five degrees wide. Now place your other fist next to that one so that the little finger of your left hand is two fists away from west. That's ten degrees. Rotate your left hand until its palm faces sideways, and place your thumb on top of your fist."

Everyone copied her.

"The knuckle of your thumb is seven degrees above the horizon," Tin-Tin told her audience, enjoying her recitation. "There should be a star where your thumb knuckle is." She squinted along her arm in satisfaction, seeing the expected light in the sky. "That is Jupiter." Keeping her eyes on that spot she waved. "Congratulations, Alan!"

"I see it." Keeping his fist in position, Gordon stuck his thumb up so it pointed towards the sky. "Well done, Bro. Time to come home."

And then they were all waving, sharing a thumbs-up, or simply smiling towards that tiny dot that marked the location of the tinier spaceship, which protected the even more minuscule piece of humanity that was such an important part of their lives.

Jeff beamed up towards where his youngest son had just achieved what many would have considered to have been impossible. "We're all proud of you, Alan," he stated. "And we can't wait until you're home again."

_To be continued…_


	53. Chapter 53 - Honesty by Omission

**Chapter 53: Honesty by Omission**

_Monday, 27__th__ November 2079_

"Tango Alpha Sierra One to Tango Alpha Victor Two. Receiving?"

"This is Tango Alpha Victor Two. Receiving you strength five."

"Tango Alpha Sierra One to Tango Bravo Four. Receiving?"

"Tango Bravo Four. Loud and clear, Scott."

Scott slid his sunglasses back up his nose. "Is everyone fully conversant with the rules?"

"The rules are easy," Gordon replied. "I shoot you both out of the sky and out of the game. It'll all be over in no time."

"Those are the last words of a sitting duck…" Flying TAS1 above the waters of the Pacific, Scott looked out his window at the yellow submarine that was skimming the surface. "And you look just like a duckling too."

"Quack. Quack." Gordon deadpanned. "You can't hide. I can. You won't even know where I'm firing from."

Scott grinned. "Is that a challenge, Brother?"

"You betcha."

"You won't have a chance," Virgil scoffed.

"I've got the best chance. You've got to look above, beside, and behind you as well as below. I've only got to look one way… Up."

"We're more manoeuvrable," Virgil sent his light aerobatic aeroplane, designated TAV2, into a barrel roll.

"Show off all you like, Virg. I'll soon knock you down to my level."

"You and whose navy? I'm the best pilot in the world: you all said that."

"We said you were the best," it was Scott's voice; "until I could prove that I can do your landing. That day's coming and it may be sooner than you think."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah."

The three brothers laughed.

Up at the villa, Jeff Tracy relaxed back in a deckchair, watched the two aeroplanes circling in the sky above the yellow dot in the ocean, and listened to his sons' intra-craft communications. No one may have felt like celebrating Alan's achievement, but he'd noticed that everyone had somehow relaxed since Arnie had been redirected towards Jupiter. It was as if a pressure that no one had really been aware of had been pressing down on them all. It seemed that the events of last Wednesday had had the dual effect of lifting that pressure and switching on the relax button.

Relaxing was precisely what his three sons were doing now. Under the guise of giving Thunderbird Four a test run, Gordon had challenged his two elder brothers to a three-way duel. It was a high-tech version of a paintball shoot-out with Scott and Virgil's aeroplanes and Gordon's submarine using computers to score misses, hits, and "death blows".

"All right," Scott was commanding. "Gentlemen, take up your positions."

Thunderbird Four disappeared under the waves, while the two aeroplanes peeled off in different directions; one out to sea, the other behind the island's scarred peak.

"Care to give us the countdown, Dad?" Gordon asked. "We can't let Scott do it. He might cheat and start his bombing run before he reaches five."

"I do not," Scott sounded miffed, "cheat."

This was a fact and Jeff knew that Gordon knew it as well as he knew it himself. He also knew that Gordon was trying, and most probably aware that he was failing, to unsettle his oldest brother.

Jeff spoke into his watch. "Everyone in position?"

"In position."

"Roger that."

"Ready and waiting."

"Prepare for combat in ten… Nine… Eight… Seven… Six… Five… Four… Three… Two… One…" Jeff grinned. "Operation last one standing is go!"

There was barely a second's silence before an aeroplane flew low past the villa and out over the sea. It skimmed over the water before climbing steeply. "You missed me, Gordon."

"Only just, Virg. Next time you won't be so lucky."

"Neither will you; now I've got a fix on you."

But Virgil was forced to roll out of range when Scott's nimble jet came flying up behind him, threatening to mow him down in a hail of digital bullets.

Seconds later it was Scott's turn to narrowly avoid being 'shot out of the sky' by a water-launched 'missile'. "Keep trying, Water Boy. You ain't gonna succeed."

Gordon didn't have the chance to offer a gloating replay when he had to dive to avoid Virgil, who'd taken advantage of his brothers' preoccupation with each other to attempt a bombing run.

"Epic fail!" Gordon crowed, not wanting to admit that he'd been caught napping.

If Virgil was going to respond he didn't get the opportunity when Scott glued TAS1 to his tail and threatened to blast it off. Virgil responded by looping up and over until their roles were reversed, ready to deliver his own coup de grace. Scott would have mimicked the manoeuvre if Gordon hadn't attempted to cut both his brothers out of the sky in a single burst of gunfire.

The two pilots peeled off.

The game continued for over half an hour, each of them seeming to be about to gain the upper hand before failing at the last second. That was until Scott and Virgil found themselves on opposite sides of the submarine and zeroing in on their underwater target. For that brief moment Gordon, who had been tracking Virgil's aeroplane, lost sight of Scott's and was hit fair and square amidships. Red lights flashed in his cockpit and alarms sounded signalling his defeat, he, groaning, allowed Thunderbird Four to float to the surface. "You got me."

"Ha!" Scott crowed. "The Air Force will beat WASP any time."

"Two against one; that's not fair. You two were working against me."

"We weren't working together," Virgil contradicted. "It was a fluke shot."

"Fluke!?" Scott exclaimed. "That was skill. Pure skill."

Gordon opened the top hatch and clambered onto the roof of his sub. "I don't believe you. Even if you two weren't working together, you two were working together."

Jeff chuckled at the bemused silence that followed. He knew exactly what Gordon was insinuating, even if his two elder boys pretended that they didn't.

"Believe what you want, Gordon, but you're out of the game. Now…" There was a dramatic pause before Scott continued. "It's the Air Force versus the amateur."

"The New York Hawks have some of the best pilots in the business… If not _the_ best."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah!"

"Bring – it – on."

Gordon lay back in the sun. "Mind if I hang around? Someone's got to be here to pick up the pieces when you two smash into each other." He closed his eyes against the glare.

"Suit yourself, Gordon. This won't take long." Scott lined up his younger brother. "Any last words, Virg?"

"Yeah. Catch me if you can."

Jeff watched, and listened, and enjoyed his sons' byplay. If only his other two boys were here enjoying this game then his world would be complete.

"Dad…"

Jeff looked at his watch. "What can I do for you, John?"

"Uh… Can we talk…?" John seemed unsure of himself. "In private?"

"In private? There's no one else here."

John clearly recognised Jeff's background. "You're by the pool, aren't you?"

"That's right."

"Maybe it would be better if we were in your study."

"My study?" Jeff frowned, remembering last time he'd had a similar call. "There's nothing wrong with Emma, is there?"

"Emma?" John looked startled at the suggestion. "No… Nothing to do with her."

"The company?"

"No."

"You?"

"Dad…"

"All right, John," Jeff conceded. "Give me a minute to get inside and I'll give you a call." He reached out for his walker and pulled it closer.

Over the water the dog fight was continuing, and Scott was beginning to think that maybe he'd underestimated his brother's piloting prowess. He had Virgil on the run when the younger man rolled 180 degrees until he was flying upside-down with the belly of his aeroplane only metres below Scott's. "Now what are you going to do, Air Force? Blow me up and we're both down."

What Scott did next was unexpected. He cut power to his jets, causing his aeroplane to fall back behind his brother's. Its tail rose higher than its nose, so that his gun sights were directly pointed at TAV2's underbelly and he let rip with a volley, before peeling away from the fall out. "Wipe out!"

Virgil, suddenly surrounded by flashing red lights and screaming alarms in his cockpit, allowed his aeroplane's nose to drop and fall as the craft started spinning downwards towards the ocean. At the last minute he righted TAV2. "You win."

"Who's the best?"

"You haven't satisfied all the criteria to make that claim."

"I love a challenge."

"Don't I know it." Virgil flew sedately back to the airstrip, leaving Scott to indulge in a few victory barrel rolls. He brought his aeroplane into the hangar and hopped out, surprised to be met by Gordon. "I thought you were out there enjoying the sun."

"Too hot," Gordon admitted. "So I've brought Four in and given her a wash down."

Virgil started the processes that were normally undertaken after a flight. "Aside from being blown out of the water, how'd she perform?"

"Wonderful." Gordon grinned in delight. "You'd think that nothing had been wrong with her."

Virgil matched his brother's grin. "Just like her skipper."

"_This_ _is TAS1,_" their watches announced. "_Requesting permission to land._"

Gordon frowned. "Requesting permission? Why does he think he needs permission?"

Virgil winked. "Because he wants to make sure he's got an audience." As both brothers exited the hangar he got on the radio. "Okay, Scott. We're watching. Let's see you do it."

Gordon frowned at him. "See him do what?" He shaded his eyes against the sun and watched the incoming aeroplane. "Why's he upside-down?"

Continuing on its upside-down path TAS1 had been lined up with the runway, almost as if its pilot planned to land with the wheels uppermost; then, seemingly at the last possible minute before the fuselage made contact with the tarmac, it tilted its nose skyward and soared around in a combined loop and barrel roll before touching down in an almost flawless landing.

Gordon stared in astonishment. "Wow!"

Virgil had to admit that even he was impressed. "It's the first time I've seen it as a bystander."

TAS1 came to a halt just outside the hangar and her pilot jumped out. "Well?" Scott swaggered over. "Who's the best?"

Virgil dutifully got down on his knees and bowed low. "You are the best pilot in the world," he intoned.

"And don't you forget it." Laughing, Scott grabbed his brother by the collar and hauled him upright. "C'mon…" he put his arms about both siblings' shoulders. "Let's go get some lunch before we put her away. I'm starving."

"Who's the most starvingest person in the world?" Gordon mused.

Virgil chuckled. "There's no competition for that one."

Laughing, Scott ruffled both his younger brothers' hair.

They were still in high spirits; teasing and joking with each other as they walked through the house. That was until their noisy procession paraded past their father's study.

"Boys…" A quiet voice from the room pulled them up short.

Scott stuck his head inside the door. "Yes?"

Jeff was seated at his desk; the light from the window behind him placing his face in shadow and making it unreadable. "Would you all come in here?"

Something in his tone warned them that he was in no mood for hilarity and they entered the room in respectful silence, wondering if they were about to be admonished for their morning's antics.

"Close the door."

Gordon did as he was instructed. "What's up?"

"Do you want me to explain?" Surprised to hear John's voice, the three brothers turned to the Space Monitor's video image on the wall.

Jeff, his head down, nodded.

"You guys might want to take a seat," John advised.

Scott did as he was told. "Why?"

"Asteroid 2070SB has been pulled into Jupiter," John began. "It's crashed through the atmosphere into the planet…"

"But that's good news, isn't it?" Pleased, Gordon sat forward on his seat. "It means it can never hit Earth!"

John looked pained by the nature of the interruption. "I'll get there, Gordon, just give me a minute. Okay?"

"Uh, yeah… Okay." Bewildered, Gordon sat back.

"Asteroids and comets crashing into Jupiter is the kind of thing that Jovian astronomers live for," John admitted. "It gives them the opportunity to see beyond the outer cloud layer and catch a glimpse of what's beneath. As you can imagine, a lot of those guys got excited about the possibility of 2070SB crashing and revealing more of Jupiter's secrets, and so they kept their telescopes glued to it, as much as they could, as it got closer. There were major celebrations when it happened."

"Then why aren't you celebrating?" Virgil asked.

"As you know, I'm more interested in deep space objects, but I kept an eye on what was going on out of professional curiosity. That's why I heard that a couple of astronomers recorded a second impact site close to 2070SB's. It was so close that it was almost swallowed by the main crater."

Scott frowned. "A second impact."

John nodded. "Whatever caused this crater was much smaller than 2070SB and not everyone saw it. Those that did decided that the force of impact dislodged a fragment of the asteroid. However as soon as I heard about it I downloaded every image and piece of data that I could."

Virgil looked at him warily. "Why?"

"So I could try to work out how big it was."

"Why?" Gordon echoed.

"As I said, there have been a lot of telescopes focussed in the area and not one of the astronomers using them have reported seeing Thunderbird Three."

"Would they be likely to?" Scott checked. "You've admitted yourself that none of the telescopes available to you are powerful enough to see her. They were barely powerful enough to make out Arnie."

"They saw her on her outward trip. They saw sunlight reflected off her fuselage, or else they saw flares from the course correction rockets. Other telescopes reported interference between them and the image they were focussed on when Three passed through their field of view."

Gordon bit his thumbnail. "How big was this secondary crater?"

"It's an inexact measurement," John admitted. "I had to calculate it based on the amount of displacement caused by the asteroid's impact. Plus the initial impact caused major disturbance to the outflow from the secondary one, distorting any readings… But… I think I've got a fairly accurate measurement…" He stopped as if he didn't want to carry on.

"What are you saying, John?" Virgil's voice was hoarse.

"I'm saying that," John swallowed, "there is a large probability that that secondary impact was caused by… an object… that was discrete from the original asteroid."

"John."

"I think it may have been Thunderbird Three."

It was what they'd all been expecting to hear, but hearing the words spoken out loud was like receiving a punch in the solar plexus. Winded, everyone took a moment to take stock of what they'd just heard.

"Are you sure, John?" Scott needed confirmation before he could accept what he was being told. "Can you even be sure that this is a secondary impact crater and not just patterns in the cloud cover?"

"Or a bit of Arnie," Virgil offered.

"Or distortions caused by Arnie's impact?"

"Or something totally unrelated to Arnie or Alan?"

John allowed his brothers to offer up their suggestions, but they'd come up with nothing that he hadn't already considered. "The telescopes that saw the crater aren't optical. Each mineral and gas has its own distinctive wavelength. The telescopes observing the craters measure the various wavelengths of the images they receive and use that information to decide what it is they are looking at. These telescopes confirmed that they were seeing the gases trapped in Jupiter's atmosphere… They also saw a flare of what could be a rocket… As for what caused it…" he shrugged. "I can only hypothesise based on the information I have. And that information is that no one saw any evidence of any other material being in the same vicinity at the same time that Arnie was drawn in by Jupiter's gravitational field."

"Could it be spatter from the initial impact?" Scott asked; still hopeful.

"No." John appeared to take a moment to steady himself. "Now, I will admit that Thunderbird Three, when flying head-on towards Earth, does not make for a large visual target. Also, once Alan has set his course and got up to speed he won't need to make any corrections, so no one will see any flares… But…" His hopeful recitation petered out.

"Can we prove it?" Gordon asked. "Is there any way that we can conclusively say that Al… that Three has or hasn't crashed?"

John shook his head. "If I'm wrong, and I hope that I am, the best proof we'll get is when I regain contact with him."

"And how long will we have to wait before we… have to accept the worst?"

"Don't talk like that, Gordon," Virgil admonished.

"I'm just trying to get the facts!"

"We don't know the facts! These are all hypotheses!"

"Just like saving the world by setting off underground charges was a hypothesis! And that worked!"

"But that was Brains' hypothesis. This isn't!"

"Guys! Stop it!" Scott snapped. "This isn't helping!"

His brothers took a moment to regain their composure.

"Sorry, John," Virgil apologised. "I didn't mean to imply that you don't know what you were talking about. I just…"

"It's okay," John soothed. "I understand."

"What's your take on all this, John?" Scott asked. "Honestly."

"Honestly? If I'm honest I'm… I'm thinking the worst, but hoping for the best."

"So you still think there's a chance?"

John took a deep breath. "I've said it before and I'll say it again. Doing this job I've got to be an optimist. And without concrete evidence to the contrary, I'm going to remain optimistic."

"So you don't want us to start thinking about how we're going to get you home?'

"No!" John shook his head. "No way! It's still too soon. Rephrasing Gordon's question, and assuming that Alan set off for home the moment that he'd diverted 2070SB, I estimate that he should be within communication range in a little over three weeks. To be on the safe side I'll make that four. Then I can start thinking about coming home."

"And until then we don't mention this to anyone." It was the first time that Jeff had spoken since he'd called them in and everyone felt almost surprised by the intrusion. "Tin-Tin's been through enough stress at the beginning of her pregnancy. We don't want to put her through any more until we are sure of our facts. Understood?"

His sons understood. And agreed.

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

_Thursday, 30__th__ November 2079_

It was night; in fact four nights after the Tracys had learnt of Thunderbird Three's possible demise. They'd tried to remain upbeat and as cheerful as everyone else, but the knowledge that the youngest member of their clan might never return was a crushing blow after all they'd done and all they'd been through. Their necessary deception wasn't made any easier by the World President announcing to the planet's entire population that they'd narrowly missed an astronomical collision and that, once again, Planet Earth owed the unknown members of International Rescue a debt of gratitude that could never be fully repaid.

The Tracys knew that the world would never know the full extent of their sacrifice.

Tin-Tin, as she'd done every night since she'd asked for directions from John, was standing on the balcony gazing up to where she believed Alan to be. She'd been doing it for so long that she no longer needed to measure the distance to that distant planet. The fact that she could look into the sky and recognise Jupiter straight away made her feel even closer to her home-coming husband.

Content, she sighed. She was well, her baby was well, her family was well, the Earth was well, and Alan was on his way home. Only one thing could make her happier.

"Tin-Tin! I didn't see you there." She turned towards the darkened lounge to see the shape of a figure pushing a walker. "I was about to close up for the night."

"I was saying goodnight to Alan," she responded. "He's up there." She pointed towards the planet.

Jeff turned his walker towards her.

"Two more months and he'll be home. It seems to be such a long time, but I am sure it will fly."

Jeff was silent as he pushed his walker out onto the balcony.

Tin-Tin hugged her baby bump. "And then we can be a family. And not just the three of us," she looped her arm through Jeff's, "but with you and the boys, and Father, and Brains. It will be like it always used to be before International Rescue split up, with us all together to support each other. It will be wonderful."

Jeff looked at her, glowing with happiness and the moonlight and then, unable to face her any longer, looked back up to the treacherous planet hanging innocently in the sky.

She looked at him in concern. "You are quiet. Are you all right?"

"Just tired I guess. It's been a long four months since Doomsday was announced. Even though we no longer have to worry about it, it's…"

"Or Arnie," she interrupted.

"Or Arnie," he agreed, "I feel like it's still hanging over us."

"You must take care of yourself, Mr Tracy," Tin-Tin admonished. She had yet to feel comfortable calling him anything less formal, and Jeff wasn't sure if the use of the honorific in her admonition was lightly teasing or deadly serious. He had a feeling it was a bit of both. "You do not want to make yourself sick again. Think of Alan and think of your grandchild." She rubbed her tummy. "It will want to play with its grandfather."

"I do think of them; both of them. I think of them a lot. I can't believe how lucky I've been and I hope that that kid growing inside you is even luckier." He gave his daughter-in-law's arm a squeeze. "And I can't wait to play with my grandkid either. I've got all sorts of games planned."

Tin-Tin laughed. "Such as?"

"Toy cars, and trains, and building blocks."

"And what if your grandchild is a little girl?"

Jeff was momentarily stymied. "Having had five boys it's what I'm used to. Of course," he gave a grin, "I knew a little girl once who liked to play with toy cars, and trains, and building blocks. And she grew up still playing with them, and knowing what made them tick, and making even bigger and better things until she helped save the world."

Tin-Tin giggled and hugged his arm. "I remember a man who used to enjoy dolls' tea parties." A gentle breeze tugged a lock of her hair free from where it was pinned back from her face. "I had this little low table and you used to sit cross-legged at it and drink cold tea and pretend to hold conversations with my dollies."

"I did that. I won't say that I enjoyed it though." With a tender touch Jeff tucked the errant lock behind her ear. "You've yet to learn what you'll be prepared to do for the love of a child, Tin-Tin. And the rewards you get in return."

She sighed, looking down at her bulging belly. "Soon. After Alan comes home."

"Yes. Soon."

The pair of them stood beneath the stars; each of them caught up in their own, very different thoughts.

"Oh!" One of Tin-Tin's hands went to her abdomen, while the other made a grab for the balcony rail.

With sudden concern for his daughter-in-law, Jeff placed an arm about her waist to steady her. "Tin-Tin? What's wrong."

"Nothing." She appeared surprised… and delighted. "My baby moved!"

"What?"

"My baby moved!" Excited Tin-Tin grabbed his hand and held it tight. "I thought I had felt movement before, but I was never sure until now. All of a sudden it seems real; like it is a real person…" she sighed, looking down again. "My baby is alive inside me."

Jeff watched her face, her expression of joy bringing back memories of his own. "I remember the first time Scott kicked his mother. We were about to go out and he scored a direct hit on her bladder. We arrived at the function late because she had to get changed. I suppose you could say that he's been taking control ever since." He chuckled; Tin-Tin sharing his laughter. "And don't think that you can judge personality by the amount of movement. John might be the quietest now, but he nearly kicked me out of bed several times! Conversely, Alan barely…" Jeff lapsed into silence, acutely aware that his reminiscing about his youngest son could cause him to reveal more than his daughter-in-law needed to know at this time.

Tin-Tin was gazing back into the sky. "I wish I could tell him."

Jeff was glad that she couldn't see his face in the darkness. "I wish you could too, Honey."

"What is my child going to call its grandfather?"

Surprised by the unexpected question, Jeff hesitated. "I don't know. What do you think we should be called?"

"Father has already decided on Datuk." Tin-Tin thought for a moment. "Granddad?"

Jeff screwed up his nose. "That sounds so old!" He gave a resigned sigh. "But then I am old."

"No, you are not." Tin-Tin scolded. "You seem so much younger since you had your operation. I am sure it has given you many more years of happy, healthy life."

"I hope so. I want the chance to enjoy playing with my grandchild… even if does involve drinking cold tea and having one sided conversations."

"What about Poppa?" Tin-Tin suggested.

"Poppa?"

"Would you like your grandchild to call you Poppa?"

"It's better than Granddad," Jeff conceded.

"Maybe Alan will have a suggestion. He will have had plenty of time to think about things like this."

Jeff wasn't about to be dragged into that conversation with its painful undertones. "And what is my grandchild going to call its mother?"

"Oh!" Tin-Tin hadn't appeared to have considered this. "I do not know. Mumia?"

Jeff squeezed her hand. "We both have plenty of time to think about it."

"It will not be as long as we think."

"You're probably right." Jeff sighed. "And my old grandfather legs are telling me that I should be taking them off to bed. If you have a daughter, and she invites me to her dolls' tea parties, I shall expect you to supply me with a chair, Tin-Tin. I think that even if I managed to sit on the floor now I'd never get up again. And as for sitting cross-legged; forget it!"

"I shall remember."

Jeff kissed her on the cheek. "Night, Honey."

Her eyes twinkled like the stars. "Good night… Poppa."

With a light laugh, Jeff turned.

"Before you go, why not say good night to Alan?" Tin-Tin pointed up into the sky.

Jeff pretended that he hadn't heard her. He didn't want to take the risk that she would see his pain and know what he knew. "Good night, Tin-Tin," he said, and continued walking.

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

The next day Tin-Tin recollected their conversation. She remembered how her father-in-law seemed reluctant to talk about Alan and the future… And especially about how he seemed reluctant to talk about Alan at all. She had observed the Tracys in her family go about their day and noted how they were quiet, sombre, and not as upbeat as they had been days earlier… In fact, she furrowed her brow as she tried to make the recollection, she couldn't remember the last time she'd seen them smile or heard them crack a joke…

"You have concerns, My Daughter?"

Tin-Tin decided that it was time to find out the truth. "What aren't you telling me, Father?"

Kyrano was confused by the question. He laid down his watering can and straightened his back, feeling the warmth of the tropical sun beat through the cloth of his shadehouse. "What do you mean?" He turned to his daughter. "I have kept no secrets from you."

Tin-Tin picked one of his flowers and studied it intently. "Something has happened to Alan, hasn't it? Something that no one wants to tell me."

Now it was Kyrano's turn to frown. "I know of nothing."

"Nothing?"

"No. What have you heard?"

Tin-Tin played with the flower's petals, not wanting to see her father's expression. "Nothing. No one has said anything."

"Yet you believe that people are keeping secrets from you?"

"Yes." A petal was pulled from the flower head.

"Tin-Tin?" Kyrano's frown deepened. "Who are they and what is it about your husband that you think they should have discussed?"

Another petal was despatched. "The Tracys."

"The Tracys?"

"Something has happened to Alan and they are not telling me!" Dropping the flower onto the dirt floor, Tin-Tin burst into tears. "I hate not knowing!"

Kyrano hurried to her side to try to comfort his daughter. "Why do you believe that something has happened to your husband?"

"Haven't you noticed? Haven't you seen how quiet they are? Haven't you seen the looks of pity they give me? Haven't you seen the sorrow in their eyes?"

"I have seen." Kyrano spoke softly. "But they have said nothing to me."

"Why? Why won't they tell us?"

"They worry," Kyrano reminded his daughter. "They worry about you and they worry about your baby. They do not wish to cause either of you harm. And they know that if you asked me that which you have asked me, I would have to speak the truth."

"And they haven't told you anything?"

"No. Nor have they requested that I tell you nothing."

"But they'd have to tell you if you asked, wouldn't they?" Tin-Tin clung to her father's hand. "If you asked Mr Tracy, ah, Jeff, he would tell you the truth. If you asked him about Alan he would have to tell you?"

"Yes. If I asked Mr Tracy for the truth he would tell me the truth. But, Tin-Tin," Kyrano brushed a tear from her cheek, "are you sure you are prepared for the truth? What if you do not want to hear what Mr Tracy tells me?"

"How long can they keep it from me? They must tell me sometime. Better to know the truth now than imagine the worst."

Kyrano's voice was quiet. "And if what he tells me is the worst, are you sure that you want to know?"

Tin-Tin inhaled a shuddering breath. Then she nodded.

"Very well," Kyrano kissed his daughter on the forehead. "I shall go and ask."

"Thank you, Bapa."

Kyrano found Jeff working in his study. He was greeted with a smile that didn't reach his friend's eyes. "Mr Tracy."

"I wish I could convince you to call me Jeff, Kyrano; then maybe Tin-Tin would be more inclined to call me something less formal."

"It is about Tin-Tin that I wish to speak with you."

Jeff frowned. "What's wrong?"

"My daughter is of the opinion that you, and your sons, are keeping information from her."

"Information?" Kyrano noted the wariness of Jeff's reply. "What kind of information?"

Kyrano hesitated. He no more needed to receive bad news than his daughter did, and he wanted to spare her pain; but there were two sides to this coin and if the unthinkable had happened, then a father and brothers should be allowed to openly grieve for their lost kin. "You have always been honest with me, Mr Tracy."

This time Jeff looked surprised. "Yes, Kyrano, I have."

"And I have always been honest with you."

This time there was a slight hint of humour in the other's reply. "We have both been guilty of honesty by omission, but yes, I have no doubt that you always have been honest with me."

"Then if I were to ask you a question, you would answer me truthfully."

The wariness returned. "Of course."

"Mr Tracy…" Kyrano began, "Jeff… as I know you have long regarded my Tin-Tin as your daughter, so I have had the pleasure of regarding your sons as my own. I may not yearn for Mister Alan as only true flesh and blood can yearn, but I fear for him and long for him to return. Part of my longing exists because I know that Tin-Tin longs for him; both for herself and her unborn child, as I know you know."

Jeff frowned as he tried to unwind the circular statement.

"Tin-Tin fears that you have information about her husband that you and your sons are keeping from her. She believes, as do I, that you have knowledge of what has happened to him after his success with the asteroid." Kyrano took a deep breath. "I am therefore asking you to tell me the truth. What do you know of what has happened to your son?"

"The truth." Jeff placed the pen he'd been holding onto his desk. "The truth is, Kyrano, that I don't know what has happened to Alan. I don't have answers, only questions. If I could say conclusively that this has happened to him, or that that had happened to him, then I would tell you the truth. But I don't have the answers that you, or Tin-Tin, or anyone in our family needs from me." He looked down at the pen. "I wish I did; for my own peace of mind, if nothing else."

"You are fearful for your son?"

"I've been fearful for him since the moment that I heard that he was to head off into space."

Kyrano bowed. "Then that is what I shall tell my Tin-Tin."

Jeff looked up sharply. "You can also tell her that I'm sorry. I wish I could tell her more; even if it meant one or more of us were going to get hurt."

Kyrano bowed again. "I know this. I thank you for telling me the truth. I shall leave you in peace." With his characteristic dignity, he withdrew from the room.

Jeff sighed. What was that phrase he'd used? Honesty by omission? He'd told Kyrano the truth, but he'd also kept certain facts from his friend.

Honesty by omission. Would that lessen the pain when the truth was revealed?

Or multiply it?

_To be continued…_


	54. Chapter 54 - Alan

**Chapter 54: Alan**

_Wednesday, 20__th__ December 2079 – 7:00 am_

Scott crossed the date off the calendar and took it down off the wall for closer study. Not that that would change anything.

Four weeks.

There was a knock on his door.

"Come in."

The door slid open to the not unexpected revelation that his brothers were standing there.

Virgil saw the papers held in the eldest sibling's hands. "Checking the date?"

"Yes."

Gordon flopped into the most comfortable chair and for once Scott didn't complain. "I was hoping you were going to tell me I'd miscalculated."

"No."

"It's been four weeks," Virgil confirmed.

"Yes."

"And not a word," Gordon added.

"No."

"Maybe something's gone wrong with his radio?"

Scott flung the calendar onto a table. "Like it's been swallowed up by Jupiter?" He dropped into his second most comfortable chair.

"Scott," Virgil protested. "We don't know that."

"You heard John as clearly as I did. He was expecting to hear from Alan within three weeks of his rendezvous with Arnie. Four weeks was just a buffer in case there had been some malfunction or miscalculation." Scott took a deep breath. "I think it's time to accept that what we've always thought happened has happened."

Virgil sank into the third most comfortable chair, which, if he was in a mind to notice, wasn't uncomfortable. "I'd still like proof."

"So would I, but I think it's highly unlikely we'll get it."

"Maybe John's got information?" Gordon suggested. "He's been analysing anything and everything he can get his hands on."

Scott, deciding that any hope was better than no hope at all, opened the video link with his brother. A painting on the wall depicting a flock of gannets soaring and diving through the skies morphed into the Space Monitor. "Hi, John."

John looked grim. He knew what his brothers were going to ask him. "No. I haven't heard anything. I haven't seen anything. And I don't know anything." He hesitated. "Has Dad said anything?"

"No," Scott admitted. "And I haven't wanted to broach the subject with him…" he paused. "Until today."

"And are you going to?"

Scott ran his fingers through his greying hair. "I don't want to, but I guess I'll have to."

"Maybe we should leave it?" Gordon suggested. "It's Christmas in five days. Maybe it would be better for Tin-Tin if she spends Christmas with some hope, rather than have it as a yearly reminder of what's happened?"

Virgil shook his head. "She's not stupid. She won't need her degree in mathematics to work out that we should have heard from Alan by now."

"It's Penny's birthday in four days. We don't want to spoil it with our misery."

"It doesn't matter how long we wait. Sometime soon, probably today, Tin-Tin's going to start asking questions. So is Penny."

"Tin-Tin already has." John's grim expression became even grimmer. "This past week I've had at least one call a day from her asking if I've heard anything. I'm starting to run out of excuses. It's not like I can ignore her calls and pretend that I've popped out to the store or something."

Scott steepled his fingers as he thought. "Tell her that because Earth's orbit is taking us away from Jupiter, Alan's got a slower trip home and it's taking him longer to get within radio range now than it did on the outward journey," he suggested.

"I've already done that."

"Tell her that there's been increased sunspot activity," Virgil offered.

"Done that one too."

"Tell her…" Gordon thought quickly, "that you think there's a shipload of liquid Alsterene sailing through some OD60 upsetting our transmissions."

"I've even tried that one. Like you said, she's not stupid. She gave me a look that I'm sure she learnt from Grandma that said that she knew I was lying and that I'd better start telling the truth quick smart. I pretended that I was burning my dinner and shut down the radio before she could give me the third degree."

Scott pushed himself out of his chair. "I'll go and talk to Father. If we decide to wait until after Christmas, maybe we'll be able to come up with some good excuses to keep her happy."

Virgil stood. "Do you want us to come with you?"

"Yes." Gordon vacated his chair. "For support?"

Grateful, Scott looked between his brothers. "I'd appreciate that." He checked his watch. "It's too early to bring it up now. Let's say right after breakfast?" His brothers nodded.

"I'll need to be in on the discussion too," John reminded them. "So you'd better get me on line. Then once we've made a decision…" there was a long pause, "we'll have work out how you're going to get me home."

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

It hadn't been an enjoyable meeting, even if it was one that they'd all gradually come to accept had to happen. Jeff was unwilling to give up on Alan just yet and it was decided, in part because Christmas was not the time to try to contact the various agencies with the capabilities to bring John home, to leave any morbid announcements until the new year.

As Jeff had said: "International Rescue have created miracles before. Why should they only happen to other people? Why shouldn't we be the recipient for once? Something may have happened to Alan's radio and he can't contact us. I think we should wait until we are convinced, through visual analysis, that he's not on his way home."

John had been surprised when Scott, Virgil, and Gordon had agreed unanimously. He'd been through every piece of "visual analysis" that he'd been able to get his hands on and had found nothing. Where was he going to his hands on further material to "analyse visually"?

They came up with a few ploys to keep Tin-Tin from learning the truth, including an undertaking from those on Earth to keep her busy and away from the radio, and then left the meeting, no more positive than they'd been when they'd started.

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

_Saturday, 23__rd__ December 2079_

John was sitting in his favourite chair, although one thing he wasn't doing was relaxing. On his lap he held a tablet PC and he was analysing page after page of data; hoping that something, somewhere, would tell him that his youngest brother was on his way home. Even a few bytes casually mentioning that Jupiter was putting out some kind of massive radio interference would have been welcome, if uninspiring news.

He looked up.

_Bells? Can I hear bells?_

Not alarm bells, but something more festive. Not church bells, he'd be starting to get majorly worried about his mental wellbeing if he believed that he could hear them this far above the Earth. Mind you, the fact that he was hearing anything was beginning to ramp up his concerns about his sanity.

_I am hearing things… aren't I?_

He stood. It was only faint, but he was convinced he could hear small bells; jingling bells; the kind that you had in school orchestras or on Christmas Trees. And he couldn't blame his Christmas tree because he didn't have one. As much as he loved the festive season, artificial trees and other decorations would have taken up precious room; room that was better utilised storing food and other essentials, and so Thunderbird Five was bare of anything to celebrate the season.

Maybe his ears needed cleaning out or he was experiencing some condition brought on by months of air conditioning and artificial gravity. He hadn't experienced the tinnitus that his brothers and father had experienced after the Yelcho explosion. Was this what it was like?

John frowned. The jingling sounds were growing louder.

Not only that, they were being accompanied by an odd percussive sound. A repetitive rhythm. A tap-tap noise.

Tap-Tap.

_Tap-Tap?_

Tap-Tap.

Clap-Tap. Clap-Top.

Clip-Top. Clip-clop.

_Clip-clop?_

He was really losing it. Months without human company, topped with his never-ending worries for Alan; and by association Tin-Tin as well as the rest of the family; had finally sent him over the edge. The proximity to Christmas and the prospect of spending it alone must have been the last straw. Now he was not only hearing bells, but horses' hooves as well.

_I need help._

Becoming genuinely concerned, he headed over to the radio intent on calling Brains. He didn't want to worry anyone, but then again, he failed to see why he should have to deal with these concerns by himself when he had to deal with everything else alone. Not if there was a chance that Brains could offer him reassurance.

He stopped in his tracks.

_Music?_

John was sure he could hear music. Faint to be sure, but there was a definite, familiar tune being played in the recesses of his mind. He was about to reach out to initiate his link with Brains' lab when he realised that the radio was already turned on and receiving.

The music, the sounds of hooves, and the bells grew louder.

_Jingle bells?_

He could hear a piano playing.

Another couple of 'horses' started clip-clopping alongside the first, one slightly out of beat as if it had a limp.

The music became louder and more defined; the player more recognisable.

"_Ho, ho, ho,"_ the radio announced. _"This is Santa Claus."_

John laughed in relief. It most certainly wasn't. For one thing Ol' Saint Nick wasn't due to make his rounds for another two days. For another, Santa sounded a lot like his father. "What can I do for you… Santa?"

"_Have you been a good boy?"_

John played along. "I've done my best. It's a little hard to get up to mischief up here."

The piano playing segued from a tune about dashing through snow to one about his caller paying a visit.

"_I've decided to make an early start of my deliveries this year," _'Santa' explained_. "If you've been a good boy, would you mind ensuring that your airlock's shut and Thunderbird Three's docking hatch is open?"_

John considered answering in the negative, but decided that he was too curious to tease. As he did what he'd been instructed he glanced at Thunderbird Five's radar.

Something was heading in his direction.

Zooming in a video image revealed that the something was a small cylindrical rocket. Maximum magnification revealed it had none of the markings of International Rescue, or even any of the known space agencies, but instead was decorated along its length with a picture of Santa Claus riding his sleigh behind a team of reindeer.

The rocket moved around until it was facing the docking bay that was supposed to join the two space Thunderbirds.

"_This is going to take some concentration,"_ 'Santa' admitted. _"Excuse the radio silence."_

John hung back from the radio, and listened. He was now hearing a jaunty rendition about a reindeer, accompanied by animal noises that were so far out of synch that he would have sworn that one of the beasts had broken its leg and was hobbling.

The rocket nosed into the tunnel and John switched on the internal cameras so he could follow its progress.

"_Close docking hatch,"_ 'Santa' commanded.

John did as he'd been bid.

"_Right, Elf Number One: Assume control of reindeer."_

"_I have control," _'Elf Number One' acknowledged.

John grinned. He hadn't realised that elves were over six foot tall and greying at the temples.

"_Hold cockpit steady, Elf Number Two."_

"_Holding steady."_ Other elves obviously had a penchant for getting wet.

"_Unlocking, erm, unharnessing sleigh," _'Santa' announced. The rear section floated free and, as John watched the video, slotted itself into the airlock. _"We have touchdown. Taking control of Rudolph."_

The section painted with reindeer floated after the sleigh into the airlock, before Santa, with his arms outstretched holding reins that went nowhere, settled beside the other two sections.

"_You may seal airlock and accept delivery," _Santa instructed.

"Thanks…" John allowed any exhaust gases to dissipate before doing as he was told. "What am I accepting?"

His father's smiling, bearded, red-hatted face splashed up on screen. "Go and take a look."

He was in a hurry to see what Santa had brought him; nevertheless John took his time to ensure that the barrier between his life capsule and the hostile world outside was sealed tightly. "Am I allowed to open my presents today? It's not Christmas yet."

"There are some things you can wait a couple of days before opening, but I think you'll want to see what else is there."

A head with red hair sticking out from around overgrown ears and beneath a pointed green cap popped into view. "Just leave the camera running so we can see your reaction."

"This is embarrassing," John pretended to grumble, but he had to admit to a sense of eager anticipation as he dragged the three sections of the rocket into the main control room. "They're heavy," he grunted.

"They had to be." 'Elf Number One' and the rest of the family appeared on screen as the video camera zoomed out to take in the entire lounge. "The contents had to survive the flight." Scott ducked as Gordon attempted to put an elf hat and ears on his head. "If you don't put that thing somewhere else, Gordon, I'm gonna find a suitable place to store it."

Unperturbed, Gordon grinned. "Start opening your presents, John."

Tin-Tin clapped her hands and the bells she was holding jangled. "Yes. Open them, John!"

Brains put a pair of coconut shells onto a coffee table next to those already left there by Lady Penelope, Parker, and Kyrano. "I h-hope everything s-survived the flight."

Virgil vacated the piano and clapped his obviously nervous friend on the shoulder. "It should be fine."

Jeff beamed into the video camera. "Open Santa first."

"Santa…" John examined the central section. "Where's the…" The lid snapped open, and he reached inside, pulling out a capsule surrounded in silver foil. He opened the end of the parcel and slid an insulated cylinder onto the floor. "Are we playing pass the parcel?"

"Yep," Scott grinned. "And you get the prize."

Opening the insulation exposed more packaging, which John pulled back to reveal a mouth-watering array of fruit and vegetables. "Food!" he exclaimed, revelling in the sights and aromas. "Real food! Not packaged! Not dried! But real, fresh, honest-to-goodness food!" He raised a tomato to his nose and, his eyes closed so that nothing else could intrude on the experience, inhaled.

"There is a selection for you to eat for Christmas dinner," Kyrano offered. "The rest you may consume as you desire."

"I'm almost tempted to eat it all right here right now!" John exclaimed. "You've no idea how I've been hanging out for this, Kyrano." He fixed his eyes on his friend. "Thank you."

Kyrano bowed his head. "It is a small gift. One of many from us all."

"Open the sleigh," Gordon suggested. "There's a button near the tail."

"Shouldn't I put all the food away first?"

"It'll keep," his father told him with an eagerness that suggested that he couldn't. "Open the sleigh."

John felt for the catch at the rear of the rocket before falling back in surprise when an inflatable Christmas tree exploded out of the fuselage. "Gordon!"

"Yup."

"Are you trying to give me heart failure for Christmas?"

"Nope. Just bringing a little festive cheer. What's Christmas without a tree? Push the button at its base."

John frowned. "Are you sure I'm not going to get covered in exploding Christmas pudding or something?"

"You're safe," Scott confirmed. "Push the button."

John felt around the base of the tree and the side of the rocket fell away revealing another silver sausage. Further insulating packaging slid out from inside the foil wrapping and he opened it expecting to find more edibles. Instead there was a small selection of brightly coloured gifts. "Christmas presents!"

"You can join us when we open ours on Monday," Jeff suggested. "Now open the front section."

Wondering what the third part of his Christmas trilogy was going to be, (now that he had food, presents, and knowing that he couldn't expect the company of friends and family) John eagerly searched for the opening to the front section. He laughed when he saw that each of the reindeer decorating it had numbers on their harnesses: TB1 (naturally with a red nose), TB2 (with green saddle bags and VTOL jets blasting from its hooves), TB3…

TB3's number was hidden behind some stars.

TB4, he noticed, was wearing a swimming mask and snorkel, TB5 had a radio headset, while TB6 sported yellow aviator goggles and two sets of wings. The sleigh, when he checked, was shocking pink with three rockets along each side. "Love your artwork, Virg."

"Thanks."

Whatever was sealed inside the front section was protected even more than the rest of the goodies, and John was almost in a fever of expectation when the last of the packaging fell free. "Lenses!" Almost disbelieving, he fumbled with the wrapping. "Telescope lenses!"

"They should be replacements for your damaged ones," Jeff explained. "Hopefully you've got everything there you'll need to bring it back to working order."

Delighted with this gift most of all, John could only look into the video camera and offer a heartfelt "thank you."

"Now, before you start reassembling that, you'd better get those provisions stored away," his father ordered. "Brains has been working on that rocket since Doomsday. He's made it tough enough so it could survive the launch as well as the journey, and we don't want the food spoiling after all his hard work."

"No, Sir," John agreed. "Thank you, Brains. Thank you, everyone."

Jeff grinned. "We'll talk to you later, Son."

"Yes, Sir."

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

_Sunday, December 24__th__ 2079 – Christmas Eve – 11:48pm_

John Tracy had only just fallen asleep. It was painstaking work reassembling his telescope and he'd spent a large part of the last two days concentrating on it without much thought for anything else. It gave him something practical to do that took his mind off his worries and had the added bonus that Tin-Tin, knowing that he needed the telescope to see Thunderbird Three, had stopped pestering him for news about Alan.

He'd fallen into bed ten minutes earlier, hopeful that tomorrow he'd finally get the chance to see the universe beyond Mars' orbit. Tomorrow he'd be able to start that "visual analysis" that everyone hoped would bring some closure as to what had happened to Thunderbird Three.

"_Calling International Rescue."_

John mumbled to himself in his sleep, turned, and nuzzled into his pillow.

"_Calling International Rescue."_

John turned again and slid his arm over his ear to block out that aggravating voice.

"_Calling International Rescue."_

With a snort of confusion, John sat up. He was dreaming, wasn't he? No one should be calling International Rescue.

"_Calling International Rescue. This is Martian Base Three calling International Rescue."_

A Martian base? What did they want with him? If they needed some kind of rescue then they were out of luck. International Rescue had no way of rescuing anyone on Mars. They had no way of rescuing him from Thunderbird Five!

John rolled out of bed, stumbled into his slippers, dragged a dressing gown around him and scuffed his way into the main control room. Bypassing the reassembled rocket with its Santa Claus scene, absurd Christmas tree tail, and the small collection of gifts around the tree's base, he picked up the radio. "This is Thunderbird Five of International Rescue. I'm receiving you Martian Base Three. What's your" _problem_ "emergency?"

"Oh… Um… International Rescue? We, er, don't have an emergency."

_It's the middle of the night. Why are you bothering me if it's not an emergency?_

"We, erm…"

_Get on with it!_

"We think we may have intercepted a message that was meant for you."

John frowned and told his brain to wake up. "A message?"

"We were doing routine observations when we observed a pattern of lights. At first we thought it was solar flares or some kind of astronomical phenomenon, but then we realised that it was too regular and too repetitive. The Earth's practically on the other side of the sun from us, so we knew if wasn't coming from home. Some of us then thought that it might be extra-terrestrial life trying to make contact using some kind of code…"

John's frown deepened, unable to see where International Rescue fitted into all of this.

"It was only just before the end of the Martian day, when we lost contact with it, that we realised that it was a pattern of dots and dashes."

"Dots and dashes?" John echoed. "You mean something like Morse code? But that's been obsolete for decades."

"We know. That's why no one here recognised it. Our first thought was that these extra-terrestrials believed it would be something universally known and were using it to talk to us."

John was beginning to wonder if Mars was already into the Christmas eggnog with all this talk of extra-terrestrial life trying to communicate with a centuries' old code.

"We managed to record two sequences before we finally lost a visual," Mars admitted. "Then," the astronaut gave an embarrassed chuckle, "we had to delve into our online encyclopaedias to try and find the Morse alphabet. We spent the next three hours trying to decode it. We were reading it as B-I-R-T-B-3-F-A and were wondering if perhaps birtbefa was some kind of intergalactic birthday greeting. After all it is Christmas and ET may have assumed that everyone on Earth celebrated the birth of Jesus."

John was curious about Mars' willingness to accept that "ET" might be trying to contact Earth. Years ago, as an astronomer, he'd heard rumours… unsubstantiated rumours… And then there were those incidents that International Rescue had been called out to in its final years… Major disasters that seemed to have occurred for little or no reason…

"Then someone," Mars continued, obviously aware that he was sounding a little foolish, "who must have been more awake than the rest of us, realised that the message had been sent from some point between us and Jupiter."

John's mouth went dry. "What…?"

"Naturally that got us thinking about International Rescue. So we put the I-R first, which left us with T-B-3-F-A-B. Thunderbird Three's the name of your spaceship, right?"

John was trying to get his mind and his mouth working. "Ah… Yes."

"We're assuming that it was Thunderbird Three that saved us all from the asteroid."

Not trusting that his befuddled brain wouldn't let anything secret slip, John responded with a monosyllabic "Yes."

"We read somewhere that your affirmation code was F-A-B?"

"That… That's correct."

"So our guess was that Thunderbird Three's crew were using a laser beam to tell International Rescue that they're okay. We thought we'd better call in case you didn't know."

"We… We didn't know." John pulled himself together. "We hadn't heard anything about Thunderbird Three since her rendezvous with the asteroid. We thought that something must have happened to her and… and her crew. We've been imagining the worst…" He smiled, and those at Martian Base Three heard his smile transmitted along the airwaves. "You've just given International Rescue the best Christmas present we could hope for. Thank you."

"Hey, thank _you_! If it wasn't for you and your team we wouldn't have a home to return to… Do you want us to send a reply?"

John was astonished. "Can you do that?"

The unseen man laughed. "We think we've got a handle on this Morse thing now. Once the Martian day brings us back into line, we can programme a computer to direct laser light back the way your message came."

"Great." John thought quickly, mindful of the Martian base's limited expertise with Morse. "Can you send T-B-3-A-L-L-F-A-B?" He translated the characters into the required code.

"Thanks for that. I'd hate to tell Thunderbird Three that you'd fallen off the face of the Earth or something.

John laughed dutifully, but his mind was elsewhere. "Thank you for calling, you don't know what it means to us; but if you'll excuse me I've got to report to base."

"I understand. If we get a reply can we call you back?"

"Please do."

"Thanks. Merry Christmas, International Rescue."

"Merry Christmas."

John disconnected Mars and reached over to call home. Then he changed his mind. After all, he'd just received a message from an outsider calling International Rescue…

Grinning wildly he set the alarm off that would scream through the Tracy Villa, waking everyone up and, eight years ago, send them running for the lounge to see where in the world they were going to be despatched to save those who would otherwise be without hope. This time they'd all be running for the lounge to see why he'd chosen to wake them in this manner.

Then, recognising his father's restricted mobility, he got onto the direct line to Jeff's bedroom.

Jeff was sitting on the edge of his bed when he answered John's call. "What is it?" he asked, fumbling for his spectacles so he could check the time on his watch. "It's after midnight, John."

"Merry Christmas, Dad," John sang. "I've got great news. Wonderful news! Stupendous news! Out-of-this-world news!" He cackled a laugh at his wit.

Jeff stared at his son, wondering if some clandestine beverages had been slipped into Santa's rocket. If he didn't know better he would have thought that John was high. And not just in-geo-stationary orbit high. Maybe some euphoria-inducing gas had contaminated Thunderbird Five's air supply. "John…"

"You're not going to believe who we've had a message from!" John cheered, before detailing his conversation with Martian Base Three.

Despite the fact that he now felt wide awake, Jeff wasn't convinced that wasn't enjoying a pre-Christmas dream. "Are you sure?"

"The message came from the direction of Jupiter. It was in Morse, which no one uses nowadays, but Alan knows. And it was I-R T-B-3 F-A-B. Where else could it have come from?"

"Are you sure it's not some kind of a prank?"

"No way. The call definitely came from the Martian Base and you know those guys are professionals. Plus they're grateful to us for all we've done. There's no way they'd play a cruel joke like that."

Jeff still wasn't sure that he wasn't dreaming, but it had been so long since he'd seen any of his sons this happy that he wasn't about to extinguish John's joy. "You'd better go and tell everyone else. They'll all be in the lounge by now."

"Yes, Sir! Merry Christmas, Dad." And John's image was replaced by a painting of the Earth as viewed from the Moon.

Telling himself that it wasn't a dream and to feel a bit more excited about John's news, Jeff pulled his dressing gown on, slipped his feet into his slippers, grasped the handles of his walker and headed for the hall.

He fully expected that he was going to be the last person arriving in the lounge, but he was wrong. Tin-Tin, cuffing sleep from her eyes, wasn't rushing. Why should she when she wouldn't be considered for any rescue?

"Tin-Tin…" Jeff stretched out his hand to her. "We've heard from Alan."

"What?" She took his hand automatically as his words sank in. "Alan?"

Jeff felt his hand being squeezed, as if she was trying to come to grips with his news. "He sent a Morse Code message by laser beam. A Martian base saw it and reported to John. That's what he's going to…" There were cheers, whoops, and shouts of delight from the lounge. Jeff grinned. "That's he's just told everyone in the lounge."

"Is Alan all right?"

"His 'words' were: I-R TB3 F-A-B, so we're assuming he is."

The lounge door was flung open and, talking ninety-to-the dozen, their smiles as wide as Thunderbird Two, the rest of the family streamed out.

Scott spied his sister-in-law and swept Tin-Tin off her feet. "He's alive, Tin-Tin!" he cheered, spinning her about.

"Careful, Scott," Jeff admonished.

Scott didn't appear to hear his father as he dropped Tin-Tin back to her feet and kissed her. "Alan's alive!"

"It's a miracle." Virgil was slapping his father on the back. "A Christmas miracle!" He kissed Tin-Tin. "Come on!" he said, pulling on her hand. "We're all heading to the music room to celebrate!"

Gordon spun Tin-Tin away from his elder brother. "So bring your kazoo," he advised. He swooped her into a dip. "Leave a space on your card for me."

"Gordon," Jeff growled, as Tin-Tin was righted.

Brains, his eyes shining behind his spectacles, was already dancing despite the absence of music. "I'll be glad when he's home. I can't wait to hear how the rocket performed."

Giggling at the Tracy brothers' attentions, Tin-Tin barely had a chance to recover her breath before her father pulled her into an embrace. "Is it not good news?"

She returned the embrace. "Wonderful news, Father!"

"I shall prepare food to celebrate." Kyrano disappeared through a side door, and as he left they could still hear him exclaiming: "It is wonderful news. Wonderful news."

"I am feeling quite heady," Lady Penelope was admitting. "I daresay I shan't sleep again tonight. I am quite overcome by it all," and Jeff found himself with the unexpected pleasure of receiving a hug from her Ladyship.

"Me h-and h-all." Parker, awkwardly because of Lady Penelope's hug, was shaking Jeff's hand. "H-It's h-about time the young shaver showed 'imself."

"You must be so relieved." Lady Penelope released Jeff.

"You've no idea, Penny," he agreed. "You have no idea."

"Come on, everyone, grab your instruments," Virgil called. "Time to party!"

There were more whoops and a surge down the hall towards the music room.

"Alan's been hiding from us, hasn't he?"

"He always was the best at hide and seek."

"Remember the time that he hid up that tree and we didn't find him for hours…?"

The door at the end of the hall closed behind the excited babble, leaving Jeff and Tin-Tin alone.

She turned to her father-in-law, taking his hand again. "You believed that Alan was dead, didn't you?"

He nodded; that belief seeming so ridiculous now. "John found evidence that something the roughly the size of Thunderbird Three had crashed into Jupiter at the same time as Arnie. That, coupled with the fact that no one had seen any evidence of Three's return journey, led us to believe the worst. We had no evidence either way and that's why we didn't tell you. We knew we were going to have to soon, but we didn't want Christmas to be a permanent reminder of what you…" he swallowed, new emotions clashing with the old and all threatening to swamp him. "…of what we'd lost. We did what we thought was best. I'm sorry if you don't agree."

"Oh…" Tin-Tin threw her arms about his neck and hugged him. "Thank you."

At first Jeff thought she was trying to comfort him, but the next thing he knew, Tin-Tin was crying. He didn't know if they were tears of joy, or relief, or simply a release of all the fears and uncertainties she'd endured over the last few months. He didn't know and he didn't care. He just let her sob into his shoulder, feeling his own eyes well up at the depth of emotion that she was expressing coupled with the dispersal of his own concerns and a welling up of unbridled joy. "He's coming home, Tin-Tin. Alan's coming home!"

It was a full ten minutes before either of them felt composed enough to break away.

"I am sorry," Tin-Tin apologised, wiping her eyes on a handkerchief.

Jeff decided that the most manly way that he could discard the residue of his own emotions was on the sleeve of his dressing gown. "Come on," he managed a rueful grin. "We're missing the party."

The celebration was in full raucous swing when they arrived at the music room. Virgil had naturally claimed the piano, while Scott was already belting away at an electric guitar. Gordon was keeping a running beat on the drums and even Parker had picked up an acoustic guitar and was showing a fair amount of versatility. They played those instruments and more, they danced, they cheered, they (unfortunately for those with an ear for music) sang. And when the sun came up they wished each other a Merry Christmas and trotted back to the lounge to open the presents that resided under the tree.

From his portrait above them John beamed down on the happy tableau. For once, it didn't matter that he was stuck alone on Thunderbird Five on Christmas Day as he ripped open a parcel that proclaimed itself to be from his Dad. "Ah ha!" He waved the yellow silk pillowcase. "A new cravat!"

Jeff laughed. "There's another gift in there that you might want to save for later," he advised.

John knew the one his father was talking of, having already secreted it away to enjoy when he was alone. It was from Emma and when he'd seen it he'd been relieved that he'd taken advantage of his downtime post-Doomsday to arrange to send her a gift. Contacting a respected jeweller, they'd emailed suggestions and responses back and forth, allowing the craftsman to come up with something that wasn't too personal or obscenely expensive (although John would have happily spent a small fortune, or even a large one), but was worthy of a secretary who'd worked above and beyond the call of duty. Together he and the jeweller had settled on a cloisonné brooch in the shape of a castle, with a drawbridge that opened out to reveal a locket. The gift had been timed to arrive yesterday, along with the distinctly unromantic note: "Thank you for holding the fort".

Was it too much? John wondered. Or too little? Whose photo was destined to be concealed in the locket?

He pushed his musings to one side. Down on Tracy Island, something special was happening.

Virgil stretched and yawned; too tired after barely any sleep to do anything else, too keyed up to consider going back to bed. "I wonder if Alan's seen his Christmas holograms yet?"

"Which reminds me." Jeff reached into his desk and pulled out a small parcel. "Tin-Tin, this is a hologram from Alan… To look at later when you're alone."

"Saving the rest of us from its X-rated content," Gordon teased, and Tin-Tin swatted him with a cushion. She accepted the parcel from her father-in-law with thanks, her eyes turning to the second to last portrait on the wall.

"He got the idea once we started sending him visitations," John explained. "He asked if I could reverse the process and I did my best without the proper cameras. The quality won't be as good as he's receiving, but that's not what matters. What's important is his message to you."

Tin-Tin blushed. "Thank you, John."

"He got me to help him record one for us all, so, as it's the only room with projectors, I've got it set up to play in the theatre."

"We'll be there in a moment." Jeff nodded in his eldest's direction. "Scott? Would you?"

Scott grinned and then disappeared behind one of the oriental screens, re-emerging holding a large, festively wrapped parcel. "Alan wanted you to have this today, Tin-Tin."

Tin-Tin, looking almost overcome, thanked him.

Jeff stood. "Perhaps we'd all better head down to the theatre now. Tin-Tin, you can join us when you're ready."

Tin-Tin, about to agree with his suggestion, let out an exclamation. "The baby's kicking! Father! Can you feel it?" Before he could protest she had placed her father's hand on her belly. "Can you feel it?" she repeated.

At first Kyrano seemed embarrassed at being forced to touch skin that appeared to be only protected by a single layer of thin cotton. His ingrained belief was that any touching of a person of the opposite sex, even if it was the person of his daughter, should be restricted. He permitted her the touching of hands, arms, and, in moments of private necessity, the face, but aside from that nothing more except the occasional embrace of love or condolence. And here he was being forced to submit to contact more intimate and more public than he would have ever contemplated enduring. Then, when he felt the first pushes against his hand, his eyes widened in wonder; followed by a beaming smile that threatened to split his face into two and that he never really lost for the rest of the day. "I feel it."

"You too," Tin-Tin caught Jeff's hand.

"Tin-Tin, I don't think that I sh…" Jeff's protest melted away and he allowed his own smile to envelope his face as he felt the tiny kicks. "I think you've got a future soccer striker in there!"

Tin-Tin giggled at the description before she sighed. "I wish Alan was here to feel his child move."

Jeff put his arm about her shoulders and kissed her on the temple. "Soon, Tin-Tin, soon," he promised. "Alan is coming home."

_To be continued…_

_-I-R-_

_-F-A-B-_

_-I-R-_

_I hope you all enjoyed sharing Christmas with the Tracys. _

_Merry Christmas, Everyone._

_Purupuss_


	55. Chapter 55 - New Year

**Chapter 55: A New Year**

_Tuesday, 26__th__ December 2079_

John had finally rendered his telescope operational some time during Christmas and had spent the rest of the day scanning the heavens for a glimpse of the missing spaceship. He'd only taken a break from his observations to indulge in Kyrano's Christmas fare; which he'd done with one eye on the video link with his family's festive meal, one eye on his glorious view of Earth, and a large portion of his attention on the computer that was scanning the space between Jupiter and home.

By the time night had fallen on Tracy Island he was sure that he must have an imprint of the telescope's eyepiece around his eye and the computer screen burnt into his retina, but he had no triumphant pictures to bookend their day.

It was late when he finally took himself off to bed.

And early when he arose the next morning, affixed himself to the eyepiece, and continued looking.

"_Base to Thunderbird Five."_

Recognising the voice, John forced himself away from the telescope, stretched, and picked up the microphone. "Thunderbird Five. What can I do for you, Dad?"

"_Just curious. Any sign of him?"_

"Negative, and believe me I've been looking."

"_I'm sure you have, Son. Don't go giving yourself eyestrain."_

"I won't."

"_Okay, I'll let you get back to it. Call if you have news."_

"F-A-B."

John signed off, stretched again, and prepared to settle back down at the telescope.

"_Base to Thunderbird Five."_

John should have known that he'd get a call from at least one of his brothers today. "Thunderbird Five. Hiya, Scott."

"_Have you managed to find him yet?"_

"Nope. He's been too clever for me this time. But I will. I've had my eye glued to the eyepiece all morning."

"_Hmmn. Now there's a thought."_

Or maybe from more than one brother. "Not one you're allowed to think, Gordon."

"_You've got to admit that it's a step up from shoe-blacking it."_

"No, it's not."

"_Don't worry, we'll tie him down somewhere so he can't get near your stuff."_

Or even all three. "I would appreciate that, Virg."

"_Are we holding you up, John?"_

"You are, Scott, but I've still got the computer scanning."

"_Okay, we'll leave you to it. Call us when you see him."_

"You can count on it."

John signed off, returned to the chair next to his telescope and sat down.

"_Base to Thunderbird Five."_

This was one call that John knew with absolute certainty that he would get. "Thunderbird Five. How are you, Tin-Tin?"

"_I am well, thank you, John. And you?"_

"I'm as bright as a supernova, Honey. How's the baby?"

"_Active. Missing his father."_

"His?"

"_I have decided that it must be a boy. He pumps the accelerator as soon as he hears Alan's name… There he goes again."_

John chuckled. "He's definitely Alan's kid."

"_Have you seen Thunderbird Three though your telescope yet?"_

"Not yet. But I'm looking."

"_You will call me as soon as you see him?"_

"I promise. Tell your dad I'm having his Christmas dinner leftovers tonight and my mouth's watering at the thought of it."

"_I am pleased to hear this, Mister John."_

"Not as pleased as I am to eat it, Kyrano. And if Alan hasn't shown himself by time it comes to dine, I'll have it here in the astrodome."

"_Be careful that you do not give yourself indigestion, John."_

"I won't, Honey."

"_Goodbye."_

"Bye."

Talking of food had made John hungry. He took a step towards the door with the intention of collecting a snack from the galley. An apple would be tasty…

"_Base to Thunderbird Five."_

John managed not to sound exasperated at the more unexpected interruption. "Thunderbird Five. Hi, Brains."

"_Hello, ah, John. How is your telescope working?"_

"Flawlessly, thanks to you. Not that it's picked up any sign of Thunderbird Three yet."

"_It hasn't?"_

"No. But I'm sure it won't be long now."

"_You will call when you do, won't you."_

"You betcha. Thanks again for designing that rocket."

"_It was my p-pleasure, John. You will call when you see him?"_

"I'll be on the radio to home as soon as I see as much as a fleck of orange paint."

John signed off, and wondered if he could chance getting his apple. There was no one left to call him so he should be safe…

"_Base to Thunderbird Five."_

This was almost the last person he'd expected; apart from Alan. "Thunderbird Five. Penny? I wasn't expecting a call from you."

"_I do apologise for interrupting your work, for I am sure that you must be dreadfully busy, but both Parker and I will admit to being curious. Is there any sign of Thunderbird Three?"_

"Sorry, but, if I'm honest, I haven't had a chance to look in the last ten minutes. Everyone's been calling me to see if I've seen him."

"_And here I am holding you up as well. I am sorry."_

"Don't worry about it. And I promise to call the moment I see him."

"_Thank you, dear boy. Everyone here is most impatient to make contact with him again."_

"So's everyone here. I'll talk to you later, Penny. Give my best to Parker."

"_Ta, Mister John. You too."_

"_Goodbye, John."_

John took a chance, made a dash to the galley and scored his apple. Relishing the fresh, juicy taste, he returned to his astrodome and, apple clenched between his teeth, peered through the telescope's eyepiece.

Stars.

Lots and lots of tiny stars of varying brightness.

But no sign of a spaceship.

Elsewhere in Thunderbird Five a videophone rang.

Swallowing his bite of apple before muttering to himself about how could anyone expect him to do any work with all these interruptions, John returned to his private quarters. A name was on the videophone screen.

Emma Janes.

His heart racing, John dropped the apple onto his table, ripped off his sash, and ran his fingers through his hair. Now with three months growth he felt more like Virgil during Gustav's heyday than the CEO of a multinational corporation. If only he'd been able to cut it! He briefly considered answering on the 'sound only' setting, but flagged that idea away when he realised that if Emma couldn't see him, he couldn't see her.

He answered the phone. "Emma! What a lovely surprise."

She smiled and his heart skipped a beat, making up for its overexertion from seconds earlier. "Merry Christmas, John."

He'd forgotten that the States was a day behind Tracy Island. "Merry Christmas… I… erm… I see you got my present."

Emma was wearing his brooch on a green woolly jumper, and as she fingered it she turned slightly pink. "That's why I called. To say thank you. It was most unexpected… And much appreciated."

"Like mine." Emma's gift had been a tiepin in the shape of a telescope. "First chance I get, I'm wearing it."

Her pink complexion darkened. "I, er, I see you're wearing your favourite shirt again."

"My favourite...? Oh, yeah. I like the colour."

"You must do. I think you've worn it almost every time we've talked since you left the company."

"Well, you know, after all those years of wearing a suit and tie... Erm…" John glanced at the computer screen that carried a video feed from his telescope. One of the stars twinkled back at him. "How have you been?"

"Well. And you?"

Twinkling? He was above Earth's atmosphere. The stars shouldn't be twinkling. "Me? Oh… Fine…"

"And how's Jeff?"

"He's, er…" Another star twinkled. "He's well. Looking forward to being a grandfather."

"How is Tin-Tin?

"She's well…" Further stars twinkled. "Look, I'm sorry, Emma, I've got to go."

She looked a little hurt. "John?"

"I'm sorry, really sorry," he gabbled. "But I think I've just seen Alan."

"Alan? But…?"

"He, erm, he went on a," John thought frantically, aware that he was being pulled in multiple directions, "on a, erm, sailing trip, and we, ah, lost contact."

"Oh, dear, and over Christmas! Tin-Tin must be worried."

"Yeah. We all are. If it is him, I've got to let the family know."

"I understand. I hope he's all right."

"Me too." John managed to bring his full focus back to her. "I'm sorry, Emma. I wish I could talk for longer, but…"

"Go!" she instructed. "Make sure Alan gets home safely!"

"Yes." And suddenly his face exploded into delight. "I will! Merry Christmas, Emma."

"Merry Christmas, Jo…"

Forgetting his precious apple, browning on his bedside table, and his sash bunched up on his bed, John ran back to the astrodome.

Bother! Thunderbird Three, if it were Thunderbird Three, was passing through a zone relatively free of starlight. He'd have to wait until the spaceship, if it was the spaceship, blocked the light between the telescope and that next distant star. That was assuming that Alan, if it was Alan, maintained his course.

Eye straining against the eyepiece, John focussed on the next likely source of proof.

It disappeared momentarily.

"Yes!"

But John didn't want to get anyone's hopes up unnecessarily. Not until he was totally, absolutely, unequivocally, one hundred per cent sure.

But what he saw next had him confused.

Magnified thousands of times by his new telescope lenses, a tiny burst of light flared. This was followed by a glint of sunlight followed by darkness, followed by another glint and more darkness. The pattern continued on and on…

Confused, John time-travelled his computer back a few seconds, zoomed on in the suspected location of Thunderbird Three, and watched.

There was the flare! And there…

There was sunlight reflecting off what could only have been one of Thunderbird Three's fins and thruster rockets before it rolled away into darkness, replaced a short time later by the reflection of one of the others. This was followed in short order by a similar dip into nothing and a glimpse of the third array, before the whole pattern started all over again.

Now John understood what was happening. Alan had instigated a 'passive thermal control' roll, otherwise known as PTC. This procedure stopped one side of the spaceship from overheating in the solar radiation belting out from the sun whilst the other side froze in space's freezing cold. If necessary Alan would even make Thunderbird Three spin about like a top in order to prevent damage. As Gordon had once quipped, the PTC enabled Thunderbird Three to be evenly toasted on all sides. The flare John had seen had been one of her horizontal rockets starting International Rescue's spaceship rolling.

"Atta boy, Alan!" John cheered. He rewound the video, found the clearest still of a sunlit thruster that he could, and saved it.

Now he was running through to the main control room. He had to let home know that Alan was okay; but first, possibly even more importantly, he needed to communicate with his youngest brother. Remembering Alan's earlier attempts at letting them know he was okay, John set up a laser, pointing it well ahead of where he had seen Thunderbird Three.

He had two reasons for doing this. One was that Alan had initiated the PTC roll about 15 to 20 minutes earlier; that being how long it took the light from Thunderbird Three's reflections to reach Thunderbird Five. The second was that it would take just as long for any returning light to reach Alan. After a quick calculation and an equally quick double-check, John calibrated the position of the laser beam and keyed in the Morse characters for his message: TB3 ICU TB5.

It was only then that John reached for the radio. He wouldn't be receiving any response from Alan for at least half an hour. Plenty of time to let everyone know the good news.

Grinning almost manically, he flipped all the switches that opened the links to every video screen in the house. "Thunderbird Five to base. I've seen him!"

It so happened that every member of the household was in the lounge when he made his pronouncement.

"You have!" his father managed to raise his voice above the exclamations of pleasure that surrounded him. "That's wonderful, John."

Tin-Tin pressed close to her brother-in-law's video image. "How far away is he?"

"Yeah," Gordon echoed. "When will he be home?"

"I estimate that you've got another five to six weeks of peace and quiet," John quipped, and Tin-Tin's face fell, "but he should be within static, if not communication range, in just on a week. He's within laser range now."

"He is!" Scott shot to his feet. "Then send him a message!"

"I have. He should receive it in roughly…" John checked his watch, "thirteen minutes. If he sees it I'll get a reply in thirty to forty five minutes."

Virgil swivelled around on his piano stool so he was facing the room's video camera. "What did you say to him?"

"_TB3 I see you TB5_." Those in the lounge wouldn't have thought it was possible, but John's grin widened. "I've got a photograph of Thunderbird Three too."

"C-Can you put it through?"

"Sure thing, Brains." Scott's portrait disappeared. "Sorry it's so grainy, but that's at 200 times zoom."

"That doesn't matter, John," Jeff consoled. "We can see what it is."

"He'd just started a PTC roll when I saw him. That's his first rotation."

Lady Penelope turned to Kyrano. "PTC roll? What is that?"

"I am sorry, but I do not know, Lady Penelope."

"Parker?"

"Beats me, m'Lady."

Everyone else was too excited or too noisy to hear her question, let alone answer it, so Lady Penelope decided not to press the matter. She could always ask for an explanation later.

"I don't want to miss Alan's reply, so I'm heading back to the astrodome," John was saying. "I'll call again when I've heard from him."

"Good," his father beamed at him. "We'll be waiting."

It was only as he placed his microphone back on the console that John remembered his apple. _Now… Where'd I put that?_ He looked around the control room, checking on computer consoles and under them, but the fruit proved to be as elusive as Thunderbird Three. Retracing his steps to his bedroom he found it, brown and unappetising, on his bedside table. He picked it up, screwing his nose up in distaste. Then he shrugged, took a bite, and returned to the astrodome.

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

_Thursday 28__th__ December 2079_

One of the methods the Tracys had proposed to keep Tin-Tin occupied, when their collective mood was at the lowest and they thought that they'd never see Alan again, was to direct her energies into getting things ready for the baby. Grandma Tracy's old suite was delegated to be the future nursery and shopping trips were made to the mainland for Tin-Tin's medical check-ups and to purchase things to personalise the new arrival's rooms.

Now, with everyone in a happier frame of mind and the world a better and brighter place, it was time to do some serious decorating.

Scott pushed the door open slowly and peeked around the corner. "How's it going? Ready for some furniture yet?"

"Not quite." Virgil rubbed his nose on a paint-smudged hand and gestured his brother to come in. "What do you think?"

Scott stood on the drop cloth in the middle of the room and surveyed the brightly-coloured mural that went from one wall to the other. Virgil had painted the basic outline with broad swipes of colour and now he was filling in the detail with finer brushes. Close to the ceiling, birds and a couple of aeroplanes, along with a single space rocket flew over the representation of Tracy Island, which was forested with a world of palm trees and other vegetation. In the blue ocean surrounding the island dolphins played, and the periscope from a yellow submarine broke through the waves. "Wow. I wish I was a kid again, so I could have my room decorated like this."

Virgil grinned. "You know you only need to ask."

"Anyone with hair as grey as his is too old for a mural." With a "'Scuse me, Grandpa," Gordon pushed past, expertly ducking Scott's chastising slap. "Is this the one you wanted, Virgil?"

"Yes, thanks." Virgil accepted the roller. "I'm thinking of painting the ceiling dark blue and putting some stars on it. But, while you guys are here, I've got something I want you to do…" He climbed an A-frame ladder that was side-on to the wall, placing a tray of yellow paint on the top platform. "Can you come up here, Scott?"

"Yep." Scott ascended the other side. "Now what."

Virgil ran the roller through the paint. "Give me your hand."

"Why? I'm rather attached to it."

Virgil grabbed his brother's hand. "Palm up, please. Thank you…" He ran the wet roller over Scott's palm.

Scott stared at his jaundiced limb. "Why didn't you tell me you were going to do that before you invited me up here?"

Virgil rolled his eyes. "See the sun?"

Scott was more intent on regarding the wet mess that was his hand. "No."

Gordon laughed. "I think he means that big yellow smiley face circle on the wall."

"Huh?" Scott looked up. "Oh, yeah. I see it."

"You should. It's the size of Thunderbird Two," Gordon teased. "Or do you need glasses, Grandpa? Shall I go and see if Brains has a spare pair?"

Scott scowled at his younger brother.

"Ignore him." Virgil painted his own palm with the roller and pressed it against the wall, leaving a yellow handprint. "I want you to do this on the other side."

"So our fingers form the sun's rays."

"You'll see pencil marks around the circumference, try and line your hand up between a couple; that way the sun's rays will be evenly spaced." Virgil wiped his hand on a rag. "Not one of the top four though; they're for Father, Alan, Tin-Tin and Kyrano."

"I think this is within the limits of my artistic talent." Scott counted the pencil marks and made his mark on the wall. "Are you going to get everyone's handprints?" He jumped down off the ladder.

"That's the idea." Virgil handed him down the rag to clean his hand. "Your turn, Gordon."

His younger brother climbed the ladder and held his hand out for the application of paint. "Where do you want me?"

"Can I answer that?" Scott begged. "I'm not short of ideas." He watched as Gordon's mark was added to the growing collection. "You're not expecting Tin-Tin to climb up there, are you?" He ignored Gordon's clucking sounds and attempted to return the rag to Virgil instead.

"No," Virgil said, as Gordon intercepted the cloth. "I thought I'd see if the elevator risers still worked and if we can fit them through the door. It would make it easier for Father too…"

"Oh, Virgil!" None of the Tracys had heard Tin-Tin enter the room. "It's wonderful!"

Virgil looked pleased with himself. "You think your kid's going to like it?"

"What child wouldn't?" Tin-Tin enthused.

"It's better than anything Gustav painted." Gordon descended the ladder.

Virgil frowned down at him. "I'm not sure how to take that."

Tin-Tin was still admiring his artwork. "Are we all putting our handprints around the sun?"

"Yep."

"Good…" And before the Tracys had the chance to try and stop her, Tin-Tin was standing on the top rung of the ladder. "I'll do mine now."

Virgil looked at his brothers, shrugged, and rolled yellow paint onto her hand. "Yours is one of the top two. Alan's is the other."

"I think it's a wonderful idea of yours," more sunrays were applied to the mural, "having each of us watching over my child."

"Thanks."

"You _are_ getting old, Scott," Gordon stated. "In the prime of youth you would have been quick enough to stop her climbing up there."

"Gordon…" Tin-Tin looked around at Scott's growl. It was clear that the younger man was starting to try his older brother's patience. "I am not old. And I'm not slow either. In fact…" He picked up one of Virgil's spent paint brushes. "I'm quick enough to paint you." He dipped the brush into a tin.

"Scott…" Gordon took a step back, aware that he'd gone too far this time. "You wouldn't."

Green blobs dropped from the brush into the tin. "Oh, wouldn't I?"

"You'll get marks all over Tin-Tin's new paintwork." Gordon took another step back. "You don't want to ruin Virgil's mural!"

"I'm not intending to. What I am intending to do is give you a green eye in revenge for my black one."

Convinced that Scott was serious, Gordon took a third step backwards. "You said you weren't upset about that."

"Did I…?"

Virgil made an exasperated noise. "Why don't you both leave my things alone and go and play somewhere else?"

"Good idea." Hoping that the little space he'd put between him and Scott would give him an advantage, Gordon ran.

Dropping the paintbrush back into its tin with a yell, Scott took off after the family joker.

Shaking his head at the ridiculousness of their behaviour, Virgil watched the door behind them slam before he turned back to Tin-Tin; still perched on the ladder opposite him. "Do we really need another kid in the family?" He jumped down and held his hand out to her.

She giggled, and allowed him to assist her off the ladder. Then she stood appraising the mural. "It is wonderful, Virgil."

"Save your praise until it's finished and the room occupied," he advised. "Which won't be long now…"

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

_Monday January 1__st__ 2080 12:00:06am_

"Happy New Year, Penny."

"Happy New Year, Jeff." Lady Penelope accepted his celebratory embrace. "May it be a thousand times better than the last one."

"I'll drink to that." He raised his glass. "When you think about what we've got to look forward to, it should be that and more. Alan will be home. My grandchild will be born. And we'll all be together…" He indicated through the patio doors and into the lounge. Virgil was playing the last notes of Auld Lang Syne and Scott was singing along with his brother and Tin-Tin. Parker was deep in conversation with Gordon; the latter laughing uproariously at whatever was being said. And, because of the amount of noise in the room, Brains and Kyrano were clustered around the computer screen on Jeff's desk, enjoying the festive moment with John. "…As a family, not just as a group of strangers who happen to come together on the odd occasion."

Lady Penelope smiled. "It will be a special year."

"It will." Jeff leant back against the balcony railing. "When I think all that we've been through this last year… And not even the last year. The last six months! We've saved the world. Twice! Against the odds!"

"You had an experimental operation, which was a complete success."

"Not complete," he amended, tapping his walker.

"You are improving every day, Mr Tracy."

"Last time you called me that you were telling me off."

"When you were trying to help me and were, quite correctly, encouraging me to obey doctor's orders."

"Doctors." Jeff screwed up his face. "Don't talk to me about doctors, I'm sick of them."

"They have their uses," she reminded him. "Look at you."

"True. This time last year I could barely raise my hand… Let alone a glass." Jeff toasted his friend.

Lady Penelope laughed her refined laugh. "You were not that bad, Jeff."

"Close. I can't remember when last time that I had the energy to stay up past midnight to see in the New Year."

"Not only a new year, but a new decade."

"It seems incredible what we've been through, now that we are able to look back on all that's happened."

"Incredible is not the word." Lady Penelope raised her glass. "Here's to International Rescue and the New Year."

He seemed surprised by the wording of her toast. "Here's to us all, Penny." He turned and raised his glass in the direction of Jupiter. "Happy New Year, Alan."

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

_Tuesday 2__nd__ January 2080_

The piano playing segued from a jazzy number to the tune that's listed in record books as being one of the most, if not _the_ most sung song in the world.

Jeff looked up from where he was relaxing on a couch with a magazine. "Do you have to keep playing that? I don't need to be reminded that I'm old."

The last notes of _Happy Birthday to You_ faded away and Virgil grinned. "I didn't get to celebrate my birthday, so I'm making up for it."

Hearing the comment, Scott sat up. "We should do something about that. Maybe have a party when Alan gets back?"

"Don't be silly." Virgil started playing another piece. "Last year I didn't even know if I was going to have another birthday. Now that I do, we can make up for last year when this year comes around."

"When we're all another year older…" Their earlier altercation forgotten, Gordon's teasing eyes twinkled at his eldest brother. "And another year greyer." He caught the cushion that Scott threw at him and threw it back.

Replacing his cushion, Scott smiled when he saw Tin-Tin enter the room. "We've got a more important birthday to celebrate this year. We just don't know the date yet."

Tin-Tin rubbed her bulging belly. "Don't get too excited. We still have a few months to go."

The eyes in the first portrait on the wall started flashing.

Jeff turned in his seat so he could see his son more clearly. "Go ahead, John."

John's face lit up the screen. "Happy birthday, Dad. I've got another present for you." He pointed to his left. "Look down there."

"What?" Not knowing why, and expecting the mystery to be revealed within the confines of John's picture frame, Jeff didn't move. Then he saw something change in his peripheral vision and heard Tin-Tin's exclamation. Looking down the row of his sons' portraits he saw the second-to-last one pale until it was replaced by white static. "Alan…?" He rose to his feet.

A ghostly outline was seen moving within Alan's portrait's frame. It looked like it was waving.

"Alan?" Jeff repeated.

"He's wishing you a happy birthday, Dad," John translated.

Jeff spoke to the static. "Thank you, Son," and no one was sure if he was speaking to John or the white ghost. "This is the best present you could give me."

Up in Thunderbird Three, Alan smiled. He could see a number of ghostly outlines waving in his direction and redoubled his efforts.

After so long without contact he had been beginning to wonder if he'd remember how to communicate with those he loved. The holograms had been a help in reminding him about life at home; and John's occasional laser messages had lifted a huge weight off his mind with its reassurances that he had a home to go to. But this first contact with those who mattered to him was finally allowing him to believe what he'd been almost frightened to accept.

He was on his way home and his family was waiting for him.

_To be continued…_

* * *

Happy New Year, Everyone. :-)


	56. Chapter 56 - Arrival

Chapter 56: Arrival

_Sunday, 4__th__ February 2080_

"I can't believe that you're both going to be home tomorrow, Boys," Jeff Tracy stated. "It's been too long." He thanked Kyrano for his cup of coffee.

His friend nodded in acknowledgement of the thanks and in agreement with the sentiment.

"You can say that again," Jeff's fair-headed sons responded, and laughed at their echo.

He laughed along with them. "It's been too long," he repeated.

"So long that it seems strange to be able to hold a proper conversation with you guys," Alan admitted, scratching his overgrown beard. "But I think it'll be even weirder when I'm back on Earth. You'll be talking to me and I'll think you're a hologram and forget to answer."

"I'm sure Tin-Tin will go out of her way to remind you that she's flesh and blood," Gordon teased. He ducked, expecting to be the recipient of a thrown cushion, or a cuff about the ear, or some other form of admonishment, but everyone chose to ignore him.

"What are you painting, Virg?" Alan asked.

"Just the scene outside…" Virgil was by the patio doors enjoying the view. "But I don't like the look of that cloud…"

More interested in the video screens, Brains didn't even glance at the window. "How long will it be before you, ah, dock with Thunderbird Five, Alan?"

"At present speed my ETA is…"

Everyone forgot about Alan's ETA when Tin-Tin let out an exclamation of what they all assumed was pain. Holding the back of a chair for support, she closed her eyes and breathed deeply.

"Tin-Tin…" Forgetting Lady Penelope's earlier admonitions and Tin-Tin's prior protestations that she would ask for help if necessary, Scott had leapt to her side. "What's wrong, Honey?" He took her arm. "Come and sit down."

"No… I… I'm all right," Having breathed through the discomfort she opened her eyes to see her father hovering uncertainly before her. "I think it was just a Braxton Hicks contraction."

"Contraction!" Suddenly everyone was on alert.

"Yes." She managed a wan smile. "It was nothing."

Nothing was not how Scott and the rest of his family saw it. "This is it!" he announced to anyone and everyone. "'You all know what to do. Operation Delivery' is go!"

"_Operation what?"_ Tin-Tin stared at her brother-in-law.

What followed was an episode that would have made the Keystone Cops proud, leaving Tin-Tin feeling as if she was the eye of a Tracy storm; unable to do anything except watch as mayhem swirled about her.

"But the baby can't be arriving now!" Gordon protested. "Alan's not back yet!"

"I think the father only has to be present at the beginning!" John told him. "It's optional at the end!"

"_I'm not..."_

"Tin-Tin!" She glanced up at her husband's portrait to see Alan leaning into the camera as if he was planning on diving through his picture frame. "Tin-Tin!" he called to her again. "Tin-Tin, please… It can't be arriving now. I want to be there with you."

"_It's not…" _Tin-Tin resisted her father's gentle tug at her arm as he tried to escort her to a chair. _"I am all right, Father."_

"It's too soon! I'm not home yet!"

"_You'll be home in plenty of time,"_ Tin-Tin tried to reassure her husband. Reassurance that went unheard in the panic that had infused the lounge. _"I am not in labour!"_

Scott was bellowing orders. "Go get it, Gordon!"

"Right!" Obeying his brother and commander, Gordon ran from the room.

"_Go get what?"_

Scott turned and ran, crashing into Virgil who'd launched himself off the platform where he'd been painting. Both men fell backwards, landing hard on the floor. Quick as a flash they were back on their feet, Scott trying to go left while Virgil attempted a step to the right. Reversing, Scott's rightward dodge was mirrored by Virgil's leftward sidestep. They would have continued this weird dance indefinitely if Scott hadn't grabbed his brother by the shoulders, forced him to turn 180 degrees, and pushed him forward. "Go!"

"_Where are you going, Virgil…?"_

Tin-Tin's query was overshadowed by Gordon's reappearance. "Where is it!?"

"_Where is what?"_

Despite the fact that Tin-Tin was the focus of their panic, everyone ignored her.

Scott stuck out his arm in the direction of some unknown site down the hall. "In the… the…" He snapped his fingers impatiently. "Room!"

"_What is in what room?"_

"Which room!?" Gordon disappeared back down the hallway. "I can't find it!"

"_Leave me alone, Father. I am all right."_

Up in Thunderbird Five John's knowledge of how his space station worked seemed to have deserted him. "I can't reach the hospital! What's the number?"

"_Hospital…? No!"_

"You must have it written down!" Scott yelled at the first portrait.

"I thought I'd programmed it in! But it's not working! I must have it wrong!"

"_I don't need a hospital, John!"_

John appeared to be scrolling through a computer database. "What's its name?"

"Erm…" Scott's razor-sharp mind deserted him.

"I'll get Thunderbird Two ready!"

"Good, Virgil!"

"Where are the keys?"

"_Keys? For a Thunderbird?!"_

"Why won't this phone number work?!"

"_Don't ring…"_

"I can't find the wheelchair!"

"_I don't need a wheelchair!"_

"Brains?" Lady Penelope approached the engineer who'd turned white as a sheet. "Just in case the baby is about to make a premature appearance… Do you have the necessary equipment ready?"

"Equipment?" His skin pale and clammy and looking like he was about to faint, Brains staggered towards the nearest chair. He collapsed onto the cushions, and Parker eased the younger man's head between his knees.

"_Brains!"_

Tin-Tin took a step towards her friend and colleague, but her father held her back. "Relax, my daughter."

"H-I've got 'im, m'Lady. You see h-if you can 'elp Miss Tin-Tin."

"Of course, Parker; splendid idea."

"Per'aps we should boil some water?"

"I have never understood why that is the accepted thing to do in these circumstances… Now, my dear girl…"

"_There's nothing wrong with me. Is Brains all right?"_

"You must rest, Tin-Tin. Do not let Mister Brains worry you."

"Why won't this painting tip!?"

"Virgil…"

"Gordon! Haven't you got that wheelchair yet?!"

"Scott…"

"I can't find it!"

"Gordon…"

"What the heck is the number of the hospital?"

"John…"

"_STOP IT!"_ Tin-Tin's scream had the desired effect of bringing the frenzied activity to a screeching halt.

Her father stared at her in concern. "Tin-Tin. I…"

She held up her hand to stop him. "Thank you… I am not in…"

"Found it!" Gordon came running back into the silenced room, pushing a wheelchair before him. "Here y'are, Tin-Tin." He wheeled it to her side, set the brake, and indicated that she should sit.

She folded her arms and stood resolute. "I – am – not – in – labour," she enunciated.

"But…" Scott looked confused. "You said you had a contraction."

"I did. A Braxton Hicks contraction."

"A what?"

Gordon flopped into the wheelchair; slouching in the seat as if that was what he had planned all along. "What's a Braxton Hicks contraction?"

"Just as you could not expect to dive into the pool at your Olympic final and win your medal without practise, so my body is practising the processes that will go into giving birth."

There was a stifled moan from Brains at that phrase. Lady Penelope poured some water from a jug onto her delicate handkerchief and applied it to his forehead.

"So you're all right, Tin-Tin?" Despite her calm demeanour, Alan still looked desperate to cross those last few miles with or without Thunderbird Three's assistance.

"Perfectly." She smiled up at him. "And once you come home you can join me at my neonatal classes and we can learn all about it together."

Alan looked as though he didn't know whether to be pleased or horrified by the idea.

"It's just as well this jammed." Virgil stepped away from the painting of the rocket. "I wonder why it did." He ran his fingers along the edge of the frame, searching for the obstruction.

"It did because I told it to," Jeff Tracy told him, before glancing up to his satellite-bound son. "Just as I jammed the link to the hospital." He shook his head in bemused wonder. "If I'd seen that little exhibition before I'd started International Rescue, I would have written the whole thing off as a bad expense and donated my money to some charity."

The team looked suitably chastised. "We wanted to make it as easy for Tin-Tin as we could," Virgil admitted, stepping away from the painting. "Maybe we need a bit more practise."

"After seeing that I think that you need a lot!"

"I appreciate that you want to make things as easy as possible for me," Tin-Tin began, "but perhaps you should include me in your plans, and maybe let me decide when the baby is arriving?"

Scott offered her an apologetic smile. "That sounds like a plan worth remembering." He looked down at his shirt, seeing a cobalt blue stain. Touching it, his fingers came away wet. "Paint," he groaned.

Virgil gave him a guilty smile. "Sorry." He trotted over to his easel. "Here," he handed his brother a small bottle and a rag. "This should get it out."

"Thanks." As Scott accepted the solvent, he glanced out the window. "You're right, Virg. I don't like the look of that cloud either…"

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

_Monday, 5__th__ February 2080 –"A-Day"_

"Thunderbird Three to Thunderbird Five. Permission to dock."

"Permission denied."

"What?!"

Alan heard his brother's laugh. "I'm joking Alan. Permission granted."

Last night Alan had had a bad dream; not a nightmare, but still something so vivid that he'd awoken curled up in a little ball with his sheets tied about him in knots. He'd dreamt that he'd forgotten how to dock Thunderbird Three. In his dream he and the spaceship had sat in space, only metres from Thunderbird Five, but so far away that he may as well be back at Jupiter. He could still hear John begging him to bring Thunderbird Three in so that they could both go home.

Now he was going through the processes instinctively and with little need for conscious thought.

A ring of lights on the console showed up green.

"Thunderbird Three docked."

"Confirmed. Airlock sealed." Alan heard the smile in John's voice. "Welcome aboard, Alan."

Both brothers had often dreamt about this day. In those dreams they'd envisaged their greetings being made with a warm handshake and maybe a brotherly hug; brief and manly, but nothing too emotional.

Accordingly Alan stepped out of the airlock with a big smile and extended his hand to his brother. "Hiya, John."

"Hiya, Alan." John reached out to share a handshake of his own.

The handshakes were forgotten.

The embrace was more than a reunion between two brothers who'd missed each other and had held fears that they'd never see the other again; it was that of two men who'd been alone for months, reconnecting with another human being.

Finally they broke apart.

"It's good to see you, Alan." John grinned and lightly tugged his brother's beard. "What I can see of you."

Alan ran his fingers down his hairy chin. "This is driving me crazy! I don't know how Virgil managed to live with one for so long. If I wasn't in a hurry to get home I'd shave it off first."

"We've got plenty of time," John admitted. "We can't go home yet."

Alan's mouth fell open. "We can't? Why not?"

"Come and take a look." John beckoned him over to the window and pointed down to the planet below. "_That's_ why not."

Alan looked through the window. Down beneath them was a huge swirling mass of white cloud forming an almost perfect spiral. Its centre marked a bull's-eye over Tracy Island. "Cyclone?"

"Cyclone Moira to be exact. Only a category three, but still too powerful for us to risk punching a hole through her."

Alan groaned. "But I'm so close!"

"And yet so far," John finished the quote. He squeezed Alan's shoulder. "I'm dying to get home too. But I'd hate for us to crash because we were too impatient."

"I was looking forward to feeling rain again," his brother admitted, "but that's ridiculous. When do they think Moira will blow herself out?"

"Tomorrow morning."

Alan groaned again.

"Cheer up! It'll give you time to have that shave; I've kept a spare razor for you. And then you can tell me all about it."

By mutual agreement the decision had been made that only snippets had been shared by Alan or the rest of the family, aside from the fact that everyone had been successful. The full stories would be detailed at International Rescue's final debriefing.

It seemed that Alan was going to be doing his explaining twice.

He grinned. "Since I was in the vicinity, I decided to go for a jaunt around Jupiter. Want to see my vacation pictures?"

John gaped at him. "You what?"

"I wanted to conserve fuel, so I did a free-return trajectory."

"A free return… Of Jupiter?!"

"Yep. I took photos and video."

John seemed almost dazed. "Of the far side?"

"Along with a couple of its moons." Alan winked. "Is this a fair swap? You give me the shaving gear. I'll give you access to the footage." He led the way back into Thunderbird Three's control room.

John took a step inside and then stopped. "Whoa, Alan! It reeks in here!" He flapped his hand in front of his nose.

"Does it?" Alan took a couple of sniffs. "I haven't noticed."

"It smells like unwashed… Haven't you been showering?!"

"Of course I have...! Occasionally… Ah… Sometimes… Maybe once a week… In my clothes… I didn't want to waste water!"

"I can understand that, but, geez… I'm going to have to travel in here tomorrow!"

"You could always stay behind."

"I'll put a peg on my nose."

Grinning, Alan popped a tablet PC from out of a slot in the console. "Everything's on there. You can stick it into yours and watch it on the big screen."

"Great!" John accepted the tablet. "I'll be right back with your shaving kit." He took off at a run.

"John!"

John skidded to a stop in the airlock. "Yes?"

Alan followed him through the hatch. "Don't you think we ought to let everyone know I've arrived safely?"

"Oh…" John looked embarrassed. "Yeah." Suddenly overjoyed, he put his kid brother into a headlock, rubbing his knuckles against Alan's head. "It's so good to have you back!"

"Ah, brotherly love," Alan griped. "I've missed it so much."

Laughing, John released him and returned to the main communications room. "Thunderbird Five to base."

When their father came on screen there was no sign of the storm's interference. "Thunderbird Five? Go ahead, John."

"Got someone here who wants to say hello."

Alan leant into shot. "Hi."

Jeff beamed at his youngest. "So you've made it that far!"

"Yep, home away from home. But I see Aunty Moira's paying a visit."

"Uninvited," Jeff growled.

Virgil glanced over his shoulder in the direction of the patio doors. "And she's already outstayed her welcome."

"Any problems?" John asked.

"No." Jeff shook her head. "She's nothing our defences can't handle."

Scott chose that moment to enter the lounge. "Hello. Your polar bear has finally arrived, John!"

Alan laughed and rubbed his beard. "John's promised me a loan of one of his razors, so this'll be gone by the time I get home… And not a moment too soon," he added with feeling.

Virgil grinned. "Wimp."

John had collected a pair of scissors. He held them in the vicinity of Alan's hair, which was just as long and unruly as his own. "Shave and a haircut, Sir? Only two bits."

"Just the shave will do," Alan growled. "I have a feeling that only two bits of my ears will be left if I let you cut my hair."

Enjoying the company, John laughed.

Gordon picked up Virgil's sketches that were spread on the couch beside him, and dumped them on his brother's lap before collapsing into the seat. "You're going to shave when we've finally got used to you looking like that? How do you expect us to recognise you when you finally make it home?"

Yawning, Alan ignored him. "Excuse me," he apologised. "My body clock's all out of synch. At some point it decided that I'm operating on a 25-hour day, not a 24-hour one."

Brains nodded sagely. "That is a, er, recognised condition brought on by long periods without human interaction. Some people find their circadian cycles shorten."

"Well I feel like it's about 10.00pm."

Jeff looked at his watch. "It's only 4.00."

Alan yawned again. "Where's Tin-Tin?"

"Going through maternity clothes catalogues," Scott explained. "When she started asking me which style I thought was the best, I left."

"Tell her I'll give her a call soon. I might have a nap first."

"Good, you can give her some advice on whether a sweetheart or a princess-line would be more becoming."

Alan started at his eldest brother. "What?"

"Beats me," Scott shrugged. "I don't even know why she asked me."

Gordon couldn't resist. "Because your feminine nature is so obvious to us all."

Scott sighed. "Virgil?"

Virgil pulled a cushion from behind his back and cuffed Gordon across the head with it.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

Alan grinned. "I love this family. I'll see you soon."

"Bye, Alan."

"Bye."

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

_Tuesday, 6__th__ February 2080 –"A-Day plus one"_

Thunderbird Three settled into her hangar, each of her thrusters nestling in a blast duct.

Alan smiled across to his fellow astronaut. "Well. We're home."

"And about time too." John stood and stretched. "I'm not planning on leaving Earth, for a long time."

"I'm not planning on leaving Earth for a long time either."

The two brothers grinned at each other.

"C'mon," Alan stood. "I've spent enough time in here. Let's get going."

"Out to fresh air," John approved. "Good idea."

"Sorry, but like I said, I was trying to conserve water. It's not as if I could throw open the windows to get the air circulating."

"I know, Alan. I'm just glad we weren't travelling to Jupiter and back together."

"You wouldn't be able to smell it either."

"Maybe."

The couch dropped through the bottom of Thunderbird Three and emerged into her hangar. Hitting the rails beneath the resting spaceship, they began their horizontal trip through the complex.

"What's the first thing you're going to do? Aside from locking lips with Tin-Tin?"

"I haven't really thought about it in detail. There are lots of things that I'm dying to do…"

John smirked. "I'll bet."

Alan ignored the innuendo. "But I don't know what's first on the… What's wrong with this thing?"

What was wrong was that the trolley that was transporting them was slowing down. The accompanying sounds were not encouraging and they were both beginning to have doubts that they'd make it to the hydraulic lift under the lounge.

"Get off and push," John suggested.

"No, thanks."

With the sound of the motor winding down, the trolley stopped moving.

Both brothers waited, hopeful that it might start up again.

Alan shifted in his seat. "You'd think that they'd keep the maintenance up. It's not like they had a lot else to do."

"Yes. They knew we'd be using this."

"Have they been busy?"

"Not particularly. The last thing of any importance that they did was make my Christmas rocket."

"What's Brains been doing?"

"Just fiddling with his projects."

"Virgil?"

"Painting, playing the piano, and piloting."

"Piloting?"

"He and Scott have been having mock dogfights."

"Scott? Gordon?"

"Heading to the States to visit Stewie and Howard, and playing with Thunderbird Four."

"Nice. While everything to do with Thunderbird Three has been slowly seizing up."

"It appears that way." John sighed and stood. "Come on. We'd better start walking."

Alan fell into step beside his brother. "That's if the elevators are still working," he grumbled.

"How far have we travelled?"

"About half way?" Alan looked about him at the tunnel carved out of rock. "I know I was looking forward to getting back to Earth, but I wanted to be on her surface, not inside her."

"I was looking forward to getting some fresh air…"

There was a barrage of "whoops" and John and Alan suddenly found themselves buried under a scrum made up of their three brothers.

"You don't think we were going to wait until you got to the house, did you?" Scott asked. And Alan found himself locked in a bear hug. "It's good to see you, Brother."

Alan grinned, his grumbles forgotten. "You too. How are ya, Virg." He found himself caught up in another brotherly embrace.

"All the better for seeing you. You and Gordon can keep each other occupied and out of our hair."

"He means that now there's double trouble," Gordon laughed. He wrapped his arms about his younger brother and slapped him hard on the back. "You're solid! You're not a hologram!"

Alan had a feeling that he was going to end up with a lot of bruises before the day was out. Not that he cared.

John, deciding that there wasn't enough of him and Alan to go around, had started out wrapped up in Gordon's rough embrace, before being passed via Scott to Virgil. He wound up facing his father. "Dad!"

Delight splitting his face in two, Jeff Tracy enveloped his second eldest in a warm hug. "Just as well your grandmother's not here. She'd say you've lost weight."

"I haven't really. I've done my best to keep my muscle tone up and fat levels down, but that might change when I get my teeth into Kyrano's cooking."

Jeff stepped back so he could see his son clearly. "You're looking well."

"So are you!" John sneaked another bear hug from his father, before he let Alan take his place. "Brains!"

Alan was already clinging to his dad. "I missed you."

"And I missed you… I'm proud of you, Son. The whole family's proud of you."

"I just did what had to be done."

Brains had blushed when John had given him a hug, then had started eagerly asking him questions about Thunderbird Five's performance. John promised a full debrief later, and then excused himself. "I'd better go and say hello to Tin-Tin now. I'm not going to get the chance when Alan lays eyes on her."

Alan found himself facing Kyrano. "It's good to see you, Sir," he said, extending his hand.

Kyrano hesitated. Then, much to Alan's surprise, he hugged his son-in-law. "You did well… Son."

It took a moment for Alan to get over his shock. "Thanks… er, Bapa." The two men stepped back.

Kyrano beamed. "I like that."

"Yeah," Alan agreed. "So do I." Suddenly overcome with familial love for the older man, he hugged Kyrano again. "No more 'Mister Alan'. Okay?" He stepped back.

Kyrano nodded. "Oh-kay."

Alan laughed and turned to Brains, deflecting a rapid burst of questions on the asteroid rocket's performance with a hug and a "Thanks for making such a great Thunderbird."

Brains turned scarlet. "Oh, er, it was a t-t-team effort, Alan."

"And without your brains she would have been nothing more than a drawing in a sketchboo…" The youngest Tracy's words petered away into silence.

He had seen Tin-Tin waiting in the shadows.

With a knowing smile, Brains joined the rest of the group as they melted away. Each of them were trying to get as much time with John as they could, while he had his arm about Brains' shoulders and was praising him for the Christmas rocket.

Tin-Tin smiled at John as he left, before turning back to her husband. Suddenly, absurdly, she felt a little shy. "Hello, Alan."

"Tin-Tin," Alan breathed. "You look… Fantastic!"

"It is a new dress. I bought it especially for today."

Alan hadn't even noticed the dress, so caught up he was in the vision that was his wife. "I feel like I'm dreaming. You're not a hologram, are you?" He held out his hand, stepped forward, and caught hers. "No, you're real." He looked down and rolled her wedding ring around her finger with his thumb. "You're real." He kissed her hand.

Suddenly they were wrapped up in each other's arms; kissing each other like they were trying to make up for four months of missed opportunities. Seconds passed…

Tens of seconds...

Minutes…

…Until Alan felt something bump against his midriff. Surprised, he took a step back.

Tin-Tin rubbed her belly. "That is your father you're kicking," she told the bulge.

Even after all these minutes, still Alan couldn't quite believe that he wasn't dreaming. "That was the baby?"

"That was _our_ baby, Alan."

Alan mouthed the words "Our baby?", but no sound came out.

Tin-Tin nodded.

"I can't believe it. I-I can't believe that I'm home." Alan slid his arms around her again. "I've missed you so much."

"And I have missed you."

"I am never going to leave you again," he promised.

Tin-Tin placed her finger against his lips, silencing him. "That is a discussion for the future. I am only interested in the present."

Then, without a conscious decision to do so, Alan was hugging Tin-Tin again. The kicks returned and she laughed. "I think someone's trying to tell us something."

"I don't want to let you go. It's been too long since I last held you."

She leant back against her husband's arms. "Yes, it has been too long. And it has been a long time for your family too. This is the time for me to share you with them." She smiled, stroking his face. "Tonight will be the time for the two of us."

Alan felt more kicks. "You mean the three of us."

Tin-Tin giggled.

Upstairs, John had already greeted Lady Penelope and Parker. "Alan!" He exclaimed when the lift doors opened disgorging the entwined couple into the lounge. "It's raining!"

"Rain!" Ignoring the _Welcome home _and _We did it! _banners, and totally missing seeing the English pair, Alan ran for the patio. He stood there, his arms held wide, and allowed the warm drops to fall on his face. "Hello, Planet Earth!" he yelled.

Enjoying the massaging beat of the rain on his body and the wind blowing his long hair off his face, John inhaled deeply. "Ah. Fresh air."

"I'm going down." Alan almost ran down the steps leading to the courtyard; the yells of delight and sounds of splashing feet behind him telling him that he was not alone. He was nearly at the bottom when he decided that his descent was taking him too long and he slid the remainder of the way down the balcony rail, launching himself off the end. "Woo-hoo!"

Jeff watched his four sons follow suit with an indulgent grin. "I think I'll take the elevator."

Everyone else decided that that was an excellent idea.

Down below Alan was still revelling in the wind, and rain, and the knowledge that his feet were back on Terra Firma. He whipped off his sash. "I'm going for a swim!" His soaked polo-neck skivvy was next to be dumped beside the pool, followed by his boots and trousers. He dove in with a splash that equalled the raindrops.

His brothers decided that they'd join him and, like their youngest brethren, stripped down to their underwear and dived in.

Disapproving, and with a "Don't look, m'Lady," Parker did his best to shield his mistress from the sight.

But Lady Penelope had her own ideas. "I am quite capable of turning away should I believe it to be necessary, Parker." She delicately shifted his hand from in front of her eyes.

Jeff moved to her shoulder. "Sorry about this, Penny. They're a little over-exuberant."

"Don't be sorry, Jeff. It is a pleasure to see them all together and enjoying themselves."

He grinned. "It is that."

Kyrano appeared at his elbow. "Would you care for a drink to celebrate?"

"I'd love one." Jeff accepted the glass.

"Lady Penelope?"

"Thank you, Kyrano."

"Mister Parker?"

"Ta. Can H-I give you a 'and, Mister Kyrano?"

"No, thank you. There is no work that needs to be done. I have been preparing for the celebrations for days." Kyrano moved over to where Brains and Tin-Tin were sheltering from the rain while enjoying the sounds of laughter from the pool.

"You need a bath!" John dunked Alan under the water. "Get me some soap and shampoo!"

His kid brother surfaced spluttering. "Come here, you…"

What followed was a rough and tumble water fight between all five, that was somehow converted into a swimming race. It was of no surprise to anyone who the winner was and that Alan and John were left in everyone else's wake.

Virgil pulled himself out of the water and sat on the side of the pool. "You guys are out of practise."

John went to join him. "You're surprised?"

Virgil pushed him back in. "Nope."

Gordon had collected a glass from Kyrano. "Let's christen the baby!" he whooped, pouring his drink all over Alan's head.

Jeff laughed at his sons' antics. "You know," he said to Lady Penelope, "if anyone were to suddenly appear now, they would believe that they were playboys."

There was a crash of thunder and a lightning bolt lit up the sky.

"Moira's back," Scott sighed. "Time to go inside." He hauled himself onto land and held a hand out to John. "Lift off!" he grunted as he pulled his brother out of the water.

"Thanks."

Both men picked up their rain-sodden clothes and followed the others into the changing rooms.

Despite Mother Nature's interference, no one felt like interrupting their partying, so the five Tracy boys emerged in the lounge a short time later with their hair towelled dry and wearing little more than soft, white bathrobes.

"Penny!" Beaming, Alan gave her a hug. "Parker!" He shook the butler's hand. "I'm sorry, I didn't see you before."

"That is quite all right, Alan. You had more important things on your mind."

"Are you okay?" He looked genuinely concerned. "John said something about you being kidnapped and injured?"

Lady Penelope dismissed her adventure with a wave of her hand. "It was a mere trifle. As you can see I am here and I am quite well."

Alan found his _I'm glad to be home _grin again. "Good. The party wouldn't be the same without you… Either of you," he added, giving the butler an affectionate punch on the arm and leaving Parker with a warm feeling that had nothing to do with alcoholic intake.

"When h-are you going to tell them, m'Lady?" he whispered when the younger man had wandered away.

"Not today," she responded. "Let them enjoy their moment in the sun."

"Sun?" Parker glared at the rain that was pelting on the windows.

The party went on for hours. At some point Alan claimed that his out-of-synch body clock had caught up with him, and that he was going to retire to bed. The fact that Tin-Tin disappeared about the same time told the rest of the group that he probably had more than sleep on his mind.

Everyone agreed that the couple deserved the time alone.

It was some hours later that the majority of the party decided that the celebrations had gone on for long enough and retired to their own beds. All that remained were four exhausted, bathrobed Tracy boys and an extremely untidy lounge.

"We look like rejects from a second-rate frat toga party." John collapsed onto a couch.

Laughing, Scott flopped into the seat next to him and slapped his brother on the knee. "It's good to have you back, John."

John grinned. "Not as good as it is to be back."

"And not as good as it is for Alan." Gordon smirked.

His brothers ignored him.

Virgil collected a tablet PC from off a table. "Speaking of parties... Opal and Garret have got one planned for Valentine's Day. We're all invited if anyone's interested."

John relaxed back into his seat. "I think I'll send my apologies this time if it's all right with you. I don't feel ready to face the big wide world yet. After being alone for so long, I'd like to ease myself into it." He studied his nails. "But if you want to take Alice, don't let me stop you." He looked through his fringe to see Virgil's reaction.

"Alice!?" Gordon's head whipped from John to Virgil so quickly that the seat shook. "Alice who!?"

Virgil scowled at John. "Alice nobody."

Scott sat forward in his seat. "Come on, Virg. Who's this Alice?"

"She's just a frie..."

"Only Alice Ross," John interrupted. "Star of stage, screen, and that abysmal film about us and Doomsday."

Virgil saw a way of diverting attention from himself. "Where'd you see the film? It hasn't been released to stores yet."

"I've seen the trailers." John screwed up his nose. "Thunderbird Five looks like sausage with toothpicks sticking out of it."

"Well, no one's ever seen her, so you can't expect an accurate represent…"

"Never mind that," Scott was almost off his seat with curiosity. "Tell us about you and Alice Ross."

"There's nothing to tell." Virgil drew his bathrobe closer about him.

"Oh, ho!" Gordon chortled. "Note the defensive reaction! Spill, John."

"Apparently," ignoring the daggers that were being sent his way, John leant forward as if he was going to share a confidence. "She's got the hots for our brother."

"She's just a friend!" Virgil repeated.

"And," John continued, "he's just as keen on her."

"How'd you find this out?" Scott queried.

John smirked. "I have my sources."

"Tin-Tin," Virgil growled. "When I get my hands on her I'll…"

"You'll do what to a poor, defenceless, helpless, _pregnant_ woman?" Scott asked.

"I'll think of something. She was seeing things that weren't there," Virgil protested. "What's she doing gossiping to you about me for, anyway, John?"

"She thought I would like the company, so she told me all about your night with the stars… She's hearing wedding bells." John sang the first few notes of Mendelsohn's wedding march. "Dah da de-da."

"Alice – is – just – a – friend!" Virgil repeated for what seemed to him to be the hundredth time.

"Sure…" Clearly his brothers didn't believe him.

"I taught her how to weld!"

"Right…" Virgil's brothers nodded solemnly.

"And helped her with other stuff for her film."

"Of course, Virgil." John gave him a condescending pat on the shoulder. "We believe you."

"She's just a friend!"

"And what a friend!" Gordon looked heavenwards and gave a low whistle. "We'd all love a friend as beautiful as her, right, Fellas?" There were affirming sounds from two of his brothers.

Virgil scowled at him. "You're married."

"That is a temporary inconvenience."

John decided that he'd had enough fun teasing Virgil. "Any word on the divorce?"

"Marina said she wanted to attempt a reconciliation."

"What!? What did you say?"

Gordon shrugged. "I told my lawyer that I'm not interested and that I want the divorce over and done with as soon as possible. I'm quite happy to make it due to _irreconcilable differences_, whatever that means, but Crawford said I should wait and see what the private investigator comes up with. I wasn't going to bother, but apparently the system's full to overloaded, so I've got to wait until we get to the head of the line." He grinned. "Now… If I had someone like Alice Ross waiting for me…"

"Shut up, Gordon," Virgil told him.

For once Gordon did as he was told and the four of them sat in silence, each wrapped up in their own thoughts.

Eventually Scott stirred. "Now what do we do?" he asked, stretching.

John looked at the mess that was the lounge. "Tidy up?"

"I didn't mean that…" Scott frowned. "I meant with the rest of our lives."

The four Tracy brothers looked at each other…

_To be continued…_


	57. Chapter 57 - The Beginning

**Chapter 57: The Beginning**

_Two weeks later_

John Tracy bent down and picked up the full box of books, feeling his t-shirt's sleeves protest around the muscles of his biceps. Ignoring them, he straightened and turned.

Emma was standing there; slightly open-mouthed, her handbag's strap slipping off her shoulder. "John...?"

He grinned at her. "Hi."

"I-I, erm, I didn't recognise you."

"Well, it has been a while since we last met."

"When I heard someone in here I thought it might have been a burglar."

John chuckled. "I suppose you could say that. I'm clearing a few things out." He dropped the box onto a table and sat on the edge of his desk.

"You look very..." Many words chased through Emma's mind; none of them appropriate to say to her boss. "Um... Nice."

John had never been to work in jeans, sneakers and a t-shirt before, and he supposed that it must have been a shock to her to see him dressed so casually. "Thanks." He raised an eyebrow. "So do you." He saw her cheeks colour. "I would have worn a tie so I could wear your tiepin, but I thought it didn't really go with my outfit." He indicated her blouse. "I see you're wearing the brooch."

Emma fingered it. "Yes, I, uh… I always wear it to work."

"Can I have a look at it? The jeweller had more opportunity to see it than I did."

"You want to look at it?" Emma appeared startled by the suggestion.

"If I may."

"Oh, er…" She fumbled with the clasp. "What...?" She appeared to be having difficulty coming to grips with more than the brooch and looked about his office, not seeing the usual neat orderliness, but instead a multitude of boxes. "What are you doing?"

"Moving out."

"Moving out?"

"Uh, huh. Dad's moving in. I've quit."

"You've…" Surprised, Emma's hand dropped from her blouse, leaving the brooch still pinned to it. "He's going to work from the office?"

"He'll be based on the island, like he has been for the last few months, but this will be his office when he's in town."

"Not his home?"

"Nope. Tracy Island's home now."

Emma bit her lip. "So you're no longer my boss?"

"No. Apart from being a very minor shareholder and holder of several patents licensed to various holdings, I no longer have any commercial links with Tracy Industries."

"What are you going to do?"

"Nothing to do with Tracy Industries."

"Nothing?"

"Nothing."

"You're not going to be working for a subsidiary company?"

"Nope."

"Not even in R&amp;D?"

"Not directly. I've got a few ideas, which, if they come to fruition, might come under the Tracy banner." He gave an impish grin. "That's if I don't offer them to someone else first."

Emma's mind was in too much of a whirl to smile at his quip. "You wouldn't go into business for yourself?"

"Not interested. But what I think you will find interesting is that I was approached by Commounds." John had found the letter in the pile of correspondence that had been waiting his arrival back on Earth.

"Commounds? Tracy Communications' main competitor?"

"The very same. They offered me the position of CEO of the company. Good pay, great hours, plenty of perks; every desk jockey's dream job."

Emma was horrified. "You wouldn't!? Would you?"

"No chance. Even if I wasn't a Tracy and didn't mind going back to office work, that particular company wouldn't be an option."

Emma looked relieved.

"They'd hired a private investigator to try and sound me out while I was on leave from Tracy Industries. He was the man who was stalking you. Without even considering my loyalty to Dad and the company, the knowledge that they frightened you would have been enough for me to tell them that I wasn't interested." John chuckled. "I threatened to set the police onto them."

This time Emma's relief was palpable. "Have you told Lady Penelope?" she asked, laying her handbag onto a convenient stack of cartons.

"I have." John had a sneaking suspicion that the people behind Commounds would be regretting their decision to frighten his former secretary.

"I suppose that means I'll no longer have Mrs Davies popping in every two minutes."

"Virgil and Tin-Tin told me about her." John laughed. "She sounds like a feisty old girl."

Emma was sure that Virgil hadn't told his brother everything.

John decided that too many years had passed and that it was time to take the bull by the horns. "Emma..." He cleared his throat. "The day I met you I was torn. Should I hire you so I could work alongside you every day? Or should I settle for the second best candidate and ask you out instead?" He saw a flush flood her face. "I chose to hire you, which was a brilliant employment decision; but, as far as I was concerned personally, I'm not sure that I made the right choice. And, so... I was wondering… As you said, I'm no longer your boss, so... Would you…?" He grimaced, unable to find the right words. "I'm out of practise at this… Would you like…? "

"John, please don't..." Looking unhappy at the way things were progressing, Emma held up her hand to stop his stumbling speech.

John felt his heart fall. The little grain of hope that he had been clinging to all that time he was alone on Thunderbird Five had been false hope. She didn't have feelings for him at all.

Emma kept her hand up as if she were pushing him away. "I-I've enjoyed working for you, and I suppose, taking into consideration our professional relationship with each other, you could say that we've had a kind of friendship, which I've enjoyed; it gave me a reason to look forward to coming to work every day, not that I don't enjoy my job, but working with you made it extra special, but I don't think we should spoil everything and go on to the next step, even if you are no longer my boss and I'll see more of Jeff than you, because, I suppose, you'll be living on your island with your brothers and your observatory, which I'd love to see; I-I mean the observatory, not your brothers, although I'd like to meet them, because I've only really met Virgil and I'd like to meet Jeff's other sons, your brothers, but I don't think it would be a good idea..."

John interrupted, giving her a chance to catch her breath. "Why?"

"Because..." Emma allowed her hand to drop. "Because I know how close you are to your family."

John, as he'd always done when around his secretary, was just managing to hide his true feelings from her. "Yeah, I am."

"You don't want to wind up in a situation where you've got to choose between them and, erm, us."

"Huh? But why would I? Dad loves the idea of you and me…"

"I'm not worried about Jeff!" Emma took a deep breath to stop herself from sounding hysterical. "What about your brothers?"

"They definitely have nothing to do with it."

"They would if they don't like me."

"Not like you? Why wouldn't they? After all you've done for Dad to get him motivated they already love you."

"What about Gordon?"

Now John was really confused. "Gordon? What's he…?"

"I-I know what he thinks about me."

John was beginning to feel like a mystified echo. "Thinks about you?"

"I suppose that, after his own marriage breakdown, he doesn't want to see you hurt like he was."

Her explanation did nothing to lessen John's confusion. "I didn't even know he'd met you."

"I met him the day that I met Jeff…" Emma looked down. "He told you to sack me."

"Gordon did that!?"

Emma nodded.

"That doesn't sound like him. He'd never do that; not without good reason and definitely not without getting to know…" A memory surfaced and John laughed in relief. "Of course! I remember now."

Now it was Emma's turn to be bewildered. "You do?"

"Yes. On the trip out the day before he and I were talking. He'd just decided that he was going to get divorced and we were saying what failures we were romantically. He asked me if there was anyone that I'd like to get to know better and I said..." Here, remembering the way that he thought the conversation had been heading, John suddenly felt awkward. "...you. He asked me why I didn't try and I said I couldn't while I was your boss. His solution was that I should sack you so that I could ask you out on a date."

"It was?"

"Yes. And since then he's been encouraging me to get to know you better."

A smile blossomed on Emma's face. "He has?"

John nodded. "He, in fact all of them, want me to do something with my life that I will enjoy; not tie myself to a job just because it's expected of me as a Tracy. Gordon's the only one of my brothers who's known how I feel about you and he's happy for me that I've found someone that I want to at least try to be happy with. He could have phrased it better, but he's a joker and when he made that comment he probably thought you were out of earshot."

"Oh... In that case..." Emma leant closer so she could whisper into his ear. "You're looking very sexy in that tight t-shirt, Mr Tracy."

John's mind, which up to this point, and despite everything, he'd managed to keep on a tight rein, felt like it had just been slingshotted out of orbit. "Thanks, erm..." He cleared his throat, suddenly aware of a mixture of awkwardness and embarrassment. "Thank you. I've, ah, I've lost a bit of weight."

"You've been working out too."

"Not that anyone would notice," he corrected.

"I noticed. That's why I thought you were the wrong shape for you to be you and that you had to be a burglar." She blushed furiously. "That sounded wrong."

"No. That sounded right."

Emma's hand had gone back to her brooch. "You wanted to see this?" This time she had no trouble unfastening the clasp. "Look in the locket."

Surprised, John stared at the brooch in her hand. "Huh?"

"Look in it."

"Uh… Okay." John took the brooch, trying to ignore the tingle he felt when his fingers brushed hers. He admired the craftsmanship. "When I saw the jeweller's sketches I never envisaged that it was going to be as beautiful as this." He looked at Emma. "As beautiful as you."

Now Emma appeared flustered… and surprised. "You had it made especially for me?"

"Yes…" John inserted his thumbnail beneath the drawbridge and lowered it. "I…" He stared at the photograph contained within.

He was looking at his own smiling face.

Emma placed her hand on his arm. "John… Do you mind?"

"Mind?" John handed back the brooch and reached for his neck, pulling the chain that resided there free of his t-shirt. "This was a gift from Dad," he explained. "Take a look."

She examined the thunderbird. "Interesting design."

"It was Virgil's. The symbolism behind it is a family thing."

"With all due respect to your father, a necklace seems an odd thing to give to your son."

"We all got one. It was so that, leading up to Doomsday, we could keep something important to us close. Alan puts his wedding ring in it when he's working, so he can't damage it. You can take a look at what I've got in mine."

Emma slipped her nail into the crack and opened the locket. Like John, she stared at the photo within, almost lost for words. "Y-You have a photo of me?"

"I have to be honest and say that Dad had already put your photo in there when he gave it to me, but he did it because he knows how I feel about you and because he thought… he hoped…" John found himself staring at his hands rather than Emma. "I didn't dare hope…" He managed to look up. "That you felt the same way about me."

"It was no fluke that I was standing under the mistletoe that year."

Emma watched as a smile blossomed over John's face. "That was the best work Christmas party ever," he admitted. "So…" he grinned, "now that I've, in effect, sacked myself… Would you like to go out for a coffee?"

Emma smiled and John felt the fandango that his heart had been beating since she'd walked in increase in tempo. "I'd love to, but..." she indicated their surroundings. "I'm supposed to be working. Unlike some, I still have a job."

"Yes, you do." They both started and turned to the door at the unexpected voice. Jeff Tracy looked at his watch. "And you were supposed to be at your desk five minutes ago, Emma Janes. Not wasting time talking to my son," he growled.

"Oh! Sorry, Mr Tracy..." Flaming crimson, Emma grabbed her handbag and made a dash for the door.

She stopped when her present employer held his arm out to stop her flight. "Not wasting time talking to my son when, if you were to give us a hand to move his boxes out of my office, you two could go and have your coffee and leave me alone to get myself settled back in."

If it were possible, Emma went even redder.

Conversely, John beamed at his father. "Thanks, Dad."

"Are you sure?" Emma checked. "Will you need help?"

"Of course I'm sure. I'm not helpless anymore. Besides," Jeff leant closer to her as if he was about to share a confidence. "If you don't go out with him today, he'll be unbearable on the flight home. You can't inflict that on me."

"Dad!"

"Well," Emma pretended to prevaricate. "If it's an order, Mr Tracy."

"It's an order."

"All right then." Emma collected a box. She treated her boss to a joyful smile. "Thank you, Jeff." She disappeared into her office.

John picked up two boxes and headed for the door. This time it was his turn to be stopped by his father catching his arm. "And if you're not back in one hour, I'm sending Lady Penelope out to look for you."

"Understood. I'm taking this one step at a time."

"Take two steps." Jeff shook his head sadly. "You've already wasted too many years. I don't want you to rush things, but I'm not getting any younger and I'd like to see more of my boys settle down before I shuffle off. Don't take as long as Alan to decide whether or not she's the woman for you."

"But don't be as quick as Gordon."

"That's the idea." Jeff slapped his son on the back. "Go on. Get out of here." Smiling, he watched as John, his arms full of boxes, held the door open for Emma.

Then he turned back to the office. He had work to do.

-F-A-B-

"Knock, knock?" Gordon Tracy pushed open the door and leant inside. "Is this a private party, or can anyone join in?"

"Gordon!" He submitted to a variety of hugs and backslaps courtesy of the diverse group of people who, prior to his interruption, had been sitting quietly, enduring a meeting.

Greeting his former colleagues with just as much enthusiasm as they'd shown him, he took an inadvertent step forwards when he was nearly overbalanced by a particularly vigorous slap on the back. "How are you?" his ex-boss, Chris Holden asked, his face beaming. "It's been... How long?"

"Seven and a half months?" Gordon produced a file from under his arm. "I thought it was about time I handed in my report."

There was a laugh from a young lady close by. "Better late than never," Stephanie Munroe said and Gordon grinned at her.

Accepting the report, Chris threw it onto a table before sitting down on a nearby chair and indicated that Gordon should do the same. "What have you been doing all this time?"

"Oh, a bit of this, a bit of that," Gordon prevaricated. "Diving, swimming, getting divorced, kicking back, drowning, sailing, spending time with my fam..."

"Whoa... Whoa!" Chris held up his hand to a background of concerned murmuring. "Wind that back a bit."

"Wind it back?" Gordon pretended to be surprised by the request. "Okay, if you insist. Maf yim thiw..." he began.

"Gordon..." Chris held up his hand again. "I'm glad to see you haven't lost your sense of humour; but what was that about drowning?"

Gordon shrugged. "Equipment malfunction. I'll tell ya, the bends is the pits."

"But you're okay?" Craig Sternfeld checked.

"Do I look okay?"

"You look great."

"Then I am great."

"What happened?" Lee Poole's usually mischievous expression looked concerned.

Gordon already had his explanation prepared. "You know we've been staying at the island..."

"Oh, yes..." someone in the back of the group chortled. "We heard."

Gordon waved a dismissive hand. "I thought you guys would know me better than that... Anyway," he continued, "I've been doing a little research of my own on the sea life around Tracy Island. One day I was out in the submarine..."

"Your own submarine?" Lee sounded jealous. "What kind of sub?"

"Just a little single-seater."

"Depth? Range?"

"Deep enough for my needs and the range is as far as I need to go."

"And the colour is...?"

Gordon smirked. "Can't you guess?"

There was a chorus of "yellow!" and a few bars of a Beatles tune.

Gordon spread his hands wide. "Am I that predictable?"

"Yes!"

Chris shook his head. "For all your joking, you're the only guy I know who could say that they own a sub and make it sound plausible."

Stephanie grinned. "That's because he's the only guy you know whose dad's a billionaire."

"True. Go on, Gordon."

"I don't remember a lot of the incident. Tracy Island is the tip of a seamount and the sea floor drops away steeply. I was over 350 fathoms down when the sub started taking on water. Fortunately the automatic recovery system kicked into action. The cabin maintained its integrity most of the way back up, but the exterior had been compromised along with the cabin pressure and by the time we'd reached the surface the cabin was full of water. My brother had to haul me out, but I couldn't escape the DCS."

"Sounds like you needed International Rescue." Lee managed a laugh.

Gordon grinned. "I did."

"It'd almost be worth getting DCS just for the chance to ride in an International Rescue craft."

"I wouldn't recommend it. I can't remember Virgil pulling me out of the water, let alone what happened to me afterwards, so I doubt I would have even known if I was in a Thunderbird."

"Still, I'd love to see what's at the bottom of the Challenger Deep."

"Me too," Chris agreed. "Why didn't they think of putting a camera on the front of Thunderbird Four?"

Gordon leant back in his chair. "I guess that if they were planting a bomb, they didn't want to hang around taking vacation pictures."

"Quite probably."

Stephanie had been looking concerned for Gordon's wellbeing throughout his recitation. "It must have been a serious accident if you were suffering from DCS. Are you sure you're all right?"

"Near enough. But there are side issues that mean I'm not willing to consider real work in the big wide world, so..." Gordon tried to look apologetic and didn't quite make it, "you're all going to have to live without me."

"What are you going to do?" Chris asked. "I can't imagine you lying around doing nothing. You could never sit still long enough."

Gordon laughed. "Over the last few months I got to thinking. 70 percent of the planet is water and yet we've only studied a fraction of that. Why not do something I love, in a place where I love, and study the oceanic environment around my home? I know for a fact that there are species living there that aren't found anywhere else. I've already discovered some of them. More than likely there are more waiting to be found."

"You're going to remain living on Tracy Island?"

"Yes. It may not be much, but hopefully I'll be able to give something back to the wider world."

Chris pursed his lips. "It's not going to be easy, studying an ecosystem alone."

"You're right, but I've got to be realistic." Gordon became serious. "I'll know that I wasn't always the best team player..." There was a subdued shuffling from some members of the group, "and I've got to accept that, in a confined area like an island, it's best for everyone's sanity if I don't inflict my moods on people..." He grinned. "My family don't qualify."

"Well..." Lee nudged him with his elbow. "If you ever decide that you _do_ need an assistant, I'm sure that Stephanie would be willing to overlook any little tantrums!" Stephanie blushed as the rest of the group laughed.

Gordon decided against commenting. Before he'd weighed anchor and sailed away on the not-so-good ship matrimony, he'd enjoyed that particular colleague's company more than the others, and had sometimes had the feeling that the attraction was mutual. Now that he was going to be leaving the marine institute he was going to have to accept that Stephanie was one boat that he'd missed.

If it hadn't been for Marina...

"Never mind Stephanie," Craig was saying. "Any one of us would be willing to put up with your moods in exchange for the chance to live and work on a tropical island."

"What? And leave all this beauty?" Gordon indicated the dreary room. "I don't know how I'm going to be able to tear myself away from it all a second time... Is everyone coming to the Watershed tonight?"

"I see we're not going to the old place." Lee winked. "Afraid of bumping into old flames?"

"Definitely!" Gordon said with feeling. "I aim to enjoy myself and any sight of Marina would seriously detract from the evening."

"I never could understand why you two got hooked up," Craig was ignoring the fact that he was broaching what had the potential to be a sensitive subject. "I remember the first time she waited on us. Someone said that she looked like a hagfish in a miniskirt and stockings, and you said not to insult the hagfish."

"And I stand by that," Gordon laughed. "The hagfish would be better company."

Curious, Stephanie leant forward. "Has your divorce been finalised yet?"

"My lawyer says I should be close to the head of the line, although he keeps on suggesting that we shouldn't hurry things. Personally I just want to get the whole thing done and dusted."

"He wants to keep his big fat fee rolling in," Chris suggested.

"Quite probably." Gordon stood. "Well, I'm holding you working people up. Don't forget; be at the Watershed tonight at seven sharp, and have your dancing shoes on."

"We'll be there."

Glad that he'd taken the time to reacquaint himself with the people that he'd come to regard as his friends, and relieved that he hadn't had to lie to anyone, if you knew the true meaning behind every word he'd said, Gordon left the institute.

-F-A-B-

"How's the leg, Mike?" Alan Tracy asked, raising his voice over the noise of the car that raced past.

Mike Rosken slapped his thigh. "Great. No pain or nothing."

Alan smiled. "I'm glad to hear it."

"Yeah, me too. I just wish it hadn't happened in my first season." Another car zipped past on the racetrack.

"Just be grateful that it wasn't worse than it was. Learn from what happened and you'll be a stronger driver next season."

Mike looked anything but grateful at the lesson as he pulled his team cap off his head. "But we lost the championship because of me."

Alan shook his head. "Not because of you. I'm the one who deserted the team."

"But you had to come back because of me and you didn't even get to start your race because of the fire! If that hadn't happened we would have at least had a chance of winning overall!" Mike looked crestfallen. "We've lost it because I busted my leg in a stupid crash. It's all my fault."

Alan laid his hand on the younger man's shoulder. "I'll admit that it took me years to realise this, Mike, but I want you to remember that a car race isn't the be-all and end-all of life. A few months ago none of us even knew if we'd be standing here today. Now I'm going to be a father and you're the principal driver in my racing team. Forget all the bad stuff that's happened in the past and look forward to the future."

"Maybe," Mike grumbled.

"Not maybe. Fact!" Alan corrected. "Over the last few months, while I've been away from the racing circus, I've had plenty of time to think about things... And that included sorting out my priorities. And believe me; winning a trophy is way down the list."

Another car raced past and he wished that it would go away and practise someplace else. Once upon a time, the roar of mighty engines being pitted one against the other would have filled him with the awe and passion of an audiophile listening to a full-blown symphony. Now, after months of quiet and solitude, he was finding the noise and fumes to be nothing but an irritant and couldn't wait to get away from the track.

The thought surprised him.

He was also surprised to find himself in the mentoring role. He'd been involved in similar conversations many times, but each time he'd been the one in Mike's shoes. Now he was the one offering advice and, he realised, it was a situation he was going to have to get used to.

…Once he was a father.

"But I wanted you to be proud of me!" the younger man was saying. "I wanted to show you that I was up to the challenge you'd given me!"

"I am proud of you," Alan soothed. "I'm proud of the way that you knew that you had no chance of winning the championship, but you still gave every race your best. Mike: I wouldn't have given you the challenge of racing for my team if I didn't know you were up to it. I know you'll be even better next year if you want to carry on."

There was a lull in the noise out on the track and it gave Mike a chance to think. "Do you want me to?"

"Of course I do. There's no one I want driving for my team more."

Mike beamed at his boss's compliment. Then his smile was turned upside-down into a frown. "Alan?"

"Yes?"

Mike turned his team hat in his hands and stared at the logo above the peak. It didn't seem that long ago that he'd worshiped that name from a distance, never daring to believe that he'd ever get the chance to meet his hero; and here he was now, discussing his future with the great Alan Tracy. "What was it that you said before?"

It was Alan's turn to frown as he thought back. "What did I say when?"

"You were saying about Doomsday and that before International Rescue saved us all we didn't know if we'd be alive now."

"Yes..."

"You said that you were going to be a father and that I..." Mike's flow of speech stalled.

Alan tried to hide his smile. "And that you…?"

"Did you say I was the principal driver?"

"Did I say that?" Alan feigned ignorance. "Now let me think... Yes. I think I may have."

Mike didn't appear to be willing to believe him. "But you're the principal driver of this team."

"Nope." Alan shook his head. "I'm the owner. You're the principal driver."

"What?"

"Like I said I've re-evaluated my priorities. I've decided that I'm more interested in improving what goes into the car; and by that I mean the mechanics of the vehicle, not me and my driving."

Mike was sitting there, open-mouthed, until his cap fell from his lifeless fingers. The movement appeared to reawaken him and, to give himself a chance to regain his composure, he took his time picking it up. "You want me to drive all next season?"

"Yes. I've had time to come up with some ideas over the last few months and I'm keen to get them out of the computer and into the real world. Driving will just get in the way of that. Of course, there will be times when I may want to be the one to test drive my latest innovation, but as for being a part of the regular circuit, I'll leave that to you."

Alan watched as Mike's face opened up into a beaming smile. "Thank you, Alan!"

"Just drive to the best of your ability and keep yourself safe. That's all I ask."

"Oh, I will!" Mike nodded his head so emphatically that Alan wouldn't have been surprised if it had fallen off. "Thank you!" he repeated.

Alan stood. "I'll go and let the rest of the team know the new setup, and then I'd better be going."

Mike leapt to his feet. "What? Already? You've only just got here."

"I've got other things to do, Mike, and you don't need me hanging around here getting in the way. But don't get too cocky. I'll be back to check up on you."

But Alan Tracy didn't know when that would be. He had more important things to look forward to...

-F-A-B-

Jeff Tracy felt the lift come to a stop. The doors opened in front of him and he found himself looking out into the foyer of the headquarters of his multi-national company. Once upon a time, not too long ago, the idea of being here in full view of the outside world would have been unthinkable. But now he left the secure confines of the lift and, standing up straight and tall as he pushed his walker before him, strode over to the reception desk.

He didn't know the young lady there and she gave him a slightly uncertain smile, as if she thought she knew this stranger, but didn't know how and where from, and was also wondering how he'd managed to access the executive lift without anyone stopping him.

Jeff was saved from causing her potential embarrassment as he explained his relationship to the company to her when there was a gasp from the older woman standing behind the confused younger one. "Mr Tracy!"

He grinned at her as she hurried around the large wooden fitment to give him a welcoming hug. "Hello, Cathie."

"How are you?"

"Better than I have been in years. And you?"

She gave a light laugh. "Oh, can't complain." Cathie appraised her employer. "You're looking well."

"Thank you," Jeff acknowledged. "But not as well as I do up there." He pointed to his portrait, which hung on the wall behind the desk, and saw realisation dawn on the face of the younger receptionist. "I wish John had replaced it with one of his own."

"I've never had any problems with you looking over my shoulder…" Cathie's eyes twinkled at him. "You haven't met Sharon yet, have you?" she indicated her assistant. "Sharon Baine, this is Jeff Tracy, the mastermind behind Tracy Industries."

Her suspicions confirmed, Sharon looked slightly overawed to be in the presence of the man who she'd only known through gossip and that portrait.

Jeff chuckled. "You flatter me, Cathie. I've been away from the business for a long time."

"But you've been controlling it for the past few months, haven't you?" Cathie reminded him. "You haven't lost your touch."

"I've done what I could."

"And you're going to carry on?" she asked.

"That's the plan. Just like I used to before I had the stroke. John's moving on to bigger and better things."

"Good." Cathie gave a satisfied nod. "Only I hope you take it easier this time, Mr Tracy. You gave us all a fright and we don't want a repeat of that…! I hope John takes it easier too. I was concerned that he took after his father in more than business acumen."

"John's not going to be allowed to overdo it," Jeff reassured her. "His brothers and I will see to that."

"He looked very relaxed when I saw him and Emma walk out together." There was a hint of a smirk playing about the senior receptionist's lips. "And about time too."

Jeff curiosity was piqued by her comment. "You knew how they felt about each other?"

"I didn't _know._ But we'd seen looks between them when one thought the other wasn't looking and they'd let their guard down. And of course that kiss under the mistletoe was a giveaway. Isn't that right, Sharon?"

Sharon, caught out gossiping about her boss to her boss, turned crimson.

But Cathie had no such inhibitions. It was one reason why Jeff had valued her presence at the desk. Her uninhibited tongue had kept him apprised of many facets of his business that he'd otherwise never have known from his lofty position at the top of the building, or miles away on Tracy Island. "I kept on wanting to shake the pair of them and tell them to get their act together! None of us are getting any younger and I think she'd be good for him."

"I agree."

There was a satisfied nod of her head. "Good!"

Time to get back to business. "Who's on site today?"

"Let's see…" Cathie swivelled the monitor around so she could read it easily and pulled the clock-in register up on screen. "It's a quiet day. Most of the managers are on site visits." She scrolled down the list. "David Ostend is on duty."

"David?" Jeff decided that the security room in the parking area was his first point of call. "Could you do me a favour? Get human resources to supply me with the contact information for everyone who's retired or left in the last eight years…"

"The last eight years?"

"Since I had my stroke," he clarified.

Cathie smiled at him. "Of course."

Jeff grasped the handles of his walker. "I'll go and say hello to David and come back later. Then you and I can have a cup of coffee together, Cathie, and you can bring me up-to-date on eight years of gossip around this place!"

"Gossip!?" She appeared affronted, but he knew that his invitation would assuage any perceived hurt feelings. "I do not gossip, Mr Tracy!"

Sharon, Jeff noted, looked scandalised by the denial.

"Of course you don't gossip," he soothed, "but you know everything that goes on in this place. You can give me the background of everyone that has been employed since I left; things that won't be in their files. Plus you can bring me up-to-date with anything else I should know about. I'd hate to ask someone how their wife was, only to find out they'd been divorced for three years."

"Tony Young!"

Jeff was thrown for a loop. "Pardon?"

"Tony Young's divorced. Only it's been four years, not three."

"Tony and Gladys?" Jeff hadn't seriously expected Cathie's encyclopaedic knowledge to have dredged up such a titbit so soon after his request. "But they seemed such a happy couple."

"She ran off with someone else. _She_ claimed that he owned a chain of restaurants, but _I_ happen to know that it's one tiny shop in a pizza delivery franchise. The only chain he owns is the one that he uses to lock the doors at night."

It wasn't the first time that Jeff had thought that if Cathie didn't gossip, she came darn close. He was going to have to keep a tight rein on her recollections. "I'll collect you on the way back up for coffee"

The receptionist dimpled at him. "It would be a pleasure, Mr Tracy."

Jeff nodded at her assistant. "Nice to meet you, Sharon."

She finally discovered her tongue. "You too, Mr Tracy."

Taking the lift that descended into the bowels of the building, Jeff found the room that was occupied by whoever was on duty safeguarding Tracy Industries' employees' various modes of transport. He rapped on the door.

It was opened by David Ostend, the man who'd let Dan Pierce's limousine into the parking complex the day that Emma had tricked Jeff into leaving his home. The old security guard looked shocked when he realised who was standing there. "Mr Tracy!"

"Hello, David. I'm moving back in upstairs and I thought I'd better reacquaint myself with the most valued members of my staff… May I come in?"

"Oh! Of course, Sir." Almost bowing, David stepped back and allowed Jeff to negotiate his way inside. "How are you, Mr Tracy?"

That was one reason why Jeff had chosen the day he knew that most of his staff would be off site to reinstate himself at the head of Tracy Industries. He didn't want to have to respond to too many queries about his health in one day. However he was more than happy to reply to his loyal employee. "I'm well, thank you, David. And you?"

David was bustling about clearing papers and other bits of debris off one of the seats so that Jeff could sit down. "Fit as a fiddle. Fit enough to retire in a month and enjoy it."

"I'm glad to hear that. After over thirty years loyal service to me and my company you deserve a break. What are your plans?"

"Pat and I are planning on spending a few days in New York with Ollie and his family. We've never been there before and it'll be a chance to catch up with them. Then we're going on a three-month cruise." The guard's face lit up. "We'll be sailing right around the world!"

Jeff smiled at David's enthusiasm. "Sounds like a swell idea."

"We've been saving up for something special for years, and then when Doomsday nearly destroyed the world, Pat and I decided that since we've barely seen any of it, we should try and see as much of it as we could while we were still fit enough to enjoy it." David reached into a pocket and withdrew a well-creased and dog-eared piece of paper. "That's the ship, Mr Tracy," he stated, proudly showing the brochure. "And our cabin's going to be one of those." He pointed at a picture.

Jeff read about the cabin, noting that it was barely big enough for one person, let alone a couple accompanied by the amount of luggage required for a three month voyage. Handing back the brochure he decided to tell Emma to make sure that the Ostend's cabin was upgraded to something more luxurious. "I'm sure you and Pat will have a ball."

"I'm sure we will." David gazed at the page in happy anticipation and then carefully folded his treasure back up and replaced it safely back in his pocket.

"How's the family?"

David was more than willing to talk about his beloved children and a bewildering array of grandchildren, stopping every now and then to admit someone to the carpark or permit them to exit. "Every day I wake up grateful that International Rescue have preserved this world so my grandchildren can grow up to enjoy it. And now Ollie's about to give me my first great-grandchild! Pat insists that if it hasn't arrived before we go on our vacation we're not going!"

Jeff chuckled. "My family's got a long way to go to catch up to yours, David, but at least they're making a start. Alan and Tin-Tin are going to finally make me a granddad." All of a sudden he was hit by the realisation that this was the first time that he'd had the opportunity to boast about the future addition to his family. Doomsday and Arnie may have brought him back to this world, but not before they'd made him and his family miss out on a lot that other families would have taken for granted.

But David couldn't have known this as he shook his boss's hand. "Congratulations! You must be thrilled."

"I am." Jeff couldn't help but smile at the security guard's exuberance and the feeling of warm pride that filled him up.

"You'll love being a grandfather," David beamed. "It's the best feeling in the world. The best. You'll pass on my congratulations to Alan and Tin-Tin?"

"Of course."

David chuckled. "It only seems like yesterday that they were two little kids sitting down here in this very booth telling me all about each car as it drove past. I'll swear that Tin-Tin knew as much as Alan did."

Jeff laughed at the reminiscences. "You're probably right." He looked at his watch. "I'd better get back upstairs. Cathie's promised to give me all the gossip in this place and I don't want her starting a rumour that you've kidnapped me." He stood and this time it was his turn to hold out his hand. "It's been good to see you again, David."

David shook his boss's hand. "And you too, Mr Tracy."

-F-A-B-

"Virgil? Is this box going to the island or to the charity shop?"

Virgil Tracy looked over from the workbench where he was carefully laying his tools into another carton. "What's in it?"

"Kitchen stuff." Stewie rummaged through the less carefully packed implements. "Knives… Forks… Spoons… General cutlery, I guess."

"I don't need them, so they can go to the charity."

"Right." Stewie disappeared out though the door and into the main studio of Virgil's apartment.

"Hey, Virg? What do you want to do with this?" Scott Tracy emerged from a cupboard in the workroom, holding up a long blue wig.

"Trash it," his brother instructed. "And the others. Gustav's long dead."

Stewie re-entered the workroom, dusting his hands. "Now what?"

"Now try this on." Grinning, Scott tossed the hairpiece to his Little Brother.

"'Kay." Stewie caught the wig and flipped it onto his head. "How do I look? Heavy metal?" He mimed playing a hard rock guitar.

Virgil grimaced at the teenager's antics. "Did I look like that?"

"No, Gustav did," Scott reminded him.

"I think he needed the phone number of your psychiatrist."

Stewie pulled the wig from his head. "What are you going to do with it?"

"Throw it into the trash."

"Can I keep it?"

Virgil straightened and stared at the younger man. "You want it?"

"Yeah. We've got school dance coming up and the theme's ancient history. I could go as one of those old 1980s glam rockers."

"I'm not sure if a century ago qualifies as ancient history, but here," Virgil reached into a cupboard and pulled out several wigs, still in their protective wrappers. "You can start yourself a band."

"Wow! Thanks. Erm…" Stewie held up the old one. "Can I take this one too?"

"If you want to. Why?"

"I thought I'd stick some eyes on it, put it over my remote control car and scare Gran with it."

Virgil turned to his big brother. "Are you sure we want him and Gordon staying in the same house at the same time?"

Scott chuckled. "It's only for a week."

"You might regret saying that."

The three of them resumed packing.

"Why are you getting rid of this place, Virgil?" Stewie asked when he returned to workroom to collect the last of the boxes. "It's awesome!"

"I don't need it anymore, so I've sold it to my friends. They're always having people come to stay, and having this apartment in the same building will mean that everyone will have privacy, but still be within socialising range. They've said that I can use it any time I want."

Scott picked up the final box. "Stewie and I will take this down to the truck, Virg. You can check we haven't forgotten anything."

"Okay. I'll be with you soon."

Scott had just entered the main living area when there was a knock on the studio apartment's door.

"I'll get that," Stewie offered, dumping his box on the floor. He swung the door open. "Hi. How can I help y...?"

The woman standing there looked shabby, dishevelled, and underdressed for the cold weather outside. Her clothes appeared to be unwashed and the smell that permeated the room confirmed it. Her eyes, their pupils as small as pin-pricks, gazed at him blearily before he came into focus. "Was lookin' for Gus'af."

Dropping his box, Scott stepped forward before Stewie had a chance to respond. "Kasey?"

Her out of focus gaze switched to him. "Thad's, uh, thad's me."

"Do you remember me? I'm Scott."

"Scott?" Kasey frowned as she tried to get her brain into gear.

"Ah," Scott reminded himself to keep Virgil's secret, "Gustav's brother. Remember? What can we do for you?"

"Waz lookin' for Gus'af," she repeated.

"Gustav? Didn't you hear that he, erm, died?"

Kasey frowned. "Die'?" She scratched at an itch on her arm.

"Yes. I'm sorry if you didn't know, Kasey, but we lost Gustav before Doomsday." She didn't appear to comprehend at first, so Scott tried again. "Do you understand?"

"Doomztay?" The itch, along with one beneath her matted hair, was scratched again.

"She's high as a kite," Stewie said, and Scott waved him back.

Kasey looked past the man who was blocking her entrance into the room. "Watcha doin'?" Her arm was scratched again before the itch appeared to move to the vicinity of her belly button.

"Packing up his things," Scott offered. "Gustav's things?" He clarified. "The apartment's been sold." He heard a quiet click off to the side and glanced in the sound's direction, seeing his brother standing there. Virgil's stony face showed no emotion, but Scott knew exactly what he was thinking.

Kasey didn't seem to notice the newcomer as a spark of interest took the edge off her dull eyes. "He leave any money?" She wiped her nose on her hand. "I need money."

"Bet we know what for," Stewie whispered and Scott considered ordering him out of the room.

"No, he didn't."

Kasey appeared to appraise the man standing before her. "I need money," she repeated. "An' I'll do anythin'…" She stepped forward and attempted to slide her arms about Scott's neck. "Howz aboutit..."

Pulling her arms free, Scott took a step back as he pushed her towards the door, so they could maintain their distance. "Not interested."

"Oh…" Kasey's out of focus gaze moved over to the seventeen-year-old at his side. "Wha' abou'…?"

"No." Scott took a step to his left, becoming a physical barrier between his Little Brother and the visitor. "I think you'd better leave, Kasey. There's nothing here for you."

"Nothin'?" Kasey looked about the room again, finally seeing the man standing off to one side. She studied him briefly, but there was no hint of recognition as she returned her attention to Scott. "You sure?"

"I'm sure."

"Jus' need few dollars."

"I'm sorry, but I can't help you. Look, there's a shelter in the next block. Why don't you go and talk to them?"

"Sheltha?" She appeared confused.

"Here," Scott ripped a corner off a box and scribbled directions on it. "That's how you get there. It's a nice place. They'll give you something to eat and some warm clothes."

"Need something with more kick."

"Go and see them. They've got what you need."

"Righd…" Kasey spent an indecisive moment looking about her. Her eyes fell on Virgil again and a slight frown furrowed her brow. Then she turned and, without another word, disappeared back through the door.

Scott closed it before she had a chance to change her mind.

"Who was she?" Stewie asked.

"She was Gustav's 'girlfriend'." Scott mimed the quotation marks, but was more interested in Virgil, who'd taken his phone out of his pocket and appeared to be using it to search for something.

"But…?"

"Just wait here," Scott ordered. "Don't go anywhere." He walked over to his brother who was looking down to the footpath below and then glancing back at his phone. "That's not your fault."

Something was keyed into the phone. "I know."

"You didn't force her to try drugs. It was her decision to experiment."

"I know."

"You showed her that it was possible to have a good time without needing artificial stimulation."

Virgil didn't answer, and Scott followed his gaze out the window. Down below both men could see Kasey as she accosted one passerby who hurriedly stepped away, almost running to escape her grasp. She was hopefully staggering towards another stranger when a police car pulled up and both officers alighted. Trying the same move on one of them that she'd used on Scott, Kasey soon had her arms cuffed behind her back and was being escorted into the car.

Scott watched as the vehicle pulled out into traffic and disappeared around the corner. "We'll meet you downstairs."

Now Virgil finally looked at his brother. "Okay."

"Come on, Stuart." Scott picked up his box.

"But…" Confused, Stewie picked up his own carton and trotted after his Big Brother out the door. "I don't get it."

Scott pushed the button on the lift with his elbow. "You don't get what?"

"She was Virgil's girlfriend…"

"Gustav's 'girlfriend'." Awkwardly, because of the box in his arms, Scott indicated the quotation marks.

"There's a difference?"

The lift door pinged open and Scott stepped inside. "It's a long story, but yes, there is. Come on, let's get rid of these boxes and go to the coffee shop next door. I'm parched."

"What about Virgil? Shouldn't we tell him where we are?"

"He'll know. Besides, he'll be ages yet."

"He will?" Stewie followed Scott out of the lift. "Why?"

"Because he's trying to get Kasey help."

"He is?" Stewie didn't resist as Scott took the box from him and placed it on the already full trailer behind the truck. He scratched his head. "You said that she was V... ah, 'Gustav's girlfriend'..." He accepted one side of the tarpaulin that Scott handed him, but otherwise didn't move.

"Yes."

"And Virgil pretended to be Gustav."

"Yes."

"And she didn't even recognise him."

"Fortunately." Scott indicated that Stewie should start doing some work.

Stewie threw the tarpaulin forward over the trailer and smoothed out the creases. "And she, erm," he focussed on the tie-down that he was hooking onto the trailer, "made a move on you; his, I mean, Gustav's brother."

"She was willing to prostitute herself for drugs; yes."

"And then she… erm... she…" Stewie looked somewhat stunned. "She was going to… erm… me!"

A slight smile twitched at the corners of Scott's mouth at his young friend's reaction. He ratcheted the tie-down until the boxes were held securely in place.

"So why is Virgil helping her?"

Scott shrugged. "Because she needs help."

"But she betrayed him! Or would have if you'd let her. And who knows how she's got the money for drugs before now? I mean, she's only just found out that Virgil, I mean Gustav… Man! That's confusing! …has 'died' and she's making a move on his brother!"

Scott had been testing all the tie-downs and, satisfied that they would hold the trailer's contents securely and safely, made sure there were no loose ends flapping about. "She thinks Gustav's dead."

"She didn't exactly waste any time mourning him."

"She was in no shape to comprehend what we were telling her," Scott reminded the younger man. "And Virgil wants to help her."

"But why?"

"Because that's the Tracy way." Scott gave the trailer a once-over one last time, before, satisfied, he threw his arm about his bemused young friend's shoulders. "And you'll find out exactly what I mean when we get home." He grinned. "Come on. I'm desperate for something hot and sweet."

Stewie smirked. "You missed that opportunity upstairs."

Scott gave him a good-natured clip about the ear.

-F-A-B-

Alan held out his hand. "You look beautiful."

In light of the fact that they were not alone, Tin-Tin gave him a shy smile as she accepted his assistance out of the lift. "Thank you. I am glad that I bought this dress and not 'the tent'."

"It's not the dress that makes you beautiful." Alan turned to the Maitre D. "Table for Tracy, please."

The Maitre D smiled at the couple. "Of course, Mr Tracy. Will you follow me?"

It was early in the evening and the restaurant was largely empty, and Alan and Tin-Tin were able to negotiate their way through the tables without hearing whispers from other patrons commenting on her obviously advanced pregnancy.

Tin-Tin allowed the Maitre D to assist her into her chair and gazed out over the darkening city highlighted by the glow of the setting sun. "It is lovely."

"Yes," Alan agreed, and when she looked back at him she realised that his eyes were locked on her and that he hadn't even glanced at the scene outside.

"I meant the view," she told him.

He didn't shift his gaze. "I'm enjoying the view."

Tin-Tin indicating the city's lights. "It is like being amongst the stars."

He still wasn't interested. "I had four months of being amongst the stars. I'd rather look at you."

"Alan…" Tin-Tin lowered her voice as a safeguard against the approaching waiter. "I thought you were trying to broaden your horizons again. Not limit them."

Alan accepted a drinks menu and made their selection, then waited until the waiter was out of earshot. "I've been away from you for too long. I'm making up for lost time."

"As flattering as that is, there are many more beautiful things in this world. We came here so you can enjoy some of them again."

"I know that." Alan finally dragged his eyes to the window. "The view's beautiful…" He looked at the expensive furnishings about them. "The restaurant's beautiful…" He indicated her clothes. "Your dress is beautiful…" He opened the menu. "And I'm sure that at these prices the food will be beautiful…" Dropping the menu back onto the table he made an expansive gesture with his arms. "The whole world is beautiful!"

Tin-Tin laughed as the waiter brought them their drinks.

Her husband took her hand. "But none of it is as beautiful as you are tonight, Tin-Tin. I've never seen you looking so lovely."

"After all that sweetness, I think I shall have to miss dessert. I do not want to risk our baby developing diabetes."

Tin-Tin was joking, but Alan was deadly serious. "I don't ever want to leave you again. Just say the word and I'll look for work elsewh..."

"Shush." Tin-Tin had reached over the table and placed her fingers on his lips to quieten him. She smiled when he took her hand and kissed it. "You must do what you must do, Alan. You must be happy."

"I am happy. I'm happy to be here with you." Alan lowered his voice again. "And not millions of miles away."

Tin-Tin reclaimed her hand. "And I am happy you are with me and not millions of miles away too. But we cannot live forever in this one moment. You must be happy within yourself."

"I'll be happy if I know you're happy."

"And _I_ know that you will only be happy doing what we have chosen to do. We will be working together."

"But I'll have to leave you, Tin-Tin, and I don't want to. Not even for one month. I don't want you to be frightened for me. I don't want you or our child to worry."

"And if you return to racing I would still worry about your safety."

"No." Alan shook his head. "I don't want to go back to racing. You're not going to believe this, but when I was talking to Mike today I couldn't wait to get away from the track."

Tin-Tin gasped in mock astonishment. "Sacrilege!"

Alan responded with a goofy grin. "I suppose that after four months of peace and quiet it was all too noisy and smelly for me."

"Is this my husband talking?"

"It's me."

"Then are you sure you are only drinking sparkling grape juice?"

Alan sniffed his wine glass. "I think so." He took a sip. "Yep."

Despite her teasing, Tin-Tin knew him well enough to realise that he was giving serious consideration to giving up on their plans. "But if you don't want to return to the racing circuit, what do you want to do?"

Alan shrugged. "I've got some ideas for improvements to the car. Developing them would be fun. _And_ we could do it together."

"_And_ you would be bored within a week and we would be filing for divorce after two."

"Don't say that." A pained expression crossed Alan's face. "I'm sure we could make it work this time."

"We tried when we were first married, remember? We discovered that we need time apart to keep our marriage strong."

"But not four months."

"No." Tin-Tin shook her head. "Definitely not four months. I need to be able to share my day with you. And this little one," she rubbed her belly, "will need his father."

Alan grinned. "You still think it's a boy?"

"I think it is a boy who will take after his father and join the family business."

"And you think I should be a part of the family business?"

"I do. Because it would make you happy. And because being a part of the family business will make me happy." Tin-Tin looked up when the waiter appeared at the table.

"Would you care to order?"

"Sorry." Alan favoured the man with an apologetic smile. "We were too busy talking."

The waiter's smile in return was gracious. "I shall give you more time to consider your selection." He bowed and withdrew.

Alan picked up the menu and studied it. "Hmmm. They don't seem to have anything freeze dried. How can they expect to have satisfied customers if their food doesn't have to be soaked in water first?"

"Father will be disappointed if he finds out that you weren't happy with your rations. He did his best to give you plenty of variety."

"It was tasty enough, but nothing compares with real, fresh food." Alan had lowered his voice again. "And I'm sure that no matter what the chef here serves up, it won't taste as good as what your father's cooked the last couple of weeks." He made his selection and placed the menu to one side, watching as his wife turned the page in her hunt for something to appease her taste buds and the child growing inside her. "You're beautiful."

Tin-Tin gave a mock sigh. "Are you starting that again?" She made her selection.

"I was just thinking that that painting that Virgil did of you in that dress doesn't do you justice."

"He will be hurt if you tell him that."

"I won't. It is beautiful, just not a beautiful as you." Alan called the waiter over. "And it was a much appreciated welcome home gift."

They placed their orders and moved on to more innocuous topics. The meal was served and they ate together, enjoying the food, the scenery, the atmosphere, and each other's company.

They were waiting for dessert when Tin-Tin reached across the table to her husband. "Alan? What is your decision?"

"You know my decision," he teased.

She waited in anticipation. "Well?"

"You heard me tell the waiter. Chocolate Ganache."

"If you're going to be silly…" She withdrew her hand.

"Don't…" He caught it before she could pull it out of reach. "Do you honestly think that we can make it work? Being married and a part of…" he looked around, but the restaurant was beginning to fill up, "the family business?"

Tin-Tin squeezed his hand. "I do. I _know_ that it will work. And I know that it is the only way that you will be totally happy, and I will be totally happy, and our family will be totally happy."

"And our child?"

"Will grow up being happy in a happy, loving, extended family."

"It's what you want?"

"Yes. And it is what you want."

Alan thought for a moment, a light frown creasing his forehead. "You know something? I think you're right."

Tin-Tin smiled. "Aren't I always?"

"Do you realise something else? This is the last opportunity we're going to have to spend time together alone?"

"I know."

"From now on we're going to have to live with the whole family. We won't have time for just the two of us."

"Are you trying to change my mind again, Alan? Once the baby is born it won't be the two of us, it will be the three of us. Whatever decisions we make now, our lives are going to change forever."

He grinned. "So we'd better make the most of now while there's only two and two thirds of us."

Tin-Tin laughed. "I don't think he liked being called two-thirds. He just kicked me."

"Stop assaulting your mother, young man."

Tin-Tin laughed again "It kicked me again when you called it _young man_. Maybe he is a she after all."

"We'll find out soon enough." Alan called the wine waiter over and indicated that they would like their glasses refilled. Once the job was completed he raised his in a toast. "To the future. Who knows what it will bring, but whatever it is, it won't be boring."

Tin-Tin smiled back at him and he felt himself fall in love with her all over again. "To the future."

_To be continued…_


	58. Chapter 58 - Debriefing

**Chapter 58: Debriefing**

_The following day_

Jeff Tracy sat down at his desk in the lounge of the Tracy Villa and wondered if he could be bothered doing any work. It was always the same the day after he'd had to rely on an air taxi to return home from the States. Those planes were never as fast or comfortable as those in the Tracy stable, and the pilots weren't as skilled as his sons... Or, he thought ruefully, as he had been when he'd been strong enough to pilot himself.

Maybe he should have waited another day and flown home with John as they'd first arranged? He gave a quiet grin to himself. How many fathers were asked by their grown-up sons if they could borrow the family plane to go on a date?

He hoped that John and Emma were enjoying their time together.

He became aware that two people had entered the room and looked up to see Lady Penelope, her face set in stern disapproval, striding towards him, and Parker, looking almost contrite, at her side and a fraction of a step behind. Something about their manner gave Jeff the impression that the aristocrat meant business, while the butler was wishing he was anywhere but here.

Lady Penelope came to a halt in front of his desk. "I wish to extend the apologies of the House of Creighton-Ward to you, Jeff."

"You wish to what?" Bemused by the formality of her statement and its content, Jeff looked at her. Now he could see that she was angry. A tightly constrained anger that, in his opinion, was threatening to burst out with explosive power at any second. What with her blonde hair and tightly pressed together lips, the phrase _white with rage_ sprang to mind.

"I am sorry to admit that there has been a betrayal of your hospitality."

Jeff knew of no such betrayal. "Penny, why don't you sit down and explain to me what's got you so riled up?"

After a moment's hesitation, and with a glare at the man at her side, Lady Penelope accepted a chair.

Jeff looked at her associate. "Do you want to sit too, Parker?"

Parker responded with a rather prim, "H-If h-it's h-all right with you, Mr Tracy, H-I'd rather stand." True to his word he remained upright with his arms rigid behind his back, almost as if Lady Penelope had manacled him so he couldn't try to escape.

The English class structure at its finest, Jeff mused. "What's the problem?"

Rather than reclining regally as was her wont, Lady Penelope was sitting upright in her chair. "I am mortified to admit that I discovered _Parker_," and the butler's name was uttered with a kind of horrified emphasis, "coming out of _your_ quarters, Jeff, carrying some of _your_ belongings."

To say that Jeff was surprised by her announcement was an understatement. He switched his attention to the man standing in chastened silence at her side. "Parker?"

"H-It was a misjudgement, Mr Tracy," the butler admitted. "H-I meant to put somethin' h-in. Not take something h-out."

"And what," Jeff reminded himself to hold judgement until he heard all the facts, "did you plan to 'put in'?"

"Just h-a note."

"A note?" Jeff frowned. "A note saying what?"

The corners of Parker's mouth twitched. "That your safe's security h-ain't h-up to scratch."

Jeff's eyebrows shot up. "You broke into my _safe_!"

"Yes, Sir."

Jeff logged into the security system linked to his computer and checked the most recent movements within his private quarters. There was no record of any entry. "Without my knowing about it?"

There was that twitch again. "You would 'ave known h-about h-it when you found me note, Mr Tracy." And the humour in the butler's eyes disappeared. "But 'er Ladyship found me comin' h-out. She's sharper than h-any security system."

If he'd hoped his flattery had appeased his mistress he was mistaken. "I did indeed discover Parker leaving your quarters, Jeff. And he was carrying a china plate of yours."

This was nearly as perplexing as Parker's apparent betrayal. "A china plate?"

"Parker tells me that it was in your safe. Therefore I assume that it must have great value; perhaps Sèvres porcelain, Royal Worcester or Meissen?"

Jeff wracked his brain. He didn't think he had any sort of china in his quarters, not even a vase, and there were definitely no plates with any monetary value in his safe. In fact it had been so long since he'd last looked in the security box that Jeff couldn't even remember what its contents were.

Parker raised an eyebrow and Jeff took it to be a signal that the butler wished to speak, but that etiquette dictated that he was unable to do so until invited by a superior. Guessing that, as owner of the property that had been violated he was considered superior enough to make the request, Jeff did so by attempting to phrase it in a way that would be acceptable to his guests. "Do you have anything to say, Parker?"

"H-If H-I may, Sir... H-I wouldn' 'ave considered h-enterin' your digs, Mr Tracy, h-if you 'adn't said that you'd sometimes wondered h-if H-I 'ad the skills to do so without h-anyone known' h-and h-if your getup was good h-enough to stop me."

Jeff nodded in the face of Lady Penelope's scandalised expression. "That's true. I have often wondered that."

"H-And H-I figured that h-if H-I h-asked you h-if H-I could h-attempt h-it, h-it would kinda-like take the surprise h-element h-out h-of h-it."

Jeff waded through the river of aspirates. "True. It would."

"So, H-I figured that now was the time. There were h-enough people h-on the h-island to make h-it a challenge, but not so many h-as to make h-it fool'ardy. H-I don't fancy comin' h-out h-of your rooms h-alone h-and fetchin' h-up face-to-face with one h-of your sons. H-I'm not h-as young h-as H-I once was."

"I can understand that."

"So H-I waited h-until you was h-in 'ere, Mr Kyrano was h-in the kitchen, h-and 'er Ladyship was coolin' h-off."

In Jeff's opinion, Lady Penelope was looking anything but cool. Hot under the collar was a more accurate description. "And then?"

Parker shrugged. "H-I broke h-in."

He made it sound like a casual stroll down to the beach. "You said you didn't plan to take anything."

"That h-is correct, Mr Tracy."

"But you took a plate."

"Yes, Mr Tracy. H-Out h-of your safe."

"You took a plate out of my safe?"

"Yes, Mr Tracy."

"What plate, Parker?"

"This one." Parker removed his hands from behind his back revealing a small round plate with a square lump of something dark and indefinable on it. He placed it on the desk in front of Jeff who eyed it with suspicion.

"That was in my safe!?"

"Yes, Sir. When H-I first saw h-it H-I didn't know what h-it was. H-Upon closer h-examination H-I realised that this was a dried h-up bit o' cake. Then H-I remembered you sayin' that you 'id Mrs Tracy's bakin' in there so your sons wouldn't get h-it. A-At first H-I first thought you'd forgotten h-about h-it, so H-I thought H-I should remove h-it for 'ygiene reasons." Now Parker looked genuinely apologetic. "By the time I'd left your rooms, H-I 'ad a chance to think h-about h-it h-and H-I thought that maybe H-I'd got it wrong. H-I thought that the safe 'ad preserved h-it h-and that maybe you'd kept h-it h-as a kind h-of private memento of your mother." He looked at his hands. "H-I was h-about to return h-it when 'er Ladyship sprung me."

"Oh…" Jeff sat back. "Well… Your first supposition was correct, Parker. I can't remember, but I would assume that it was a slice of Mother's cake that I'd hidden in there the day before my stroke. I haven't had cause to open the safe since I returned to the island and I've forgotten what it contained. Was there anything else in there?"

"Some papers, Sir. But H-I didn't look h-at 'em. H-I was h-only goin' to leave the note, so you knew H-I still 'ad me touch, h-and scarper."

"I believe you, Parker. You've had plenty of opportunities to steal from me over the years and not once have you tried to..." Jeff's eyes twinkled. "That I'm aware of." A small grin softened Parker's craggy features. "And, as you said, I did lay down the challenge, although not in so many words. We won't say any more about the matter."

"Thank you, Sir."

"Jeff!" Lady Penelope seemed affronted by his glossing over of the issue. "Parker has betrayed our trust. Not only yours, but mine as well."

"Beggin' your pardon, m'Lady, h-and H-I mean no disrespect, but you h-ain't h-exactly Nellie Dean yerself."

Now Jeff watched Lady Penelope with interest. He didn't fully understand what Parker had just said, but he had a feeling that she did and that that one not-so-simple sentence had forced her to take a metaphorical step back.

After a moment's hesitation, the aristocrat turned to him. "When are you planning on holding your debriefing of International Rescue's latest missions, Mr Tracy?"

Lady Penelope calling him Mr Tracy never failed to give Jeff a chill. "It didn't seem important while I thought the boys had reinstated the organisation only to fight Doomsday and Arnie, but now that we've decided to continue I guess we can hold one when everyone's back on the island tomorrow."

She nodded, a thoughtful frown creasing her brow. "And you will permit me to reveal Parker's and my activities during this time?"

"Of course, Penny."

She nodded. "Thank you, Jeff."

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

_The next day_

"Boy! It's hot!" Stewie picked up a magazine from the pool table next to him and fanned himself with it.

"Wimp," Alan teased. "Can't you handle a bit of heat?"

"It's winter back home! I haven't just spent the last four months lazing around on a tropical island like you." Stewie didn't notice the glances that passed between Alan's brothers. "Can we go for a swim, Scott?"

"Later," Scott promised. He glanced at his watch. "I've got something to show you first."

"Yeah?" Excited at the prospect of exploring more of a billionaire's home, Stewie stood. "What? Are we going to check out John's observatory?"

"I'll show you that tonight," John offered.

Scott nodded his agreement. "You'll find it more interesting when you can see the stars."

"Okay. So what are you going to show me now?"

His Big Brother, instead of displaying his usual cool, controlled demeanour, had been more like a cat on a hot tin roof since they'd left New York, and Stewie noted that his edginess had increased since they'd started the conversation. "It's a secret."

Gordon headed for the house. "We'll see you guys later," he called over his shoulder as his siblings followed suit. "We've got work to do."

"Work?" Stewie turned back to Scott. "What work is there to do out here in the middle of nowhere?"

"You'll be surprised." Scott caught a ball of blue cloth that was thrown to him. "Thanks, Virg."

"See you down there."

"Down where?" Stewie asked.

Scott didn't enlighten him as he waited until they were alone. "I trust you, Stuart."

Mystified by the formality of the statement, Stewie gave a nervous laugh. "Uh… Thanks."

Scott studied the cloth in his hand. "And you trust me, don't you?" He looked back up to make sure he could read the truth in the younger man's eyes.

Stewie held the look. "Of course I do."

"You've already proven that you're loyal to me, and my family, and I appreciate that loyalty."

"Well…" Stewie was feeling uncomfortable by the intensity of Scott's speech. "You're almost my family."

"I feel that way too. We've been close these last six years."

"Uh… Yes…?"

"If I told you a secret, I know that there's no way that you'd ever betray me and tell someone else. No matter what the provocation."

"Are you going to tell me a secret?"

Scott nodded. "Yes. I want you to understand why I couldn't be with you on your 17th birthday."

"Hey, don't worry about that." Stewie flapped his hand in a gesture that said that he'd got over the betrayal. "You had to be with your family. I understand that."

"I don't think you do," Scott corrected. "Not fully. And I need to put that right. But you've got to make me a promise. You are not to tell anyone about what I'm going to show you; not even your Gran."

"I won't."

"No exceptions. Do you understand?"

"I understand."

Scott thought for a moment. "No, you don't. Not yet… But you will. Do you promise not to breathe a word of this to anyone?"

Stewie couldn't imagine anything that would worry Scott so much that it warranted such precautions. "I promise."

"Break that promise and you not only betray me, you betray my family. And the consequences could be disastrous."

"If you'd rather not tell me then don't!" Stewie exclaimed, exasperated by the continuing interrogation and lack of information. "I don't mind."

"I want to tell you," Scott admitted. "And I need to. Do you trust me?"

"Scott!" By now Stewie's exasperation was clear. "I've already said that I trust you!"

Scott picked a small piece of material out of the bundled cloth. "Enough to let me blindfold you?"

"Blindfold me? I thought we were too old for kids' games."

"I'm not playing games."

And Stewie could tell that he meant it by the tone of his voice. He shrugged and then turned so his Big Brother could secure the blindfold over his eyes. "Are you going to spin me around so I become disorientated?"

Scott waved his hand in front of Stewie's face to test that he couldn't see. "Yes. You understand that this is for your own good as well as the good of my family and me?"

"According to you, not yet. But I trust that I'll understand soon..." Stewie allowed himself to be spun about on the spot. "That's if you don't make me so dizzy that I won't be able focus on what you're planning on showing me."

He heard Scott chuckle as two strong hands grasped his shoulders to stop him from falling over. "Just wait a moment, I've got to do something first."

Stewie could hear the rustling of material. "Couldn't you have done it before you blindfolded me?"

"I'm finished now… Now we're going this way," the familiar voice said, and a gentle push with the right hand turned the young man a full one eighty degrees.

Tempted to try and work out which directions he was being steered, but equally determined not to betray the man he idolised, Stewie concentrated on remembering the lyrics of a song that had been playing on the radio that morning. Not that he could have remembered every twist and turn as they moved through what he assumed was a multitude of rooms and felt gravity change as they took lifts up and lifts down to what he could only assume was somewhere deep in the complex.

Finally he heard doors swish open along with the hum of distant motors, and his nose was assailed with a variety of aviation smells that reminded him more of the hangars of the New York Hawks than the training school where he'd learnt to fly. He was pushed forward again and heard the doors close behind.

They stopped walking when he felt a barrier in front of him.

"Ready?" Scott asked.

Stewie nodded. He put his hands on the barrier to steady himself and kept his eyes closed as the blindfold was removed. "Can I open them now?"

"Yes."

Stewie opened his eyes. Ahead of him, and he had to blink several times to make sure that he wasn't seeing things, was a sleek rocket, standing tall and proud on its broad base. The code TB1 was printed at eyelevel near the nosecone and he assumed that it stood for something to do with the Tracy name. "Wow! Your family really was making a spaceship to escape Doomsday!"

He heard laughter and he turned to find his hosts, along with their friends from England, standing behind him. Oddly, all the Tracys, including Scott, were dressed alike... Apart from those sashes; which, in Stewie's opinion, showed a distinct lack of fashion sense.

"Nope," Scott was shaking his head. "That's not a spaceship."

"Not the one I'd want to spend months in anyway," Alan quipped.

"It's not?" Stewie leant over the barrier that prevented him from falling down into the hangar to examine the red-crowned, blue-based craft closer. Now that he was over his shock he realised that the part of the fuselage facing him appeared to have something long and thin recessed into it. "It's looks fantastic," he breathed. "But what is it?"

"Maybe this'll tell you." Scott put a companionable arm about his shoulders and led him further around the gantry that circumnavigated the rocket-shaped craft.

Now Stewie saw that the wall to their left opened up into a mystery-craft-sized door and the floor dropped away deeper into the earth. Bemused as to what kind of rocket the Tracys would own that would work deep underground, he looked back at the machine, seeing for the first time the word painted vertically down its length.

Thunderbird.

So stunned was he with this revelation that Stewie missed the giant number one on the blue hull. He read the name, blinked, and read it again. "Scott…"

"Yes."

"That's a Thunderbird."

"That's my Thunderbird." Stewie heard the quiet pride in his friend's voice. "Thunderbird One."

"You own a Thunderbird?"

"Not exactly own," Scott corrected. "But I'm the pilot."

"But if that's Thunderbird One…" Stewie was struggling to get his mind around what he was being told. He turned to his Big Brother. "And you're the pilot of Thunderbird One…" Wide-eyed he stared at the group assembled behind him. "Then that makes you…?" He goggled at the sash badges that he'd seen before at the Pilot Light.

"We're International Rescue," Scott confirmed. "Well, the operational part of it. That's why I couldn't be with you on your birthday, Stewie. We had to get her," he indicated Thunderbird One, "and all our craft ready to fight Doomsday and the asteroid 2070SB."

"Scott really wanted to be with you," Virgil admitted, "but we had seven years of neglect to overcome and little time to do it in. He had no option other than to be here."

"We know how important it was for you to be with him and if we could have spared him we would," John told the young man. "But, while Dad wasn't well enough, Scott was our leader. We needed him here."

Stewie turned back to the rocket plane and tried to make sense of what he was being told.

Eventually he came to a conclusion. "This is a joke, right?" He smirked at Gordon. "That can't be Thunderbird One. We're underground!"

Gordon bowed. "I'm honoured that you think I'm capable of a scam as complex as this, but I swear that Scott's telling you the truth. We are, and always have been, International Rescue."

"Gordon nearly died battling Doomsday," Alan added. "You don't joke about something like that."

"Okay, then..." Stewie folded his arms in defiance and stared the auburn-haired Tracy down. "Which Thunderbird do you fly?"

"Now, Stuart..." Gordon pretended to be hurt. "You should know me better than that. What do you think?"

"Thunderbird..." Perplexed, Stewie studied Gordon. "Erm... Can't you fly?"

"I can, but only to get from A to sea."

Stewie didn't get the pun and decided to change the subject before he made a fool of himself. "Thunderbird One flies!" He indicated the ceiling. "And that's solid rock! How do you get it out of here?"

"This is only her hangar." Scott pointed down the tunnel. "Her launch bay's down there. She flies up through… Through a concealed exit in the ground. You'd never find it in a million years."

"If this is Thunderbird One," Stewie still didn't sound convinced. "Then where's Thunderbird Two? I heard she's enormous."

"She's got her own hangar elsewhere."

"And Thunderbird Three?"

"In a different hangar again. Look, Stewie…" Scott appeared a little hurt at his young friend's lack of acceptance, but unlike Gordon, this was genuine. "What if you and I were to go across to Thunderbird One? Would you believe me if you sat in her cabin? In my pilot's seat?"

Stewie stared at him. "You are serious."

"I am. I've never been more serious about anything."

"You're International Rescue?"

"We are."

"And you saved the world?"

"Yes, we did."

"Then can I join?"

"What?!" Scott gave the appearance of a man who was simultaneously paternally proud and fearful of the idea.

"I want to be a member of International Rescue! I can fly! You know I can do it, right, Scott?" Stewie turned to the Tracy Patriarch, correctly assuming that he was the commander of the fabled organisation. "Please, Mr Tracy."

Jeff looked just as startled as his eldest son. "I don't know, Stewie. You're still very young. Younger than Alan was when we first started."

"I can do it. Just give me the chance."

"You're still at school."

"I'm older than the legal school leaving age."

"But not by much."

"I know first aid!" Stewie offered what he thought was the winning argument. "And I've got my private pilot's certificate!"

"You need more than that," Jeff told him, "so I'm not going to say yes..." Stewie's face fell at the rejection and even Scott looked a little disappointed. "...but I'm not going to say no either."

Hope lightened Stewie's countenance. "You're not?"

"No. In my opinion, and I'm sure Scott will agree with me in this, you're not mature enough yet. All my boys had the chance to experience life away from International Rescue before they tied themselves to it and I think you need to experience the world before you join us."

"Great!" Stewie's face lit up. "Then I'll quit school and get a job."

"Whoa!" Scott exploded. "No way!"

"But, Scott...!"

"But nothing! You are not quitting school!"

"But your dad said..."

"Hold on." Jeff held up his hand. "You've also got to remember, Stewie, that my sons also had the qualifications, skills, and experiences that were useful to International Rescue. Being able to fly a plane and do basic first aid isn't enough."

Stewie had to admit that he could see Jeff's logic.

"On the other hand..."

Hopeful, Stewie looked at Jeff Tracy. "Yes?"

"You do have one advantage over my boys."

"He does?" John, along with Jeff's other four sons, looked just as mystified as the young hopeful.

"I do?"

Jeff treated Stewie to a fatherly smile. "You have the chance to learn what life with International Rescue will be like before you commit to it. When we first started out we had nothing except fancy equipment, optimism, and ignorance. You can view video showing exactly what you'd face when out on a rescue. You've got each of our experiences to learn from. You've got an opportunity to listen to firsthand accounts of the potential dangers you may face."

Stewie hadn't thought about this side of International Rescue. "Dangers?"

Virgil nodded. "Like being trapped underground."

"Or facing drowning, the bends and hypothermia," Gordon offered. "All at the same time."

"Or..." John added his perspective. "Being in a sealed capsule, running out of oxygen and having to rely on your own wits to save you, because there's no chance of anyone else reaching you in time."

"Or..." Typically, Alan had to try to top them all, "being stuck out in space without human contact for months, while facing the possibility of crashing into a giant gas planet or colliding with an asteroid."

"And even," Jeff reclaimed Stewie's attention, "being trapped in a broken aircraft fighting to escape an erupting volcanic rift."

Waiting for his input into these tales of potential death and destruction, Stewie looked at Scott.

Who obliged. "Losing a wing, losing control, losing consciousness, and nearly crashing."

"You didn't!"

"I did." Scott indicated Thunderbird One. "In her."

"Were you hurt?"

"Not really."

"When?"

"Four months ago."

"You're kidding?" Upon learning how close he'd come to losing one of the most important people in his life, Stewie looked like he was seriously reconsidering his earlier impulsive request. "Could you have died?"

"No."

"Yes," Jeff corrected. "Scott was hurt badly enough to give us all a fright."

Scott shrugged. "If it hadn't been for John's, Tin-Tin's and Father's piloting skills and Brains' medical knowhow..." He placed his hand on his young friend's shoulder, trying to reassure him. "I'm okay, Stewie. It was Gordon who had us really worried."

"If it wasn't for Virgil's and Brains' actions I wouldn't be here," Gordon confirmed.

"He's right." Scott squeezed Stewie's shoulder. "There's not one of us who wouldn't be here today if it wasn't for the team's past experience, present knowledge, hard earned skills, and an overabundance of sheer good luck. We all bring something to the organisation beyond being able to fly and basic first aid."

"So you think I should stay in school?"

Scott looked relieved that Stewie was coming around to the sensible conclusion. "I definitely think you should stay in school. Remember that up till ten minutes ago you were convinced that you wanted to be a doctor."

"But I've always wanted to be a part of International Rescue, you know that."

"Just like every other kid in the world. That's because you only see the glamour of the mystic of the job. You don't know how unglamorous it really is."

"Unglamorous?"

"Yes. When you're stuck back here on the island doing maintenance when your peers are out partying or dating and you feel like you've got no life of your own."

Virgil offered his viewpoint. "Or when you're inside doing training and running endless simulations and you'd like nothing better than to be somewhere else doing your own thing."

"Or," Gordon added, "when you're out on a rescue and you're roasting hot..."

"Or freezing cold," John interjected.

Virgil nodded. "And tired because you haven't slept in days."

"And you're filthy." John wrinkled up his nose. "And smelly."

"And everything's going against you," Alan added.

"And then when you get to the victims you discover you're too late…" Scott paused. "You wanted to be a doctor so that you could work with your patients until they no longer needed your help. Join us and you'll be just another ambulance waiting at the bottom of the cliff."

Their conversation made Stewie think of a salient question. "Does this mean you guys are going to carry on? I don't remember hearing anything in the news."

"We are going to carry on," Scott confirmed, "but we're not going to tell the World President until we're sure all our equipment's ready. We only had time to work on what we needed to combat Doomsday and it's going to take more time to bring us up to full operational specifications."

Stewie looked wistful. "I still wish I could join International Rescue."

"As I said," Jeff reminded him, "you're young. You've got plenty of time to decide what you want to do with your life. If you decide not to join us, but that you'd rather be a doctor or something else, then that's okay. If you do get a medical degree and then decide to join us then I'm sure Brains would appreciate your help."

"Having, er, assistance with medical issues would free me up to concentrate on developing and testing new craft," Brains confirmed.

"Not to mention how good it would be to have a trained medico with us on rescues," Virgil added.

Gripping both of the young man's shoulders, Scott stared Stewie in the eye. "Follow the dreams you had before you found out who we were. Make yourself and your Gran proud. By doing that you'll make me proud. Once you've finished your education you can decide if you want to be a member of International Rescue. But if you decide not to join us I won't be disappointed."

Gordon grinned. "And maybe by then you'll have worked out which Thunderbird is mine."

Stewie smirked. "Thunderbird Four. The submarine."

"First International Rescue initiation test: intelligence. Passed."

"Well it wasn't difficult when you said you'd nearly drowned and got the bends."

"Second International Rescue initiation test: logical evaluation. Passed."

Stewie chuckled. Then he folded his arms and leant back against the balcony rail. "Okay then. Who's in charge of which Thunderbird? I'd ask you all which one you fly, but I've already been caught out once."

Virgil grinned. "Guess."

"Is this a test?"

"Maybe."

"Okay then…" Stewie switched his brain on. "Logically, because you were the captain of the New York Hawks and you're a pilot, you must fly something."

Gordon winked at the younger man. "That narrows it down… a little."

"Using a process of elimination…" Stewie frowned in concentration. "And if Scott's got Thunderbird One," he glanced over his shoulder at the rocket plane, "and yours," he indicated Gordon, "is Thunderbird Four, which doesn't fly anyway… And, at a guess, since John was an astronaut he must have the spaceship, which is… Thunderbird Three?"

John laughed. "That part's right."

With increased confidence, Stewie continued. "So that leaves Thunderbird Two, which is the transporter and Thunderbird Five, which is the space satellite." He thought. "Do you fly a satellite?"

"Thunderbird Five's in geostationary orbit," Scott told his young friend.

"Which means?"

"It doesn't move in relation to the planet. It's always up there over 35 thousand kilometres above the Earth," Jeff pointed vertically through the rock ceiling. "But in order to maintain that position, it orbits about the Earth's axis at a speed of roughly three kilometres per second."

"So it does fly?"

"Technically: no."

"Oh." Stumped, Stewie's frown deepened as he stared at Virgil. "You were an artist, which is kind of passive, and Alan's a professional driver, which isn't."

"True," Alan agreed, managing to keep a straight face.

Stewie decided to, based on the limited facts he had, make a guess. "Alan pilots Thunderbird Two and Virgil's in charge of Thunderbird Five." He was disconcerted when the younger Tracys cracked up laughing. Even Jeff Tracy couldn't suppress a smile.

Scott clapped his young friend on the back. "I can see your logic, but I'm afraid you're wrong on all three counts. The captain of the New York Hawks does all the tricky flying when bringing the pod craft to the danger zone with, when needed, Gordon as his co-pilot."

"So Virgil pilots Thunderbird Two," Stewie said.

"Correct. Alan's the pilot in charge of the fastest craft in the fleet..."

"Thunderbird Three." Stewie appeared deflated by the weakness of his logical deduction.

"Right. Which means that John, who watched over a multi-national company from the top floor of a high-rise...

"Watches over you all from Thunderbird Five," Stewie sighed. He frowned again, before turning back to his mentor and friend. "Scott..."

"Yes?"

"Can I sit in Thunderbird One's cabin now?"

Scott laughed. "Come on then."

"But don't take too long," Jeff warned. "It's nearly lunchtime and after that we've got a debriefing to hold."

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

The debriefing started after lunch. At first Stewie listened silently, absorbing all this information about International Rescue's latest, greatest rescue that only hours earlier he was convinced he'd never know. As time went by and the recollections morphed from a formal debriefing to less formal recitations and he gained confidence, he started asking questions.

"Were you scared?" he asked Scott. "Flying into a live volcano?"

Scott shrugged. "I didn't have time to be scared. In situations like that you're focussed on what has to be done, not what you're feeling. Of course once the g-forces knocked me out, I didn't feel anything. It was more frightening during the Yelcho deployment when the volcano seemed to be chasing us down the rift and all I could do was hang on and hope."

John's recollections, as far as Stewie was concerned, seemed less hazardous to his physical, if not mental, wellbeing. "You spent four months up in Thunderbird Five?"

"A little over. That's right."

"Didn't you get bored?"

"I'll say." John rolled his eyes. "Once Alan was out of reach and I had nothing important to keep me occupied. That was until I got my Christmas present. One month shifts are much more bearable."

"One month shifts?"

"Yes. Alan and I always used to do alternate months manning Thunderbird Five." John frowned, looking at his youngest brother and his wife. "I don't know what's going to happen now."

Alan took Tin-Tin's hand. "That's not going to change." He grinned at Stewie. "Unless someone else joins the team and comes on the roster."

Stewie looked less than enamoured at the suggestion.

Virgil's telling of his experience of being mired in molten rock and then spending the following eight hours trapped in a too small container had Stewie on the edge of his seat in horrified enthralment. "How did you keep it together? I would have lost it by the time I reached the surface." He instantly regretted what he thought could have been recorded as a sign of weakness by his future employer.

"I came close to losing it, especially when my back started killing me. But I just kept on telling myself that Scott was up there waiting for me..." Virgil grinned. "And started planning my own funeral."

Gordon chuckled. "I take it that being buried six feet under isn't going to be an option. Of course if you'd hung around down there until the lava caught up with you, you could have been both buried _and_ cremated at the same time and saved us the bother at some future date."

Virgil made a face. "No thanks."

To Stewie, a flyboy through and through like Scott, the idea of descending to the deepest point of the ocean made his blood run cold. "What did you say when you heard the cabin collapsing around you?" he asked Gordon.

"Well, Stewie," Gordon deadpanned, "I'd tell you, but then my father would make me wash my mouth out with soap."

Jeff responded with a benign smile. "Better than caustic soda."

Scott gave Brains the pleasure of detailing the uneventful trip to the Kola Superdeep Borehole, which the engineer did in a concise manner and with few verbal slip-ups.

The Yelcho deployment was well known by everyone, but that didn't stop all those caught up in the crisis from treating Stewie to a recitation of every dramatic moment. The young man listened with the air of someone who couldn't really believe what he was hearing and that he was convinced that they were hamming it up for his benefit. "Come on. It wasn't as bad as all that, was it?"

"Worse," Jeff told him.

"Was the explosion really so loud that you all lost your hearing?"

Gordon turned to him. "Pardon?"

"Deaf and blind," Scott said cheerfully. "It was quite a trip."

Alan's tale, stretched out over four months as it was, had only been told piecemeal and now that he was given the floor he went into his mission in more detail. This time his family and friends were listening as avidly as Stewie.

"So I was stuck out there, 800 million kilometres from home, and if my trip was going to achieve anything, I was going to have to use up a large portion of my fuel. I was stuck and wishing that I could talk to you guys to see if you had any ideas. Then I thought of a free-return trajectory."

"Please excuse the question," Lady Penelope interrupted, "but what is a free-return trajectory?"

Stewie was glad that someone else had asked the question. He didn't have a clue either and didn't want to show his ignorance.

Alan offered him the explanation. "It's when you use the gravitational pull of a space body to, in effect, slingshot your spaceship around the space body and on to your next destination. They used it in the early days of moon exploration. Because you're using the energy provided by the space body's gravity to shoot you away from it, you don't have to use as much, if any, of your own fuel."

"Thank you."

"So did you do a free-return trajectory around a Jovian moon?" Virgil asked.

"Nope." Alan grinned. "I did a free-return trajectory around Jupiter." There were exclamations of surprise from many of his listeners. "That's why I took longer to get back into contact than everyone expected. That was a mighty big roundabout I had to get around... about."

A cell phone rang and Gordon, offering his apologies, saying it was his lawyer, and requesting that Alan didn't say anything juicy while he wasn't there, took the call on the patio.

Alan was just telling his family and friends for the thousandth time since he'd returned from space what a lifesaver their holograms had been when Gordon returned.

He was beaming. "That was my lawyer," he reminded them. "Great news! My divorce is at the head of the line! As soon as the courts open tomorrow I'll be a free man."

"No! You mustn't!"

Gordon stared at Lady Penelope. She was on her feet and, unusually for her, looked quite flustered. "I mustn't what?"

She placed her hand on her forehead as she tried to marshal her thoughts. "Have you told your solicitor to proceed with the divorce?"

"Of course I did. He suggested that I should hold off, but I just want Marina out of my life and I told him that. He's agreed to be at the court first thing in the morning."

"You must call him back." Lady Penelope was almost begging. "It is too soon."

"Not for me it isn't."

"She's right, Mister Gordon," Parker confirmed. "H-I'd wait h-if H-I was you."

"But you're not me," Gordon protested, "and I want that chapter of my life closed." He gave the butler a hard stare. "Why is it so important for me to wait?"

"Cos… Lummee. We're going to 'ave to tell 'im, m'Lady."

"I believe that you should sit down, Gordon." Lady Penelope demonstrated the process by descending onto the sofa and indicated that he should take the seat next to her. "Parker and I were going to reveal everything to you after the debriefing, but the call from your solicitor has forced my hand."

Confused Gordon stood there, looking at her. "Reveal everything? Reveal what?"

Lady Penelope composed herself. "Alan informed you that he had engaged Parker and myself to look into Marina's activities?"

"Yes."

"And that we discovered that she was having an affair while you were still together?"

"Yes," Gordon repeated. "None of this is news, Penny, and I've agreed to overlook it in the interests of expediency."

"Please sit down, Gordon," Lady Penelope requested again, "and I shall reveal more about Marina; why, and how she married you."

"How?" Considering what she'd just said, Gordon decided that it would be prudent to take her advice. He sat next to her. "Okay, shoot."

"As a part of our investigation, I am afraid that Parker and I entered your houseboat without your knowledge."

"Marina let you in?"

"No. We believe that she relocated to be with her, ah, boyfriend as soon as you left."

"Then did you get a key from somewhere?" Gordon glanced at Alan.

"No…" Lady Penelope looked vaguely uncomfortable. "We made use of Parker's skills."

Gordon gaped at her. "You broke in?! Into my home!"

"Is this what you were talking about, Parker?" Jeff rumbled and Parker looked uncomfortable.

"No, Mr Tracy."

Jeff's eyebrows lurched skywards, but he remained silent, preferring to let the story progress.

"Do you remember that shelf of notebooks of Marina's?" Lady Penelope asked.

"Yeah. I think she must have liked collecting notebooks. There was nothing in them."

"That is because she used invisible ink to record her activities."

Like his dad, Gordon's eyebrows shot up. "Huh? Like a diary?"

"Or a log," Lady Penelope admitted. "It was not only in invisible ink, but also in a simple code. We had to decipher the code before we could glean what her true intentions were."

"And they were?"

"Time and my employment with The Firm conspired against us and the decoding process took longer than I would have expected. To expedite the procedure I accessed The Firm's archives and downloaded their records of all phone calls to and from Marina's cell phone, Rory Braithwaite's telephone, your houseboat's landline, and your, ah, ..."

"My what!?"

"And, I regret to have to tell you this, Gordon, and rest assured that it was only as a precaution and as we did not have the need to access them they have since been deleted from our system, your cell phone."

He was staring at her. "My phone records? You mean date, time, other party, and duration of calls?"

"Yes... Along with the content of those calls."

"You eavesdropped on me?!"

"Technically it is The Firm that has been eavesdropping on you, as they do every citizen..."

Jeff looked at Parker. "Is this...?"

"No, Sir."

"But The Firm's English!" Gordon was exclaiming. "What are they doing phone-tapping Americans?"

Lady Penelope laid a delicate hand on his arm. "Rest assured that they do not only record the phone conversations of citizens of the United States of America, but other nations as well."

"That is not reassuring, Penny."

"That's why I always used our own network," John explained. "It's separate from every other on the globe."

Virgil swivelled in his seat to face him. "You knew The Firm did this?"

"No, but I theorised that it was possible. And I'd say that it's not only The Firm that keeps tabs on its citizens and those from other countries."

Alan sat back. "I'm sitting here trying to work out how many times I mentioned International Rescue on an unsecured line."

Lady Penelope turned to him. "Do not concern yourself, Alan. I used my position to monitor any references to International Rescue that passed through The Firm. Once we ceased operations, it ceased being of interest to the authorities."

"Um..." Stewie held up his hand. "What's 'The Firm'?"

"You've heard of MI5?" Scott asked him.

"Yes, who hasn't? Is that The Firm?"

"No. It's an even more secretive spy outfit that monitors MI5 as well as keeping tabs on the CIA, and all the other intelligence agencies in the world, along with different governments, political agencies, and master criminals."

"Oh..." Stewie mouthed. "If it's so secretive, then how do you know about it?"

"Because Penny and Parker work, sorry, worked for it. They don't anymore."

"Oh..." Stewie repeated, thinking that it wasn't that secretive if this family knew all about it, and remembering some line about loose lips sinking ships. He turned back to Lady Penelope. "Were you a secretary there?"

Everyone cringed.

She gave a light laugh. "Dear me, no." She turned back to Gordon. "Neither Parker nor I listened to any of your private calls, but it was through Marina's that we did discover the identity of her paramour and unlocked the code in her notebooks."

Gordon believed her. "And what did this code say?"

"Permit me to show you. May I use your screen, Jeff?"

"Of course, Penny."

Lady Penelope picked up her delicate pink tablet and navigated to a page. "This..." she beamed the image to a computer screen.

Stewie scratched his head. He didn't remember seeing a monitor on that wall. Wasn't there some kind of picture...?

Lady Penelope continued. "...is an example of Marina's rather laughable code."

The screen read:

_G2dbB._

_DaaL._

_ Forgot Dt. Irritable._

_G1dbL._

_GatD.R&amp;IatR._

Alan stared at the scrambled alphabet. "Well, two words make sense."

"At a guess..." John mused, "G equals Gordon and R is this Rory character. Does the ampersand mean 'and'?"

"Correct," Lady Penelope confirmed.

He studied the screen. "Is the number two the infinitive particle to?"

"In this case the number two is exactly as it reads. However in other circumstances, Marina did indeed use the number two as a homophone." Lady Penelope smiled in delight. "If you hadn't been so busy here, John, I would have appreciated your assistance with this little puzzle."

"H-It woulda made decipherin' h-it less borin' with a bit h-of 'elp," Parker griped.

"Without a few hints I can't work out the first four lines..." John stared at the screen. "The last..."

"Was dated the 12th of March 2079," Lady Penelope informed him.

"My birthday?" Alan squeaked.

"_Gordon at D_..." John frowned at the cipher. "12th of March last year..." He glanced at his father. "We were all at Dad's to celebrate Alan's birthday._ D_ in this case stands for Dad's? R... _Gordon at Dad's. Rory and I at Rory's_?"

"No wonder she was happy to stay home by herself," Gordon remembered.

John was still frowning at the screen, trying to decipher the other lines. "Nope. You've got to give me a hint, Penny."

"What we discovered, thanks to Marina's indiscretions whilst talking on the telephone and Parker's quick thinking, is that the capital _B_ stands for breakfast. The capital _L_ is lunch..."

"And capital _D_'s dinner!" Stewie shouted. Everyone looked at him and he sat down and shut up.

"Except where it means _Dad's_, Stuart is correct," Lady Penelope confirmed.

"So, what did I do at breakfast, lunch, and dinner?" Gordon asked.

"It is not what _you_ did, dear boy, but what Marina did."

"And what did she do?"

"Before I explain, I should like you to think back to the first time you met Marina. Do you remember that day clearly?"

"No."

Lady Penelope looked surprised. Then she recovered her poise. "No, that would be right," she mused to herself. "Was Marina aware of your, ah, financial situation when you first noticed her?"

"You mean that I'm the son of one of the richest men on the planet? Most likely. My first day at the marine institute we went out to Marina's bar afterwards. Chris and I had been in WASP together, so he knew about my background. He joked that since my dad was a billionaire I could buy the drinks. The whole bar must have heard him."

Jeff Tracy scowled.

Lady Penelope nodded. "I presume that you frequented this drinking establishment?"

"The team would go there most Fridays after work."

"And what did you drink?"

"What did I _drink_? Occasionally a beer, but not very often. When we were on duty 24/7 with International Rescue, I couldn't drink alcohol because I never knew when I'd have to go out on a rescue and I kind of lost the taste for it. I preferred cranberry juice."

"And Marina would serve you?"

"Usually... Penny! What does this have to do with anything?!"

Lady Penelope decided that the time had arrived. "Because Parker and I believe, that once she and Rory realised that you were a potential source of great wealth, they, ah, 'hatched a scheme' to entrap you."

"Entrap me? But how?"

"They drugged you."

Gordon's mouth fell open as the rest of his family reacted angrily to the news.

"She did what?!"

"But that's criminal!"

"Penny's right, Gordon. Don't divorce her. Sue her!"

"Lay criminal charges against her and this Rory guy!"

"I always knew she was up to no good."

Lady Penelope waited until the hubbub had died down. "Rory supplied her with the drug known as Adulium, and she would slip a drop at a time into your drink. It has a slight tart taste, which would be masked by your cranberry juice."

Brains picked up his tablet PC and started browsing.

"_Gordon: two drops before breakfast_," John theorised. "That's the first line."

"Correct."

"The fourth is: _Gordon: one drop before lunch. _The third line's... _Forgot dinnertime. Irritable._"

"Who was irritable?" Jeff enquired.

Lady Penelope turned so she could see him. "Gordon."

"I was!?"

"_Dinner after after lunch_?" John was still staring at the screen with a deep frown of intense concentration. "That doesn't make sense. Did she capitalise the first word? _Drops again after lunch?_ That can't be right. She's numbered the number of drops she gave him each time… _Dad's all at lunch? …_ Nope. I can't get line number two."

"_Docile as a lamb_," Lady Penelope informed him.

"Huh?"

"Perhaps I should explain more about the drug."

"Perhaps you'd better." Gordon gave an emphatic nod. "Is it dangerous?"

"Not directly. The principle function of Adulium is to make the person imbibing the drug experience a sensation of warmth and wellbeing. My assumption is that each time that Marina served you; you would receive a drink, ah, spiked with the Adulium. Over time you would come to associate the pleasurable sensations of the drug when you received each dosage with any commonalities in your environment."

"So, as Marina was the one giving him the drink, Gordon came to associate feeling good with her?" Virgil checked.

"Yes. And I am sure that she stayed close by to reinforce the impression."

Gordon wasn't quite sure that he was hearing what he was hearing. "She made me fall in love with her!?"

"You came to assume that the feelings you were experiencing whenever Marina was close by was love, yes."

"Does that mean that he fell in love with the bar as well?" Stewie asked. "That would have been a 'commonality'."

"I liked the place," Gordon admitted. "And I looked forward to going there, but I thought that was because of Marina."

"What about the barman?" Alan snickered, and was hit by an admonishing blow to the leg by Tin-Tin.

"I rarely saw him. We always sat at a different table or booth and Marina always served us." Gordon turned back to Lady Penelope. "So how is this stuff _not directly_ dangerous?" He saw his friend perusing the tablet. "What do you know, Brains?"

Brains looked up from his tablet. "I am researching A-Adulium's side effects. Did you ever get a rash?

"I remember I got one the day before the wedding. I thought it was nerves." Gordon glanced at Scott. "And guilt. Does the rash break out into something more serious?" He gave an involuntary scratch at his arm at the thought.

"N-No," Brains admitted. "Only mild cases." He read some more. "Other side effects are... Loss of l-l-l..." He turned scarlet, glanced at Tin-Tin and Lady Penelope, and hid the tablet away. "N-N-Nothing serious."

"What does it say?" Scott snatched the tablet out of his hand. "Loss of libido?" He stared at Gordon.

"Ah."

"You'd only been married a few months. Didn't you think it was a bit odd?"

Gordon shrugged. "Marina didn't seem to care, so I didn't worry about it."

Shaking his head in disbelief, Scott flicked over a few more pages in the tablet. "They're the only side effects I can see, and they seem relatively minor." He handed the tablet back to Brains.

"It is not the drug or its side effects that are of concern," Lady Penelope admitted. "It is the withdrawal symptoms."

Jeff had been listening, growing more and more concerned about what hazards his son had been exposed to. "And they are?"

"After mild doses..." Brains read again, "irritability, anxiety, sleeplessness, and irrational behaviour. A-As a result of withdrawal from larger doses administered over an extended period: anger, hot flashes, panic attacks, and/or somnambulism."

Stewie frowned. "Huh?"

"Sleepwalking."

"Oh."

Alan snuffled a laugh. "Sounds like couvade syndrome. Are you sure about that loss of libido thing, Gordon?"

Not amused, his brother glared at him.

Brains ignored the byplay. "The withdrawal symptoms are not, ah, in themselves dangerous, but when the afflicted individual is in a potentially dangerous situation, then an unexpected panic attack; or diminished capabilities due to lack of sleep could be disastrous."

Virgil sighed. "Don't we know it?"

"Did you know about these withdrawal symptoms, Penny?" Scott demanded.

"Yes. Once we suspected what we were dealing with, Parker and I researched the drug and its effects most thoroughly."

Scott exploded. "And you didn't tell Gordon what you suspected!? You didn't tell me! Don't you realise what might have happened to Gordon if he was compromised by this drug! What if he'd had a panic attack when Thunderbird Four imploded! He might never have made it into the rescue sphere in time! And what if his workmanship on one of the machines was compromised?! If anything failed, any one of us could have been killed during the rescue!"

"We were aware of this, Scott," Lady Penelope reassured him. "But by the time we had discovered Marina's plan, ascertained exactly what the drug was, and found the necessary proof to confirm our suspicions, the effects of the drug would have subsided. We believed that the risk was negligible."

"Did you experience many of those withdrawal symptoms, Gordon?" Tin-Tin asked.

"You know I did," Gordon admitted. "Anger, irrational behaviour, the whole kit and caboodle."

"But you didn't experience any panic attacks, did you?"

"Oh, yeah."

"You didn't!"

"He did." Virgil nodded.

"What!?" Scott stared at him. "When?"

"The first time you guys went to Thunderbird Five."

"I don't believe this." Scott threw up his hands in horror. "And you didn't tell me!"

"I told Gordon we should, but he didn't want to."

"I didn't want you to worry about me, Scott. And I figured that so long as Virgil knew to keep an eye on me, I wasn't a danger to anyone."

Fuming, Scott stared at both brothers in disbelief, but said nothing.

Lady Penelope took advantage of the brief moment of silence. "According to Marina's diaries it appears that as Gordon built up a resistance to the Adulium she had to increase the dosage in order to maintain the same effect. Accordingly the withdrawal symptoms became much more intense. However, I am sure that they only lasted less than a month. I was able to confirm this when I visited you."

Parker quickly glanced at Jeff; who, wrapped up as he was with what Lady Penelope was telling them, didn't notice. "Why didn't you tell us this?" the Tracy patriarch asked.

"Because I didn't want Marina's activities to be a distraction when your work was so much more important."

"But you didn't tell me," Jeff pointed out. "And I wasn't doing anything important."

"You had your own concerns, Jeff. You were worried about your sons and whether or not your operation to reverse your stroke was going to be successful. And so long as Gordon was here on Tracy Island, he was beyond Marina's reach... I thought."

"What proof have you got that Marina was feeding Gordon this Adulium, Penny?" John asked. "You must have found more than coded notebooks."

"Oh, dear. I am afraid that this is the point where I must offer you all a confession and an apology."

"Yeah," Parker echoed. "Me h-and h-all."

Jeff glanced at him. "Is this…"

"Yes, Mr Tracy. We're gettin' to h-it."

"That day in August when we visited you all here, at the island," Lady Penelope began, "we had an ulterior motive. We were determined to find evidence of Marina's use of Adulium. However, it was fortunate that we chose that day, because we were able to prevent Marina from taking control of Gordon again."

"Taking control?! You make me sound like a robot."

Lady Penelope gave a tight smile. "I am sure that she and Rory treated you like a robot by manipulating your moods. When you were home you were unknowingly being administered the drug."

"Making you docile as a lamb," John offered.

"Indeed. And whilst you were away from Marina you were not receiving your, ah, fix, and would suffer the withdrawal symptoms."

Alan nodded at line three on the computer screen. "Making him irritable."

"As time went by and with the amount of Adulium he was imbibing, Gordon would have been more than irritable. He may, conceivably, have become violent."

"He did." Scott's voice was quiet.

Lady Penelope turned a querying eye to him. "He did?"

Scott nodded. "He hit me. I thought it was my fault; Gordon thought it was his; and neither of us could face the other for months."

"Oh…" Lady Penelope cast a sympathetic glance between the two Tracys. "That explains such a lot. I am sorry, Gentlemen. I should have realised."

"But, as you said, by the time you did realise, Gordon was all right and we were all right."

Alan had been itching to know something. "What did you mean when you said that Marina was going to take control of Gordon?"

"The day that we visited, you received a parcel from Marina, Gordon. You instructed Kyrano to take it out of your sight."

Kyrano nodded. "This is correct."

"Parker and I intercepted this parcel, which turned out to be some, ah, spiked cranberry juice. Marina, having failed to use her natural 'charm' to inveigle a seat on the fabled Tracy rocket away from Doomsday, decided to try to remind Gordon of the 'love' he had for her in the hope that he would decide that he couldn't live without her and invite her on board. I do not know if her associate was aware of this as I do not know if or how she planned to secure an invitation for any other passengers." Lady Penelope smiled. "It was indeed fortuitous that we visited that day because not only were we able to liberate the four bottles of drugged beverage before anyone imbibed it, we were able to present it to your solicitor and private detective, thereby giving them definitive proof of Marina's activities."

"Forgive me for interrupting, Lady Penelope," Kyrano began, "but may I speak?"

She gave a magnanimous wave of her hand. "Of course."

"There were not four bottles in Mister Gordon's parcel. There were five."

"Five?"

"It is an advertising ploy by the American owners of the juice company. The standard packaging contains four bottles, but a fifth bottle is inserted upside down into the centre of the other four in what the advertising agency terms a 'free extra'. Being English you would not know of this."

"What did you do with the fifth bottle, Kyrano?"

"Mister Gordon requested that I destroy the sender's package," Kyrano continued, not willing to mention Marina's name, "and I opened it to ascertain the best way of disposing of its contents. I had no desire to waste any beverage, but did not wish to upset Mister Gordon, and so I placed one bottle into the drinks fridge and hid the other four bottles, still in their packaging. When I realised that the package had disappeared I assumed that Mister Gordon had discovered my hiding place and disposed of it. He said nothing to me and I nothing to him."

"So what happened to the bottle in the fridge?" Virgil asked.

John had a strange look on his face. "Someone drank it."

"Who?"

"Me… And Scott."

"You two?"

Scott had appeared just as startled by John's pronouncement. "Me?"

"Yes. Don't you remember?"

"I…" Scott frowned. "I think I do."

"Lummee!" Parker exclaimed. "That clinches h-it. They was drugged by the H-Ad-duly-hum!"

"This is most distressing." And there was a genuine ring to Lady Penelope's claim.

"But it didn't have any effects on John _or_ Scott!" Alan frowned. "Did it?"

"If it's the drink and the day I'm thinking of…" John nodded slowly. "I think it did."

"But, if you're talking about the day that we launched Thunderbird Four," Scott recollected. "I only had one mouthful. It was too tart for my taste."

"Remember," Lady Penelope reminded them, "that Marina intended this cranberry juice to be drunk by Gordon. The amount of Adulium in the juice would have been enough to have a positive effect on someone with a certain amount of immunity to the drug. In people who had previously had no exposure, such a dosage would have had a more profound effect."

"But I only had one mouthful," Scott repeated. "It was too horrible to have any more."

"The fact that you remember having one mouthful leads me to believe that you, and John, did indeed drink the drugged juice. The reason why I asked Gordon if he remembered the day he met Marina is because first the time a subject imbibes Adulium creates an, ah, indelible memory of the events of that day. Of course she wouldn't have known about his financial situation the first time she met him, but I am sure that he remembers the first time she drugged him, and the same will be for you. With everything else that was going on in your life at that time, one, ah, mouthful of straight cranberry juice would be forgotten, but a mouthful laced with Adulium…"

Brains had been poring through the notes on his tablet again. "D-Do you remember having anything acidic afterwards?"

"Acidic?" Scott echoed. "I had an orange juice to get rid of the taste."

An owlish stare was fixed on him. "The acid in the orange would have magnified the effects of the Adulium."

"But what effects are we talking about?" Jeff asked. "Did you boys suffer from any of them?"

"Yes." John stared at Scott. "I was in a good mood all day, and that wasn't only because Thunderbird Four's test launch was a success. And it was days later before I was able to get a good night's sleep."

"Me too. And…" Scott held John's stare. "The following day…?"

"Yes." John nodded. "The following day."

"I don't believe it." Running his fingers through his hair, Scott sagged back in his seat.

Alan had been following the exchange like a tennis match. "What are you two talking about!?"

John turned back to Lady Penelope and Parker. "What were those withdrawal symptoms again?"

"Anger, irrational behaviour, anxiety, panic attacks, sleeplessness, sleepwalking."

"Would you expect us to suffer from all those symptoms?"

"Not necessarily, no."

"It all makes sense now." John bit his lip in thought. "I think, I mean, I _know_ the following day I suffered from the anger bit... And Scott got an overdose of irrational behaviour."

Scott ran his hand through his hair again. "And anger."

"Yes. And anger."

By now Lady Penelope was looking extremely alarmed. "I am sorry, Gentlemen. If I had been aware of this extra bottle I would have taken steps to eliminate it. Even if it meant confiding in someone about Marina's activities."

"But what did ya h-actually do?" Parker demanded.

John seemed reluctant to enlighten them.

There was a laugh from the other side of the room.

All eyes turned to Virgil. "Sorry," he apologised. "I know it's not a laughing matter. More... Ironic."

Jeff frowned. "Ironic."

"Yes. Ironic. It was when Scott accused me of taking drugs. Right, John?"

"Right."

"When in actual fact he was the one suffering from drug-induced withdrawal symptoms."

"Yes." John managed a small smile. "Ironic is the right word."

"I'm sorry, Virg," Scott apologised.

"Don't worry about it. We've ascertained that it wasn't your fault. Plus your accusations woke me up to the damage I was doing to myself, so it did some good."

"What?" Stewie asked. "Are you guys talking about?"

"Later," Scott promised. Despite the reassurances he'd just received, he didn't feel like explaining. "I'll tell you later."

"Is taking the bottles of cranberry juice what you were talking about, Parker?" Jeff asked.

Parker had been looking just as disappointed as Stewie by the lack of forthcoming information. "Huh? Oh. No, Mr Tracy. H-It's what h-else we did when we visited that day."

"And that was?"

"We took somethin' h-else."

"You did? What?"

"Samples from your med-hical wing to prove that Mister Gordon 'ad been drugged."

"Samples? Samples of what?"

"H-A little bit h-of Mister Gordon's blood."

"But," Brains blurted out. "That's i-impossible! That's contained in a s-secure room!"

A slight smirk settled on Parker's face. "H-It h-ain't h-all that secure."

"We used Parker's, ah, 'skills' to gain access," Lady Penelope explained.

Ignoring Brains' obvious indignation at what he was hearing, Stewie raised his hand. "Excuse me, but people keep on talking about your skills, Parker. What are they?"

The older man grinned. "Breakin' h-and h-enterin'."

Stewie gaped at him, convinced that he couldn't have heard correctly. "I beg your pardon?!"

"Breakin' h-and h-enterin'," Parker repeated. "H-Along with a bit h-of safe-crackin'. H-I was one h-of the best h-in the busyness." His grin broadened at Stewie's astonished expression. "H-I'm a crook, Lad," he confirmed in case the youngster was in any doubt. "Least H-I was one. H-I've done me time h-at 'is Majesty's pleasure, but H-I've been goin' straight since H-I started working for 'er Ladyship."

Stewie's turned his wide eyes to Scott, who shrugged. "He's telling the truth."

"He is?"

"Yep. And, believe it or not after what we've just heard, you can trust him. We do: implicitly."

Parker bowed. "Thank you, Mister Scott."

"As I was saying," Lady Penelope continued her narrative, "we, ah, 'admitted ourselves' into International Rescue's secure medical wing to retrieve a 20 millilitre sample of Gordon's blood…"

Brains, red-faced, was on his feet. "M-Mr Tracy: I must protest! There could have been contamination of Gordon's blood stocks."

"I'll agree that it was unorthodox," Jeff agreed. "But I am sure that Lady Penelope and Parker would have done nothing to compromise Gordon's health or safety in any way." He eyed the English pair. "However," he rumbled, "I would have appreciated that, instead of taking that chance, you informed Brains of your suspicions and requested that he supply you with a sample. I understand that you didn't want to interrupt his work, but anyone's health is too important to jeopardise; especially that of my sons."

Lady Penelope bowed her head in a gesture of appeasement. "You are quite correct to admonish us, Jeff, and I should like to apologise to you, Brains, and especially Gordon for our actions."

"Me h-and h-all," Parker agreed. "Neither me nor 'er Ladyship liked the h-idea h-of taking from you without you knowin', but we thought Mister Brains 'ad h-enough h-on 'is plate without worrying h-about Mister Gordon h-as well."

"Parker is correct… Now, if I may continue. We collected our sample from the bag in Gordon's fridge that was labelled with the date closest to his time with Marina and analysed it. It is thanks to your skills, Brains, that neither the blood nor the Adulium we discovered in the sample were degraded in any way."

Brains, unappeased, but somewhat mollified by Jeff's admonition of the English pair, made no comment.

"Can I clarify something?" Stewie was still trying to make sense of the confusing information he was receiving. He eyed Lady Penelope. "Are you Parker's Moll?"

A chill descended on the room and Scott made a surreptitious slicing gesture to his throat telling his friend to cut it out.

Ice-blue eyes turned on the teenager and he felt them bore straight into him. "No." Lady Penelope's voice was calmly reasoned, but Stewie was aware of a frightening undercurrent of menace that made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. "I believe that you are using American terminology, Stuart, and, as you probably realise, Parker and I are English. Parker is my assistant."

"Lady Penelope is International Rescue's London Agent, Stewie," Jeff Tracy told him. "She, along with Parker, are the people we trust most to safeguard International Rescue's secrets. That's why she coordinates our network of agents around the world."

Stewie's mouth formed an O, but he said nothing, deciding that asking if he could be one of those agents when he'd effectively been told off by his potential boss so soon after she'd been told off by hers wasn't a good idea. He decided not to speak again until the debriefing was over.

Tin-Tin took pity on the younger man and deflected the aristocrat's attention away from him. "Lady Penelope, before anyone knew of Doomsday and Gordon left her, how did Marina plan on claiming a share of Gordon's money?"

"I do not believe that they had a firm plan. An obvious solution was to file for divorce and claim alimony. If it hadn't been for the shadow of Doomsday hanging over their heads, Gordon's decision to depart the marital home must have been a godsend to them."

"But taking Doomsday out of the equation," Virgil suggested, "how were they planning on causing the marriage to collapse so they could file for divorce, but she'd still have an entitlement to a large pay-out? We all know Gordon. He wouldn't walk away from a marriage without a fight." His family nodded their agreement.

"That we have not ascertained," Lady Penelope admitted, "but I believe that one of Rory Braithwaite's suggestions was that Marina should allow Gordon to suffer withdrawal symptoms until he reached the stage where he would strike her."

Alan snorted. "That's ridiculous. Gordon would never do that."

"I am quite convinced that Gordon without the influence of Adulium would not," Lady Penelope agreed. "But we are talking about Gordon going through the stresses of serious withdrawal. We have already heard today that he did indeed strike out at someone he cared for. It is not beyond imagination that in this state he would hit Marina."

Gordon paled.

"You are wrong, Lady Penelope," Tin-Tin asserted. "He would walk away first."

Lady Penelope did not pass comment at her friend's loyalty towards her brother-in-law. "Marina was, understandably, not as enamoured with this suggestion as her associate. I believe that she preferred Gordon to commit an act that would enable them to divorce and bring shame upon his family."

"And then she'd blackmail me?" Jeff rumbled.

"She did not know you, Jeff. Either that or she assumed that, as you were still somewhat incapacitated after your stroke, you would not have the strength to stand up to her and fight back... Another option we heard mentioned during the pair's frequent phone conversations, was to keep manipulating Gordon until he, or others, were convinced that he had serious, ah, mental issues and required hospitalisation."

Gordon went even whiter.

Lady Penelope did not notice. "Marina would continue to play the part of the devoted wife, visiting her husband diligently to maintain his addiction to Adulium while retaining control over his estate."

"Knowing full well that in the fullness of time he'd come into even more money," Jeff growled.

"This is turning into such a sordid conversation," Lady Penelope stated. "But yes, you are correct, Jeff."

Tin-Tin turned to her husband. "Didn't you once say that you thought he'd been drugged on his wedding day?"

"What?!" Scott's head snapped around.

"Why didn't you say something, Alan?" Jeff growled.

"Because I was joking when I said that I thought he'd been drugged," Alan protested. "He was so happy on the day that I thought he was he was on an emotional high. I never dreamt that it was a chemically-induced one."

"I didn't imagine he was high either," John added. "But I remember us commenting on how happy he was. Right, Virgil?"

Virgil nodded. "And wondering how long he'd stay happy living with Marina. I figured the marriage wouldn't last to the end of the reception, but I didn't hang around to find out."

"See…" Grateful for the backup, Alan shrugged. "And I knew he wasn't drunk. As far as I was aware, he never had anything stronger than cranberry juice on his bachelor night or the day of the wedding, and, as much as I dislike her, I had no reason to suspect that Marina had tampered with it." He turned back to the lady who had started the conversation. "Penny? Are you saying that Gordon's lawyer knew all along what Marina was up to?!"

"Once we had presented Mr Crawford with our evidence of Marina's infidelities, along with the drugged cranberry juice, he decided that Marina warranted further investigation. Gordon assisted him by giving him full rein to examine the houseboat, believing that the detective was searching for evidence of Marina's infidelity. Of course," Lady Penelope gave a self-satisfied smile, "we were able to point the gentleman in the correct direction. We told them to confiscate Marina's notebooks and how to break her deplorable code."

"But what about the blood sample?" John queried. "You couldn't tell the detective to head out to International Rescue's top secret base and ask us for evidence that Gordon had been drugged."

"This is true. Subsequent to receiving our information Mr Crawford approached Gordon's former employers and requested a sample of Gordon's blood. I believe that they keep a supply in case someone sustains an injury when on deep-water assignment and far from medical assistance. When he left the marine institute Gordon gave them permission to use his blood for whatever use they deemed necessary… We are indeed fortunate that modern medical technology allows blood stocks to be stored indefinitely."

Forgetting his earlier promise to himself, Stewie jumped in mouth first. "Did you sneak in to the marine institute lab and plant this drug for them to find?"

The undercurrent of unease rippled through the room again.

Lady Penelope smiled, but those who knew her realised that it was a pseudo-smile, designed to put her prey at ease.

It was when she was at her most dangerous.

"I would not jeopardise any proceedings against Marina and her associates by planting evidence," she told the young man. "Such an enterprise would be a betrayal of justice and by extension a betrayal of my friends."

"Right." Some deep-seated instinct told Stewie that he was pushing his luck and that it was time to sit down and shut up. "Sorry."

"Penny..." Scott drew her attention away from his friend. "Why didn't Gordon's lawyer tell him what you suspected?"

"I intimated that if Gordon, or anyone in this family, knew of Marina's activities, then something could be said to her and she and this Rory Braithwaite might flee before they could be prosecuted. Accordingly Mr Crawford and the private detective agreed to further the investigation without Gordon's knowledge."

"But they couldn't have legally accessed the phone conversations that you did," John pointed out. "How did they get the information?"

"I believe that they have their own methods, which professional courtesy precludes me from divulging." Lady Penelope turned back to the man at her side. "I hope you understand why we felt it necessary to keep this information from you, Gordon, and that you agree that it is imperative that you ring Mr Crawford and encourage him to continue pursuing Marina and her associates through the courts."

Gordon turned his white face to her. "You're saying that my mood swings, and irrational behaviour," his voice rose in pitch, "and my need to hit out at anyone close by, and those frightening moments of un-rational anxiety, were all brought about by Marina?"

"It was a chemical imbalance caused by an administered drug."

"I'm not crazy?"

"No. None of it was linked to your own health or state of mind."

"I'm not crazy." Collapsing forward, Gordon buried his face in his hands. "I'm not crazy," he said again, his voice muffled by his palms. Then he repeated the phrase once more, as if he was trying to convince himself that what he was saying was true. "I'm not crazy."

Lady Penelope found herself in an unexpected and somewhat unwelcome position. She was sitting next to a friend who was showing signs of distress and she had no idea what to do to comfort him. If he'd been threatened by a gun-wielding madman she would have reacted with instinctive assuredness; but in this situation...

With some hesitation and wishing that her training and experience had equipped her better, she patted his arm. "Gordon?"

Tin-Tin stood and indicated that Lady Penelope should move aside, which the aristocrat did with a mixture of misgiving and relief. Tin-Tin took her place and put her arms about her brother-in-law, holding him close. "It is all right, Gordon."

"I was scared." His words were barely audible. "So scared."

Tin-Tin could feel him shaking. "I know."

"I thought I was going mad. I thought I was losing it."

"That was what you were supposed to think. You have been the victim of a cruel trick perpetrated by cruel, unfeeling people."

"I thought I was on a one way trip to the loony bin." Gordon clenched his fists, his eyes tightly shut as he fought back the tears brought about by relief after months of fear. "I thought I was crazy."

Normally that would be an opening to too big to ignore, but everyone was too shocked and sympathetic to speak, let alone make a flippant joke.

Tin-Tin hugged him tighter. "I know you did. But now you know you were wrong. And now that we know we can protect you. We will not allow Marina to hurt you again."

He clamped his hands together and lightly hit them against his forehead as if he were trying to hammer the idea out of his mind. "I – am – not – in-sane!"

Stewie, finding the spectacle uncomfortable in the extreme, wondered if he should, and could, leave the room. He tried to communicate his question to Scott, but his friend's full and horrified attention was fixed on his blood brother.

But then Gordon straightened. He seemed composed, although his eyes were red. He grinned weakly. "I really know how to make a fool of myself, don't I?" He sniffed and wiped his nose on his sleeve before, deciding that he'd been sitting there long enough with another man's wife's arms comforting him, he shifted away from Tin-Tin. "Thanks," he said and glanced across at Alan. "She's good," he joked, indicating his sister-in-law.

Alan reached out and gave him a reconnecting low-five. "Yes, she is."

"You're not the fool, Gordon," Virgil stated. "I am. I should have realised what you were going through when you had that panic attack."

John shifted closer to his brother on his seat. "We're all feeling a little foolish, Gordon. Right from day one we all saw the signs and not one of us thought of trying to find out what was wrong and asking if we could help. None of us except for Alan."

"And I only wanted to help you make your divorce easier, because I thought it was that worrying you," Alan admitted. "I didn't realise your worries went deeper."

Gordon rubbed his nose again. "You didn't know because I didn't want you to know. I didn't want you all to worry. I…" He looked at his hands and his voice went quiet. "For a while there… beforehand… I hoped that I'd die during the Mariana deployment."

"Gordon?" Now Scott reached out for his brother. "You wanted to commit suicide?"

"No, not suicide. But I thought I was going mad. I thought I _was_ insane. I thought it was only a time before you'd call out the men in white coats, and I didn't want to have to deal with it." Gordon turned to another brother. "You want to know what real irony is, Virgil? I thought that if I died it would be kinder to Marina, because then she wouldn't have to go through the indignity of a divorce. She'd be free to get on with her life with no messy court cases and alimony disputes."

Everyone managed to refrain from saying that Marina would have a fight on her hands if she thought she had a claim on all of his assets.

"And now I find out that she was the reason why I thought I was losing my sanity." Gordon ran his hands through his hair. "When Thunderbird Four started imploding in on me all I could think about was how I wanted to live. That I wanted to see you guys again… But… until that time… the real reason why I wanted out was because I didn't want you…" He tried to look at those around him and failed. "I didn't want you to have to deal with the stigma attached with having someone with a mental illness in the family."

"Gordon!" Scott chided, but there was no anger in his admonition; only concern. "There's no stigma attached to mental illness."

"It didn't feel like it where I was coming from. I felt like I was in a pit deeper than the Mariana."

"Why didn't you say something?"

"You had enough to worry about with whether or not we'd be ready in time to beat Doomsday. You didn't need to worry about whether or not I was going to be able to uphold my end."

"But before that," Scott persisted. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Gordon's expression was as eloquent as his words. "We weren't talking."

Scott felt as if he'd been hit again. Only this time it was his brother's soon-to-be-ex-wife and her boyfriend who'd wielded the blow. Alarmed, Stewie watched as his friend's face, the one that had always been positive and supportive, hardened to pure anger. "If that woman was here now…"

"Gordon..." Jeff Tracy's deep voice cut in over whatever he was going to say. "I know you want to get the divorce over as quickly as possible, but I'm sorry, I'm going to instruct Crawford to bring the case before the courts. If not with police intervention, then as a civil case."

"No!" Gordon jumped to his feet. "No, I've got to do this. She almost destroyed this family because of me. She directly affected my relationship with Scott. And came between Scott and Virgil. And Scott and John. And indirectly she caused friction between Alan and me, and Alan and Tin-Tin, and Tin-Tin and..." He glanced at Lady Penelope and censored himself.

"You were going to say Tin-Tin and me?" Lady Penelope clarified. "Tin-Tin told me about her accusation." Tin-Tin turned pink and Lady Penelope treated her friend to an understanding smile. "Our friendship is too strong to let Marina's actions come between us, and your familial ties are just as strong, Gordon."

"But the world could have ended if she'd blown us apart," Gordon persisted. "Even if we'd somehow managed to work together for the greater good, what if we'd emerged now as a dysfunctional group? I hate to think what that would have done to you, Dad." He got out his cell phone. "I'll ring Crawford and tell him I want to prosecute."

Everyone breathed a sigh of relief as he made contact. "Crawford? It's Gordon Tracy. Lady Penelope's told me everything..." There was silence as the lawyer made approving noises. "That's right. I need to prosecute. Marina's caused too much damage to my family. What do I need to do to initiate criminal proceedings?" There was more silence as Crawford measured out his response. "Fine. I'll call you back tomorrow and we can discuss it. Goodbye." He snapped his phone shut. "Well, that's that. Crawford says they're very close to having conclusive evidence and he hopes to go to the police within the week. We'll start the paperwork tomorrow." He heaved a huge sigh and they could almost see the pressure that had been bearing down on him lift away. "What a weight off my mind."

"I am sorry, Gordon," and even Stewie could see that Lady Penelope was genuinely contrite. "It appears that I have made an appalling error of judgement. In my arrogance I only gave consideration to the effects of Marina's activities in your present and future affairs. I did not consider how her past actions would have affected you. If I had given that due consideration, I should have told you immediately. I hope that you can forgive me."

Gordon managed a wan smile. "You've just stopped me making a big mistake and letting Marina get away with a large part of my estate and an even bigger piece of my sanity, Penny. Of course I can forgive you."

"Thank you."

No one else said anything, wrapped up as they were in their thoughts.

Kyrano stood. "Perhaps it is time for afternoon tea. Should I prepare some?"

"I'm sure we could all do with refreshments after what we've learned," Jeff admitted. "Thank you, Kyrano."

"H-I'll make 'er Ladyship's tea, while you're makin' the coffay." Parker, despite his growing respect for the Tracys' associate and his knowledge of the time Kyrano had spent in England, had never been able to convince himself that someone who lived with a "bunch h-o' Yanks" could ever make a brew up to the standard required of a member of the aristocracy... Especially his Lady.

"Very good." Accepting Parker's need to control this task, Kyrano gave a little bow. "Does everyone, except Lady Penelope, desire coffee?"

"Got any cranberry juice?" Alan joked, and ducked a flying cushion from his brother.

"I don't think I'll ever be able to drink that again," Gordon flopped down onto a chair. "I think I'd rather risk caffeine addiction."

"I don't even want to look at orange juice," Scott admitted. "I'll have a coffee too, thanks, Kyrano."

Kyrano accepted everyone else's orders, and withdrew.

"So, Stewie…" John claimed a seat next to the young man. "Now you've heard all about a day in the life of International Rescue, do you still want to join us?"

Stewie sat forward. "I'll say!" He glanced over at his Big Brother. "Once I've got through medical school." Scott grinned.

"It's going to be good to have someone younger on the team," Virgil admitted. "We might be able to have a better work-life balance this time round."

"That's a good point," John agreed. "Maybe we should start considering how we're going to get others to join our ranks. We don't want to burn out like we did eight years ago."

"Well, if any of you have any ideas who," Jeff made a note in his computer, "or how we can start recruiting, let me know."

"I, of course, shall keep my eyes open for suitable candidates," Lady Penelope offered.

"Thank you, Penny."

"Well, if his uncles can all hold it together for about twenty years; we _might_ have a replacement on the way." Alan indicated Tin-Tin.

"Not that we are going to force him to join International Rescue," Tin-Tin rubbed her pregnant belly. "Our child will be free to do whatever he wants to be happy. He might decide to be a test pilot, or be a businessman, or an artist, or a marine researcher, or an engineer." She smiled happily.

Alan grinned. "Or a race car driver."

But none of his brothers were listening.

"Uncles?" Scott's voice came out as a squeak. He cleared his throat. "We're going to be uncles?"

"Yes." Alan frowned. "What else?"

"I guess that's right," Virgil admitted. "But it sounds odd. I guess that's because I've never had time to think about it."

"We were too busy saving the world," John reminded him. "None of us had the time."

"You did."

"I know I did. But the thought never crossed my mind. I was focussed on whether or not the kid was going to get his daddy back, not the fact that I was going to be the kid's uncle."

"He's not a baby goat, John," Tin-Tin reprimanded.

"You know what I mean… Uncle John… That sounds weird."

"Uncle Gordon. I like the sound of that." Gordon grinned. "I knew there was a reason why I had to live." And his family saw the old spark that they knew, loved, and were terrified of, reignite in his eye. "I wanted the chance to teach the kid…"

"Gordon!"

"…how to make a stink bomb."

"Gordon!"

Jeff was enjoying watching his sons slowly come to the realisation of just what the new baby was going to mean to them. "Doomsday's made us all miss out on a lot," he admitted. "But it's also made us closer than we've been in a long time, and for that I'm grateful."

Placing a cup of coffee on his friend's desk, Kyrano smiled in agreement.

Drinking his coffee, Stewie listened to the others' conversations, quickly becoming bored with what he heard as mundane chitter-chatter. He was with a group of people that he'd long wanted to meet, he was eager to hear all about their adventures, and all they wanted to discuss were things that he had little or no interest in.

Keen to discover more about International Rescue, he wandered out onto the patio and spent five minutes trying to work out where the various hangars and launch bays of the Thunderbirds could be. He was almost ready to give up and go for a swim in the pool down below when he was joined by Scott.

His Big Brother grinned at him. "Trying to guess where Thunderbird One's launch bay is?"

"It can't be here," Stewie spread his arms to encompass the scene before them, "so I'm guessing on the other side of the island. Am I right?"

Scott's grin broadened and he touched the side of his nose.

Stewie knew he wasn't going to be told anything else this visit, but that didn't stop him trying to learn more. "Can you show me Thunderbird Two?"

"No."

"Aw, please… You can blindfold me like you did with Thunderbird One."

"Sorry, but I can't. It took me a long time to convince them to let me show you Thunderbird One. There's no way they'll let you see the other craft."

Stewie scowled. "Don't they trust me?"

"It's not a matter of trust. It's a matter of security. Ours and yours."

Now really put out, Stewie humphed and folded his arms. "I'm never going to be a member of International Rescue, am I? Your father was only humouring me."

"No, he meant what he said. Whether or not you join us is down to you."

"But I'll have to see Thunderbird Two sometime, why don't you show me now? I'm sure you can sneak me into its hangar without _them_," Stewie jerked his thumb in the direction of the lounge, "knowing."

"No. I can't."

"We could try."

"We're not going to."

"Why not?"

"Because I agree with them."

"You what!" Stewie gaped at his friend. "But I told you I won't tell anyone! I promised you!"

Scott remained calm and reasoned. "I know you did."

"Don't you believe me?"

Scott could see that his young friend was becoming upset. "I believe you, Stuart. I know you won't betray me or my family, but it's not about you betraying us. It's about others betraying you."

Stewie looked confused. "What do you mean?"

"I don't want anyone to hurt you to get to us."

"Hurt me!?"

"There are people out there who will stop at nothing to find out our secrets. They don't care who they use or if anyone gets hurt in the process, they only want the power and possible world domination that they believe they'll get by controlling the Thunderbirds."

"I know that's what you guys always said to keep journalists and photographers away, but I always thought that was spin."

Scott sighed. "I wish."

Now Stewie was really confused. "But you've saved everyone's lives! Surely those people would be too grateful to International Rescue to even think about doing whatever it is you're frightened they'll do."

"If only everyone thought like you." Scott leant on the balcony rail. "A couple of months ago, just after we'd nullified Doomsday, someone kidnapped Lady Penelope. They used a friend of hers to trick her, before they drugged her, flew her out of the country into a remote area, and shackled her in a dungeon below ground."

"To find out about International Rescue?"

Scott nodded. "They tortured her, Stewie. And it was because of us. I don't want to take the chance that you'll be put through the same ordeal."

Stewie turned to stare back into the lounge. Lady Penelope, engaged in a conversation with Tin-Tin, reached out for her cup with her right arm and seemed to catch herself with the tiniest of grimaces. Tin-Tin sat up with a worried frown and what was obviously a query, which Lady Penelope brushed away with what appeared to be an airy wave. "How'd she escape?"

Scott gave an equally airy shrug. "Parker and Kyrano rescued her."

"Them!?" Stewie took in the two sets of grey hair. "But they're old!"

Scott chuckled. "Don't let them hear you say that. There's still a trick or two up their sleeves that even we don't know about."

"Oh…" Stewie was silent as he considered what he'd been told. "Scott…"

"Yes?"

"That Lady Penelope…"

"Yes?"

"She's one scary lady."

Scott chuckled. "Yes."

"Is she as dangerous as she seems?"

"Yep. She's a useful ally and I wouldn't want to cross her."

"But you stood up to her!" Stewie looked at his friend with real respect. "You told her off for not telling Gordon that Marina drugged him!"

"International Rescue laughs at danger," Scott reminded him.

"Now you're teasing me."

"Sorry." Scott grinned. "But we've always got the backs of other team members."

"I notice you didn't come to my aid when I was getting daggers shot at me."

There was a twinkle in Scott's eye. "Even members of International Rescue have their limits where self-preservation is concerned."

"Oh."

"Don't worry. If she'd drawn her laser pistol I would have stopped her before she shot you." At seeing Stewie's horrified expression, Scott laughed. "Don't worry, she won't hurt you. But be aware that she can be ruthless if need be."

"That's not comforting."

"Just keep in mind that she'll be loyal to you if you're loyal to us."

"So don't go questioning her ethics or calling her a Moll?"

"Exactly."

"What happened to those guys who kidnapped her?"

"One's been captured by the authorities and the other escaped."

"So you're still at risk."

"Yes. _We_ are. Remember that."

"What are you guys up to?" Virgil had decided to vacate the lounge. "Kyrano's going to be doing some baking if anyone feels like doing a raid on the kitchen later."

Scott smirked. "Maybe we should ask Parker's advice on the best way to sneak in without being caught."

Virgil laughed. "Once upon a time I would have said that, compared to Grandma, Kyrano was a pushover. From what you told me how he fought his brother I'm not so sure."

Stewie looked intrigued. "Fought his brother?"

"Yes. Kyrano's brother kidnapped Lady Penelope to try to get our secrets."

Scott cleared his throat in warning and glared at Virgil.

"Huh!?" Stewie rounded on his Big Brother. "You didn't say it was relative of yours who kidnapped Lady Penelope!"

"I didn't want you to worry. You don't need to know how close to home betrayal can be."

If Scott thought he'd get support from Virgil, he was wrong. "I don't agree. Now that Stewie knows our secret, I think he needs to know who he can and can't trust. Think about it. If this stranger turned up at his place and said _I'm Tin-Tin's uncle and I know she's a member of International Rescue_, he's not going to think the guy's a criminal mastermind who'll stop at nothing to find where we're based."

"All right, you make a good point," Scott conceded. "These are the ground rules, Stewie. We do have a lot of agents all around the world who know who and where we are, but unless one of us is present, you're to plead ignorance, okay?"

Stewie nodded. "I understand. This comes under the: _I promise not to reveal your secret to anyone_ category." He raised an eyebrow. "Is Tin-Tin's uncle really a criminal mastermind?"

"With a capital-C," Scott told him. "He's the exact opposite of Kyrano."

"To be accurate, they're half-brothers," Virgil clarified. "And Kyrano got the good half." He looked into the lounge to where Kyrano was doing something inscrutable. "It does seem strange that the person who's caused International Rescue the most problems is related to us; even if it is only by marriage." He grinned. "And Scott got the better of him."

Scott looked even more displeased at his brother's revelation as Stewie's jaw dropped. "You! But you said that Parker and Kyrano rescued her."

"And so they did. I just created a diversion so Kyrano could get out of a sticky situation. I wasn't in any danger."

Virgil snorted. "Just like he wasn't in any danger when Thunderbird One nearly crashed."

If Stewie was going to ask further questions they were put to one side when John bounded up onto the patio. "Found you! I thought we might ask Kyrano if he would be willing to pack us some dinner and we can head over to the observatory. You guys can explore, while I set up the telescope for tonight."

"Yeah! Then I can look for the Thunderbirds' hangars!" Stewie exclaimed. "I'll bet they're all over there."

"Nope."

"No?" Stewie scratched his head. "Then where are they? They're definitely nowhere around here."

After years of practise of hiding his true feelings from Emma, John was easily able to hide his grin. "The only thing I'm going to tell you is that they're nowhere near my telescope. There's nothing worse for sensitive optics than the vibrations from a launching rocket."

Scott jerked his thumb at his brother. "He's the only astronaut I know who hates rockets."

"I don't hate them. I'd have a hard time getting to Thunderbird Five if I did. I just like them to keep their place. And their place is well away from my observatory. If I let you guys anywhere near them I'd spend more time recalibrating than I would observing."

With a laugh, Virgil patted his brother on the back. "As if you need a ground-based telescope, John. We all know why you like to spend so much time up in Thunderbird Five."

"Now which one is Thunderbird Five, Stewie?" Scott teased.

Stewie responded with a good natured grin. "The space satellite."

"Well done," John congratulated him. "Now how about that trip to the other side?"

"Sounds good," Stewie nodded. "Then Scott will have plenty of time to tell me all about how he rescued Lady Penelope from Tin-Tin's uncle."

John raised an eyebrow. "Oh, yes."

"I never said I rescued her," Scott protested. "I did nothing more than create a diversion, so Kyrano had a chance to get out of there. He and Parker did all the work."

"I still want to hear all about it," Stewie insisted. "Let's get going."

Scott let out a sigh and gave in to the inevitable.

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

It was later that evening, when the setting sun was low in the sky, that Jeff, thinking that he'd been cooped up inside for long enough, decided to go for a walk along the beach. He was accompanied by Kyrano; more in friendship than as a substitute for the abandoned walker.

The two friends stopped to enjoy watching the day's final rays caress the Pacific's waters.

It may have been the sight of the light reflecting off the ocean, but Jeff found himself in a reflective mood. "I feel like I've finally come home, Kyrano. Like I'm… Like we're where we all belong."

"I agree with you, Kawan Saya. Many times I have missed my life on Tracy Island."

"Of course living here now is not going to be like it was last time."

"You are correct."

"For one thing I'm going to make sure that those boys of mine have a life beyond International Rescue."

"They inherited their father's work ethic," Kyrano reminded him.

"And look at where it got me," Jeff grunted. "Having to lean on your arm just to walk along a beach."

"I do not mind."

"I know you don't, but it frustrates the heck out of me."

"I know this."

Jeff chuckled and then became serious. "I'm going to make sure that if something happens to me, they'll be able to carry on."

Kyrano, in silent agreement, said nothing.

"I'm also going to make sure that our grandchild will never have any financial worries. I'm going to set up a separate trust account so that if for any reason our main source of funds dry up, he or she will be all right."

"And your other baby?"

Jeff frowned. "Kyrano?"

"Inter-national Rescue."

"Ah." Jeff mused. "There are limits to what even I can do, but this time I will try to do a better job to make provision for its continued survival. If it ever has to shut down again, I want it to be because its operatives, and they may or may not be my sons, feel is the right thing to do. Not because it can't afford to carry on."

"Last time Inter-national Rescue ceased operations because its operatives did not wish to continue. Lack of financial support was merely a catalyst," Kyrano reminded him.

"I know, but last time they hung in there for too long. They kept International Rescue operational out of a sense of duty towards me and not because they believed in it. I hope that if in the future they decide that they need a change that they'll be honest with themselves and each other and make that change."

"I am sure that they have learnt their lesson."

Jeff stopped walking and pointed with his stick to where Alan and Tin-Tin were visible on a lookout looking out over the beach. The young couple were sitting side-by-side; holding each other as they enjoyed the view and being together. As the two older men watched Alan reached across and touched his wife's tummy and Tin-Tin giggled. "Look at them. Do you think they have any idea what's in store for them?"

"I am sure that they are as unaware as we were unaware," Kyrano admitted. "But this is true for all. The world may change or it may stay the same. If we could see into the future then International Rescue's services would not be needed and our world would be much different."

"Sage words indeed." Jeff, seeing that Alan and Tin-Tin had seen them, waved and the pair waved back. "They're going to be in for a heck of a ride, Kyrano."

"They are indeed, Mr Tracy. They are indeed."

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

_One week later._

The courtroom was hushed as the accused was led into the dock. The court reporters corralled into their booth on one side of the room looked up, largely uninterested. This was only a preliminary hearing. They couldn't expect to hear anything newsworthy. They almost switched off as the machinations of the courts ground into life.

They didn't notice when two dark haired, bearded men and a blonde, fair-skinned woman took their seats in the public gallery. All three of them had the physique and complexion that told of a life that didn't involve much drama.

The Clerk of the Court got to his feet. "Are you Marlene Roxette Fill of…?"

The accused drew herself up to her full height. "My name is not Fill. It is…"

The judge overrode her interruption. "A simple yes or no will suffice."

"But…"

"If I may," the counsel for the prosecution got to their feet. "I believe that the defendant may be uninformed of some facts which are relevant to the case."

The three in the public gallery grinned at each other and the man in the centre inched forward, leaning over his rolls of fat so he could watch the accused's reaction.

The defence was standing in a flash. "Your Honour, I must object. How can my client have a fair hearing if the prosecution is withholding facts from us?"

As the defence sat down again, the press gallery started to look interested. Something different was happening here.

The three in the gallery were watching the legal byplay as a spectator would watch a tennis match.

The accused frowned in bewildered frustration before glaring at her defence attorney.

"I have no intention of keeping these facts from your client." All eyes swung back to the prosecution. "And, if your Honour has no objections, I should like to reveal those facts, in this open court, before we proceed."

"This is highly irregular," the judge rumbled, "but let it be recorded that should the defence have no objections…" He looked over at the defence who stood again.

"We have none, your Honour."

"Then you may proceed," the judge commanded.

The blonde woman laid her hand on the arm of the man beside her, as if offering reassurance, but his attention was on the woman in the dock.

The counsel for the prosecution turned to the accused. "Ten minutes ago, in a courtroom in this building, your marriage was annulled by reason of raptus."

There were murmurings in the gallery and the judge called for silence. "Counsel, I assume that the annulment relates to the charge of fraud levelled against the accused?"

"Yes, your Honour. The prosecution asserts that the accused drugged another for pecuniary gain." The prosecution turned back to the accused. "You no longer have any right to use the name you were arrested under. Accordingly you will be tried under the name of Marlene Roxette Fill. Is this not your name?"

Stunned, the accused reacted like a goldfish. Her mouth opened, but no sounds came out.

The judge indicated that the clerk of the court should continue.

Up in the public gallery, the dark-haired man sat back and nudged the couple on either side of him. "Let's go," he whispered.

Both men assisted the woman to her feet, but they said nothing to each other until they were out of the courtroom and walking through the foyer of the courthouse. "Don't you want to stay, Gordon?" Alan asked, his darkened eyebrows frowning.

Gordon scratched at his false beard. "No. I only wanted to see Marina's face when she discovered that she no longer has a claim on me."

As they stepped outside, Tin-Tin slipped her sunglasses on, making her, with her blonde hair and pale skin, almost unrecognisable to her companions. "How does it feel to no longer be married?"

"Great." Gordon grinned. "And it'll feel a lot better when we're out of these disguises."

"I agree," she sighed. "This fat suit is uncomfortable."

"Then let's get rid of them and go and get a coffee."

Their van had tinted windows, hiding them from an incurious world as they changed back into themselves.

Tin-Tin rolled back the sleeves of her blouse and examined the demarcation line between her natural skin colouration and the makeup's European skin tones. "I am sure there must be some law against wearing a disguise in a courtroom."

"Why should there be?" Gordon pulled his wig off his head and gingerly plucked at his moustache. "People have legitimate reasons for wearing wigs and dying their hair."

"And wearing false facial hair?" Slipping her nail under the latex skin, Tin-Tin pulled the glove off her hand. "And changing the colour of their skin? And trying to look fatter than they really are."

"It's not like we were carrying a bomb or something."

Tin-Tin groaned. "I feel like I am… Permanently!"

Gordon laughed, before giving up on trying to peel back his moustache and removed his own hand-fattening gloves. "Got some of Opal's gunk, Alan?"

"In this bag." Alan collected the creams necessary to divest themselves of their wigs, moustaches and beards, and remove the stain from their eyebrows, eyelashes, and skin. "We're lucky Virgil's got a friend who's a makeup artist."

"It doesn't even feel like makeup." Tin-Tin smiled and accepted a bottle of cream from her husband. "It was nice to see Opal again. And to be able to introduce you, Alan. I'm sure they must have thought that something was amiss with our marriage last time we met."

"The only thing that was amiss was that I would have had a heck of a commute to get to their party."

Gordon applied a gentle solvent to the glue that was holding his moustache in place. "They must have been wondering what we were up to this time."

Looking in a mirror on the van's wall, Tin-Tin dabbed her face with cream and her Caucasian colouring was replaced by her own skin tones. "They knew about your marriage to Marina and I told Opal what she'd done to you. She was glad to be able to help."

"I hope the media doesn't hear about it, Gordon." Alan dipped his cotton wool in the cream and ran it across his eyebrow. "They'd have a field day."

Gordon's moustache came free. "If it's legally possible, Crawford's going to do his best to get name suppression."

Alan deposited the blackened cotton ball into a bag and collected another clean ball. "I wish we'd known Opal last time we were in operation. This stuff's much more comfortable than what we used to wear."

Gordon started working on his false beard. "It's definitely better than what we wore at Coche Del Olor. I think I could take a blow torch to this glue and it wouldn't melt off."

"You might be more comfortable," Tin-Tin grumbled. "Your padding is to hide your body shape so that Marina couldn't recognise you. I'm just supposed to be overweight." She struggled to reach behind to unfasten the back of her dress. "This fat suit is so cumbersome."

"We thought she might realise who we were if she saw someone pregnant in the gallery," Alan reminded his wife.

"I'm sure I'm not the only person on the planet who's pregnant..." Tin-Tin continued scrabbling at her back. "I can't wait to get out of this dress. Alan…"

Alan, trying to escape his own costume, had his shirt halfway over his head. "Huh?"

"I need you!"

"If you can wait a moment, Honey; as soon as I'm out of my clothes I'll get you out of yours."

Gordon snickered. "Do you want me to leave you two alone or shall we find the nearest hotel?" He ducked the soiled cotton wool that was thrown in his direction, stripped off his shirt, and removed the padding around his midriff.

Tin-Tin blushed, her partially applied makeup giving her skin a mottled appearance.

Eventually they had divested themselves of their costumes and, feeling more like themselves, drove to a coffee shop far from the courthouse. There they claimed a table at the back of the room.

Gordon perused the menu. "Why is it that simply seeing Marina makes me crave cranberry juice?"

Tin-Tin giggled. "I thought I was the one who was supposed to have cravings."

Gordon read the menu again. "I don't feel like any of this."

"If you want a cranberry juice, have one, Gordon. Don't let Marina continue to rule your life."

"If I didn't suspect that it was addiction to the drug that is making me want one, I would. I'll wait until I'm well away from her influence before I have it again." Gordon made his selection and laid down the menu. "What time's your appointment, Tin-Tin?"

She looked at her watch. "I have two hours yet."

He grinned at his sister-in-law. "It won't be long now and you'll be able to ditch the fat suit for good."

Smiling, Alan took his wife's hand. "We can't wait."

She groaned and shifted position, trying to get comfortable. "Especially when the baby's pressing somewhere where it should not."

"May I take your order?"

Surprised, the three of them looked up at the waitress. "Sorry, we didn't see you," Gordon apologised, and made their requests.

The waitress was back a short time later with their drinks. Placing them on the table, she favoured Gordon with an extra-special, somewhat suggestive smile, which he returned.

He watched her appreciatively as she sashayed away.

"Gordon…" Alan warned.

"What?"

"Haven't you learned your lesson?"

"What lesson? If you mean to not let myself be drugged by a money-hungry female, I've learned. Otherwise, why shouldn't I have some fun? I'm single. I'm free. I'm sane. As far as the law's concerned I've never been married. And… I've got a lady wearing yellow, who I know I can trust with my life, waiting for me at home…" he grinned and held up his cup. "Cheers."

They clinked their cups together in celebration.

_To be continued…_

_**Note:** Marina's code was to include the ampersat symbol instead of the word "at", but Fanfiction dot net (which doesn't even like it's own name) thought I was giving you an email address and wouldn't display it. It didn't even like "F__orgot Dt. Irritable." or having spaces between each letter. So John's missed out on a line of dialogue.  
_


	59. Chapter 59 - Epilogue

**Chapter 59: Epilogue**

_20 February 2081_

_One year later_

The day was drawing to a close and most of the Tracy family were relaxing in their lounge; happy in the knowledge that they'd had a fruitful day's work and that now was the time to enjoy being together.

A clanking from the hall announced the arrival of a white, spherical, metallic hominid, carefully balancing a tray bearing a steaming jug and several cups on its flattened claw; closely followed by an attentive Brains and an anxious Kyrano.

"Who - would – like – cof-fee?"

"I'd love one, thanks, Bramelle," Jeff told the robot.

The round white head rotated until the dual camera eyes fixed on him. Then the body did a similar pirouette, before the robot shuffled across to the desk; followed by Brains, studying each and every movement for flaws or weaknesses; and Kyrano, whose concern for the crockery and lounge's furnishings were only superseded by his need to make sure that his precious grandchild wasn't about to be crushed by a robotic foot.

The robot carefully placed a cup onto Jeff's desk and then poured from a jug. "Your – cof-fee – Mis-ter – Tra-cy." Its voice was similarly staccato to its predecessor, but higher pitched.

"Thank you, Bramelle."

Bramelle straightened, turned, and scanned the room, 'seeing' a raised hand. "Would – you – like – a – cof-fee – Al-an?"

"Yes, please." Alan turned to his wife. "How about you, Honey?"

"No. I am fine, thank you."

"Just one, Bramelle."

"Of – course – Al-an."

A gentle melody wafted from Virgil's piano as he glanced around the room, smiling at the slightly unusual familial scene before him.

"There's an article about Alice in this magazine, Virgil," Tin-Tin informed him.

He glanced over at her, simultaneously intrigued and concerned. "Yeah?"

"Yes. It's all about how she's quit Hollywood and is in England training to be an engineer, and how she's become patron of a local Lifeguard organisation." Her eyes twinkled. "And how she's got a mystery boyfriend."

"And he's going to stay a mystery." Virgil felt a tug on his leg and looked down. "Hello. What are you doing there?" A pair of bright eyes and a gummy grin stared up at him and he bent town to pick up the toddler. "Do you want to play the piano with Uncle Virgil?" Moving closer so it was easier for the young child to reach the keyboard, he pressed a note.

Intrigued by the sound, the tot leant forward and banged at the keys, pleasing Virgil with her delight in the discordant noise. "Are you going to be a musician too?" he took his niece's hands and gently helped her press the keys that picked out the tune _Twinkle Twinkle Little Star_.

The youngster "Ooohed" in delight.

Gordon laughed. "Are you hoping she'll be another Mozart?"

"You're never too young to learn an appreciation of music."

"Oh, yeah?" Gordon leant on the piano and grinned at his niece. "Hey, Munchkin." He tickled the child to get her attention and she giggled. "Uncle Gordon can make noise as well." He blew a raspberry.

She clapped her hands and, attempting to mimic his actions, poked her tongue out him.

A cell phone rang.

"You're teaching her bad habits, Gordon," Scott scolded. "Come to Uncle Scott, Sweetheart, and let Uncle Virgil answer his phone…" He lifted the tot off his brother's knee, freeing Virgil up to check his message.

As she often did, she reached up and touched his temples, seeming to be intrigued by the combination of grey and dark hair that resided there.

Gordon grinned. "She's telling you, you need a touch up."

"Women of discernment think that a little grey at the temples is distinguished..." Scott corrected. "Isn't that right, Honey?" he said, melting when his niece nuzzled into him. "You're Uncle Scott's girlfriend, aren't you?"

"Just as well, 'cos you're not having much luck with your own age group."

Scott glared at Gordon. "You're a fine one to talk. How long have you been dating Stephanie? I doubt you've even reached the holding hands stage."

Pretending to be unconcerned, his brother shrugged. "After she who shall not be named, I'm taking it slowly."

"You shouldn't let Marina spoil your happiness, Gordon," Tin-Tin told him, and her daughter looked around at the sound of her voice. "She's not worth it. Stephanie is."

Brains, never comfortable around discussions about romantic relationships, gave the command to Bramelle to retreat, and hurried out of the room.

"Why is everyone so interested in my love life anyway?" Gordon complained. "No one's told John to get a move on, and how long has he been lusting over Emma? It must be close to a decade."

"He couldn't date her while they were working together."

"Why not?"

"I'm _why not_," Jeff growled. "Besides, John's principles wouldn't have let him. It's unethical to form a relationship with a subordinate member of your staff."

"Oh. But it's okay to date your dad's secretary?"

Jeff grinned. "If he approves. Anyway…" He pointed his pen at Gordon. "John doesn't hold the record for taking the longest time to formalise his relationship with someone." His pen switched to another member of the family.

Kyrano inclined his head. "This is true."

"So true," Tin-Tin sighed.

Alan frowned. "Do you mean me?"

"We mean you, Alan."

"All those years that Tin-Tin waited patiently for you…" Gordon lay his hand on his forehead in a melodramatic manner. "Her love unrequited."

Tin-Tin smirked. "Trying to force the issue." She caught her father's eye and blushed lightly.

"No wonder we had your old boyfriends coming to visit." Scott tickled his niece. "Was your Mumia teasing your Daddy?" She giggled, loving the attention.

Tin-Tin feigned ignorance. "I don't know who you mean."

"Eddie Houseman!" her brothers-in-law chorused.

Alan scowled. "I remember him."

"We all remember him." Virgil looked up from his texting. He held out a tablet PC so that his family could see the picture. "Alice got top marks in her welding!" He showed his niece. "Isn't Aunty Alice brilliant?"

Gordon threw up his hands. "Talk about the last of the great romances! All Virg and Alice do is compare pieces of metal."

Scott admired the workmanship displayed on the tablet. "Gordon has a point, Virg." His niece squirmed in his arms and he put her on the floor, where she instantly crawled over to her father. "When are you going to put the poor woman out of her misery and make her Aunty Alice for real?"

Alan put his mug of coffee well out of reach and picked his daughter up. "I'm your real boyfriend, aren't I, Honey?"

Virgil took no notice. "Not until after she's finished her training and Kasey's court case is over," he stated. "I'm not having Alice's name dragged through the mud by the media."

Tin-Tin sat forward. "But you are going to ask her to marry you?"

"I don't know..." Virgil shrugged. "How do you ask someone if they are willing to be a part of International Rescue, without letting them know that it's International Rescue you're asking them to be a part of?"

-F-A-B-

John and Emma exited the monorail into the observatory.

"Wow." Emma gazed around at the large domed roof and the expensive equipment. "The toys rich kids get from their daddies," she teased.

John responded with an indulgent smile. "As a professional astronomer I paid for all this myself. I've got one or two little earners that mean that I can afford to purchase the best."

She looked him sideways. "Why do I get the feeling that you're hiding more secrets from me, John Tracy?"

"Ah..."

She didn't notice his sudden reticence. "I wish you'd told me you were an astronomer when I was working for you." Her neck craned up towards the top of the telescope, she rotated slowly, taking in everything. "You know who would love to see all this? Howard."

"I know. I'm going to invite him out here when I've got some time off and he's strong enough to travel."

"That won't be long now." Emma treated him to a huge smile. "How about showing me something amazing!"

"All right then," but instead of firing up the giant telescope, John took Emma's hand. "Let's step outside and look at the bigger picture." He led her outside. "What do you think of that?" he asked, indicating the setting sun reflecting off the still waters of the Pacific.

"Wow…" Emma repeated, but this time it was said as an exhalation of awe. "This _is_ amazing!"

"I told you so," he teased, and took her by the hand again. "Come and sit down."

Emma accepted his request and sat on the seat. "It looks like it's going to be a clear night."

"Yes."

"What time will we see the first stars appear?"

"Soon," he responded. "But first I'd like to ask you a question… Well, a series of questions."

She turned her attention to him. "Yes."

"If I were to ask you, would you marry me?"

"Marry you…? Oh, John!" Overcome with delight, Emma threw her arms about his neck.

She was surprised when he caught her hands, stopping her embrace. "Hold that thought," he instructed. "I have other questions."

Emma frowned. John Tracy wasn't behaving like a man who'd just proposed to the love of his life. But then, thinking about it, _if I were to ask you, would you marry me_, didn't exactly qualify as a proposal.

"You see," John still had her hands in his and he looked down at them as he spoke. "This is where I belong. I can't, and if I'm truthful, I don't want to leave my work here. If you married me it would mean that you'd have to live here too. On an island in the middle of the ocean; literally miles away from the nearest habitation. If you wanted to learn to fly so you'd have a bit of freedom, we'd be more than happy to teach you, but otherwise you'd be reliant on someone piloting for you if you ever needed to leave. Could you live like that?"

Live on a tropical paradise? With the man of her dreams? And an observatory? Emma was sure she could do that.

"If we decide to have children..." On hearing this, Emma's eyebrows shot up to the slowly forming stars, "and we're living here, they're not going to have the chance to learn to socialise. Schooling would have to be done remotely. There are enough talents here that they'd get a good education; but, like I said, they wouldn't get a chance to form the friendships that children make at school… unless we made the decision to send them away to boarding school. Is that a situation you're willing to work through?"

"Of course I am."

John managed a smile. "I know that, if you wanted to, Dad would love you to continue working for him as his secretary, which would give you something to do, but the only other people you'd see day-to-day would be my family."

Emma had got to know the Tracys well over the last few months and she knew she could handle that. "You haven't told me anything that would put me off marrying you so far."

"Then there're my brothers. We've always done everything together and I'm sure you've got some idea how close we all are."

"Yes."

"And living here means we're practically living in each other's pockets."

"Well, this isn't a very big island."

"It also means that we have no choice but to pretty much share everything…"

"Whoa! John!" Emma exclaimed, leaning back. "If you're thinking that once we're married that includes sharing me with them you can think again!"

"What? No! You?! With them!" John was horrified at the idea. "No way!" He kissed her on the forehead. "I want you all to myself."

Emma relaxed. "I'm sorry. It just that you're being so mysterious."

He apologised. "It's just that there are things that you need to be aware of before you agree to marry me."

"Things?"

"Yes. A secret. A secret we keep from everyone; even those we love." John looked Emma in the eye. "It's not because I think that you can't keep it that I haven't told you this before. I know you can be trusted. But this is bigger than anything you learned at Tracy Industries and I haven't told you because I don't want to endanger your life…"

"Endanger my life!?"

"People… Some people would torture, kill... have killed to learn what I may tell you. They would have no qualms about hurting you to find out what you know, or using you as leverage against me. So, as much as I'd like to let you into our secret, I can't tell you unless you are willing to marry me, and I don't want to ask you to marry me until you've considered all the consequences of marrying me."

"John, you're scaring," Emma grimaced, "and confusing, me."

John held her hands close to his chest, as if he were protecting them, and by extension her. "I'm sorry. I don't want to do that. But you need to know what you would be letting yourself in for, and if you still want to marry me after all that, then I'll tell you my secret… Now… Where was I?"

"Promising that you and your brothers weren't interested in anything kinky."

John smiled. "I promise…" His smile slipped into a leer. "Well, nothing they're going to be involved with anyway."

Emma giggled.

"What I was saying about them is that while they're a great bunch of guys and I love them, there are times when they can get a bit intense, and there's not a lot of room to escape them on the island. Could you bear to live here with little chance of escape?"

"John… I think I know your brothers well enough to share my life with them… Within reason." She giggled again. "Besides, we'd have rooms of our own, wouldn't we? They'd respect that."

"Yes," he agreed. "If there's one thing we learned to respect over the years, it was each other's private space."

"There you are then. I'm sure they won't be a problem. Next question."

Despite Emma's pronouncement, John looked uncomfortable. He held her hands a little tighter. "Now we're starting to get into the clandestine side of my life."

"Clandestine?" Of all the words Emma was expecting to hear, it wasn't that one.

"I love you, Emma," John admitted, and Emma felt her heart pound at his words; as hard as his beating under her hands. "…But, if we got married, I'd have to spend a long time away from you."

"You would? Why?"

"It's my job."

"And a job's more important than us?"

"Yes, it's more important than us and it's more important than me. It's important to me and important to the world. Important enough that, unless you were willing to live an even more isolated life than we would have on Tracy Island, you and I would have to endure every other month miles apart."

"Miles? Anywhere near schools?"

John managed a laugh. "No."

"Is this job _really_ that important?"

"Yes. I believe that it is. And I enjoy it, Emma. I hadn't realised how much I missed it when I was in charge of Tracy Industries, but I realise now that working beside you was the only thing that kept me turning up each morning."

"Did you do this job, whatever it is, before you took over Tracy Industries from your father?"

"Yes. I'd done it for seven years when Dad had his stroke and I was ready for a change, but now I'm equally ready to return to my old life… Except this time I want to bring you with me."

"How isolated would you be?"

"I'd only be a… ah, 'phone call' away," John promised. "You could call me at any time. And you'd have the company and support of my family. Could you bear that?"

"I'd hate it," Emma told him. "But it would be better than not having you as part of my life at all." She squeezed his hands. "John, so long as you're working _with_ me, I'd be willing to work through anything."

John gave a tight smile, which preceded a sigh. "Then there's the danger…"

Emma pulled her hands free. "Danger! John! What danger?!" She thought back to his comments about the risks to her well-being if she'd known about whatever it was that he seemed to be so reluctant to tell her. "Is this to do with the people who torture and kill?"

"No, but there is a small; miniscule; _tiny_ element of risk involved during the time that I would be away from you. But while I'm staying here on Tracy Island, whenever I have to do my job, I'm exposed to an even greater risk."

"I thought your job was miles away."

"My principal role is. My secondary role's based here… Could you handle worrying about me…? About us?"

"Would I be exposed to this risk too?"

"No, only my brothers and me."

"How serious a risk?"

"At times, depending on the circumstances, life threatening."

"John," Emma put a hand to her heart, "you're still scaring me."

John took the hand and kissed it. "I don't want to, but you need to be fully aware of the facts before you make any commitments to me."

"Fully aware? So far you've told me everything and told me nothing. I think I know where you're heading, but I'm not sure what you're heading."

"I know," he sighed. "There are times when astronomy seems so safe and uncomplicated."

"But that was your first love. Why don't you continue with being safe?"

"Because, despite the satisfaction I feel when I'm observing the universe and the thrill of discovering something new, that is nothing compared to what I feel when we pull off a job successfully."

"Pull off a job…? You make it seem like a bank heist."

John managed a grin. "We leave bank heists to Parker."

"What!"

"Forget it. I'll explain later."

"This, whatever it is that you and your family do, it's not something illegal, is it?"

"No. I suppose you could say that we do bend the rules slightly, but that's for the greater good."

"Not illegal, but you do bend the rules…" Emma decided that she needed to put her fears to rest. She did this by asking what she thought was a ridiculous question. "Has anyone been killed doing this 'job'."

"No…" John hesitated. He didn't want to risk pushing her away, but Emma needed to be aware of the realities of what her life as Mrs John Tracy would entail. "…but there have been injuries... Close calls..."

"Injuries?" Maybe it wasn't such a ridiculous question after all. "Serious?"

"Sometimes."

"How serious?"

"There have been times when I've been frightened that I was going to lose one of my brothers," John admitted.

"Have they ever been worried they were going to lose you?"

"My job, when I'm away from here; apart from the miniscule amount of risk that I mentioned earlier, which is really no more dangerous than you crossing the street; is a lot safer than what my brothers do regularly… Especially Scott and Virgil."

Scott and Virgil? Yes, Scott was a test pilot; there was some danger in that. But Virgil was an artist? How dangerous could that be? "You're still confusing me."

"I know." He reached out as if he was going to pull her into a comforting embrace, and then checked himself. He still didn't know how this was going to pan out and he wasn't sure whether or not he was in this relationship too deep to surface.

"Are you going to let me in on this great secret?" Emma asked.

"As soon as I'm assured that you're fully aware what being married to me would entail and I know that you are willing to deal with the highs and lows."

"I'm never going to be fully aware if you don't tell me everything."

"That's true," John admitted, and risked taking her hands. "Emma, based on the inconclusive, unsubstantiated, incomplete information I've given you… If I were to ask you, would you marry me? If you need time to think about it, I'll understand. This is a big decision."

"Marriage, no matter what the circumstances, is a big decision," she reminded him.

"True."

"And if I were to tell you that, despite what you've told me and what you haven't told me, I want to marry you, would you then tell me what you're talking about?"

"First I'd insist that you promise to keep my secret."

"This is the big one?"

"The biggest."

"The one that people would kill to get?"

"Yes."

"The one you can't tell me until I tell you that I want to marry you?"

"I know it's putting you into an intolerable position, but yes."

Emma couldn't imagine what this secret could be. She'd learnt some pretty big secrets about acquisitions, and takeovers, and the proclivities of some people associated with Tracy Industries, but nothing worth killing for.

John sat in the gathering darkness and watched her, wondering whether his future was going to include this beautiful, witty, intelligent woman…

"I promise that I won't reveal your secret to another living soul."

"Really?"

"Really."

John kissed her. "Thank you."

"Now, what is this secret?"

"First you've got to tell me that you would marry me if I asked you," he insisted. "I'm not prepared to put you at risk without good reason."

"John… I love you. I think I've loved you since the day you interviewed me for my job. I was even kind of hoping that you wouldn't hire me and would ask me out instead. I've wanted to marry you since we started dating and nothing you've said has made me want to change my mind… You have got me worried though."

"I know." John looked guilty. "I'm sorry."

"So… Now that I've agreed to marry you if you ask me; now that I've promised to keep your secret… Are you going to tell me what that secret is?"

John hesitated. He wanted so badly to tell her, but letting someone else into the fold, especially someone that he cared about deeply, seemed to be a monumental risk. "I love you, Emma."

She looked deep into his eyes. "That's not much of a secret."

"I love you so much that I don't want to put you in danger."

Emma reached out and touched his cheek. "Thank you."

John closed his eyes at her touch and turned away, breaking contact as if he needed that distance to give him strength. "This is absolutely your last chance to live a life of safety. Once I tell you the name of the organisation that I… that my family belongs to it will all become clear." He clenched his hands into fists as if he was ready to strike out at anyone wanting to harm her. "And you may become a target."

Emma loved John, but sometimes she felt that he was just that little bit too reticent. She was more than willing to take the risk if the payback was a lifetime of looking into those deep blue eyes that were staring out over the ocean towards the dying light. She placed her hand on his shoulder. "And the name of that organisation is…?"

John took a deep breath. "International Rescue."

"I beg your pardon?" Emma stared at him.

John didn't look at her. "We are International Rescue."

"International Rescue?"

He studied the ground. "Yes. My role is as Space Monitor."

"Space Monitor?"

"My Thunderbird is Thunderbird Five."

"Thunderbird Five?" Trying to comprehend what she was being told, Emma cast her mind back over what little she knew. "The… The communications satellite?"

"Yes," John admitted. "I helped design it and I live on it for a month at a time. When I'm 'off duty' from there Alan replaces me."

"And living on a satellite is the 'miniscule danger' you were talking about?"

"Yes."

"And the 'possibility of serious injury' danger?"

"When I'm on Earth I sometimes go out on rescues. You see Scott and Virgil pilot Thunderbirds One and Two respectively. They are involved in most callouts. Gordon's the pilot of Thunderbird Four and is Virgil's co-pilot. Alan's the pilot of Thunderbird Three."

"I've forgotten. What are Thunderbirds Three and Four?"

"Spaceship and submarine."

"Oh." Emma wasn't sure she could believe her ears. "I can't quite get my head around this."

"I suppose it is a bit of a shock." John told a small bush that was growing in front of him. "You've only ever seen me as a colourless, personality-retarded, desk jockey…"

"I never thought of you like that." Then a memory surfaced. "Then, during the months leading up to Doomsday…"

"We were here, on the island," still not looking at her, John indicated the scenery, "getting all the equipment ready for our biggest rescue. We never thought we would continue afterwards, but," here John finally looked at her and gave a guilty grin, "I guess it reawakened our love of the job."

"But why, when Doomsday was over, didn't you call me?"

"Because we were trying to stop the asteroid. Alan had taken Thunderbird Three to divert it and I was trapped on Thunderbird Five with no way of getting home again." John's smile was wry. "I couldn't really call you up and say I was marooned on a satellite, could I?"

"Alan took Thunderbird Three!? Wasn't Tin-Tin pregnant then?"

"Yes, she was."

"But how did she feel about sending her husband out into space?"

"I guess that she wasn't very happy about it, but she's a trooper. She's always been a part of International Rescue, so she knows and accepts the risks. If you want to discuss what it's like being married to a member of the team, I'm sure she'll be happy to talk to you about it."

"How long was Alan gone?"

"Four and a half months."

"Wow…" Emma took a moment to think. "I've got to admit, John, that if someone had said to me ten minutes ago that you were a member of International Rescue, I wouldn't have believed it."

"Well, I hope you believe it, because…" John reached under the seat and pulled out a cylinder. Separating the two halves caused the ends to ignite and he placed each candle on either side of her. "…like it or not, you're now entwined with International Rescue." Another two candles were placed next to her before he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box. He winked at her. "Is there any point in asking the question now?"

"You haven't asked the question yet."

"True. Then, after what I've put you through, I'd better do it properly." John got down on one knee.

She was on a tropical paradise of an island. A warm breeze was wafting some delicious scent over them. The birds were settling in for the night. The lights of the four candles matched the stars that were revealing themselves in the sky. The descending sun was casting golden rays onto the Pacific waters and forming a halo around her soon-to-be-fiancé's head. Nothing could make this moment more perfect, Emma thought. Captivated by the scene, she tried to burn it into her memory.

"Emma," John began. "I've waited too long to get to know you, but I think I've always loved you, and now I know how you feel about me. I will give you my undying loyalty and I know that you will be loyal to me in return. I want to be your friend and companion for the rest of our lives. And, because of this," he opened the box, turning it so that Emma could see the diamond ring that was contained inside, "I am ready, and more than willing, to ask you to marry me. Will you do me that honour?"

"John... No…"

Stunned, John stared at her. "Huh? But…"

"Shush." She laid her finger on his lips. "What I am saying is that _no_ one and nothing would make me happier. I want to be a part of your life, and I want you to be a part of mine. I want to be your friend and companion and I will give you my undying loyalty. I'm willing to face being a part of International Rescue, no matter what that may entail. And yes, I would be honoured to marry you."

John's face almost split into two in a beaming grin.

-F-A-B-

"Is this for me?" Jeff accepted the doll that had been solemnly handed to him. "Why, thank you. And how are you, Miss Dolly?" he enquired, lifting the doll to his ear. "Indeed. I am glad to hear that. Would you like to tell Datuk?" He handed the doll over to Kyrano; squatting on the floor next to him, and was promptly given another doll to care for.

"Thank you," said Kyrano. He 'listened' to what the doll had to say. "That is indeed interesting. I believe that Miss Dolly is saying that she wishes to dance." He jiggled the doll on the carpet in time with Virgil's piano playing.

"So does Miss Myla," Jeff agreed, copying his friend, and their granddaughter clapped her hands at the way that her dolls were coming to life. Her claps became even more excited when Bramelle the robot stepped up to the group and started gyrating in a more realistic style.

Loving the show, and his granddaughter's reaction to it, Jeff winked at Brains.

"I hate to break up the fun," In typical mother fashion, Tin-Tin managed to foil the festive atmosphere, "but it's time that someone went to bed."

Although he was trying to hide it, Jeff felt genuine disappointment. "How about a goodnight huggle then, Sweetheart?" he asked, holding his arms open. An invitation his granddaughter responded to by crawling over to Bramelle and wrapping her arms about the cold metallic leg. "Well," he said, this time obviously deflated, "at least I know where I stand." He tried again. "How about a hug for Poppa?" This time a small pair of arms attempted to wrap themselves about him and he felt a smile spread over his face. "Goodnight, Sweetheart," he said, kissing her.

Then he sniffed. "I think someone needs changing."

"Okay." Alan got out of his chair. "I'll take care of the fallout, Tin-Tin, and you can get her bath ready." He walked over to his daughter, expecting to pick her up with ease. He was thwarted when, at the sound of the couple arriving at the door to the lounge, she took off in Emma and John's direction.

Scott laughed. "She's got your love of speed, Alan."

John swooped his niece off the floor. "Tēnā koe, Manu."

She laughed. Uncle John always spoke funny. And he never knew what her real name was.

"John," Tin-Tin scolded. "She's never going to know her real name if you call her something in a different language each time."

"It's good for a child's mental development to learn another language," he responded. "Besides, all any of us call her is Sweetheart, or Honey, or Darling. What's the difference between that and calling her the same thing in another language?" He tickled the tot in his arms and she giggled. "Isn't that right, Kairangi?"

"John!" Tin-Tin looked exasperated.

"Is it bedtime?" John continued, ignoring those about him. "Well, before you got to bed, how about giving your future Aunty Emma a goodnight kiss?" He leant closer so that Emma was able to receive a peck on the cheek.

"John!?" Everyone's head snapped up.

"Future 'Aunty Emma'?" Tin-Tin's eyes were shining.

"Yes." Emma displayed her engagement ring.

"That's wonderful!" Tin-Tin gave her friend a hug, before, awkwardly because of the child in his arms, sharing one with John. "Come here, Darling," she said, forgetting her earlier admonition as she collected her daughter from her brother-in-law.

Now that they were free of that 'impediment' the couple were subject to a barrage of congratulations, handshakes, hugs, and exclamations about how wonderful the news was.

"Maybe you can give Virgil some pointers, John," Alan suggested.

"Alan!" Tin-Tin hissed. "This is John and Emma's moment."

"Congratulations, Emma," Gordon reached out for her hand, but instead of shaking it, he twisted it so he could see the inside of her arm. "No needle marks." His eyes twinkled. "He's obviously trapped you by fair means and not foul."

Emma twinkled back at him. "At least you can be sure that I haven't drugged him. He would have asked me months ago if I had."

Gordon laughed and hugged her. "I'm happy for the both of you."

"About time." Scott gave his brother an affectionate punch on the shoulder. "We were only commenting a few minutes ago that if you didn't get a move on you were going to overtake Alan's record for the slowest romance in Tracy history."

"Nope." John was grinning like an idiot. "There was no way I could wait as long as him."

Alan pouted. "There's nothing wrong with making sure that you're making the right decision."

"So, have you told Emma everything, John?" Virgil asked.

"Everything. You can uncover Operation Cover-up, Dad."

"I'm glad." Jeff Tracy, upon hearing the initial announcement, had collected his walking stick from the floor next to him. Pressing a button had caused three little supports to extend from the base of the cane. Once they were in place, the stick had extended upwards, assisting Jeff to his feet. He was then free to walk across the room, aided by only this crutch. "Congratulations, Son." He embraced John, before turning to Emma. "John's not the only one you've made very happy," he told her as they hugged. "Welcome to the family."

Emma was beginning to think that if she didn't stop smiling sometime soon her cheeks would burst; but that despite this, there was nothing that she could do to prevent this calamity. Still, she decided, if anyone would know how to save her, it was International Rescue. "Thank you, Jeff."

He turned back to the centre of the lounge, to where Brains, unsure how to behave, was hanging back. "Perhaps you'd like to do the honours?"

Now the engineer smiled. "I would, er, love to, Mr Tracy." He walked over to the computer on Jeff's desk.

John nudged his fiancée and pointed to the wall and Emma watched, astonished, as the five portraits that resided there slid upwards revealing the five Tracy men in a uniform that looked vaguely familiar. "No wonder you always wore the same blue shirt every time we spoke."

"You don't know how many times I nearly forgot to take off my sash," John chuckled. Then he turned to his sister-in-law. "Tin-Tin, I told Emma that if she had any questions about what it's like to be married to someone from International Rescue, she could ask you. Do you mind?"

"Of course not!" Tin-Tin enthused. "And the first thing you've got to learn, Emma, is that you're always going to be second fiddle to a Thunderbird. You could be lying in bed, suffering from the flu, and he'll be fretting over why one of the modules on Thunderbird Five is beeping at an octave higher than normal."

"Which module?"

Emma hit her fiancé. "John!"

"It's all relative!" John rubbed his arm. "If that beep is only a minor problem then you've got my full attention. But what if it's a warning that a major catastrophe is about to happen to Thunderbird Five? Alan's or my life might depend on finding out what that beep means."

"And that's what it'll always be like," Tin-Tin told Emma. "You're important, but nothing will be more important than his Thunderbird. It'll be just the same for Virgil and Alice..."

Virgil gaped at her. "Tin-Tin!"

"And Gordon and Stephanie..."

"Hey!"

"And Scott... That's if he ever manages to find someone."

"Tin-Tin!" Scott looked affronted by the comment.

Jeff chuckled.

"And my Alan."

"Tin-Tin," Alan complained. "You know you're number one in my life. You and this little lady." He tickled the child in his wife's arms.

Knowing better, Tin-Tin ignored him.

"Don't listen to Tin-Tin, Emma," John insisted, forgetting his earlier suggestion that his future wife talk to her future sister-in-law. "You'll always be number one to me."

Tin-Tin raised a sceptical eyebrow.

Much to the rest of the family's amusement, John continued to try to dig himself out of the hole that he thought he'd dug himself into. "Wait till you see Thunderbird Five. You'll love her," he promised. "You can't get a better view of the cosmos from anywhere else. I'll take you there as soon as I can. And then you'll see exactly how special Thunderbird Fi..."

"Daadaburr."

"Huh?" John's speech forgotten, everyone crowded closer to the child in Tin-Tin's arms.

She cuddled her daughter. "What did you say, Honey?"

There was a giggle. "Daadaburr."

"Dadda!" Alan exclaimed. "She said Dadda!"

"That wasn't Dadda," Virgil looked to the others for clarification. "Didn't she say Thunderbird?"

Excited, Scott nodded his head. "I thought she said Thunderbird, too."

"That's right. Thunderbird Two." Virgil held up two fingers. "She said it twice."

"No, not Thunderbird Two," Scott corrected, raising one finger into the air. "Thunderbird twice. _One_ Thunderbird twice."

"Of course she said Thunderbird." Gordon showed four fingers on one hand to his niece. "You meant Thunderbird Four: right?"

"We were talking about Thunderbird Five," John offered. "She must mean that. Five? Thunderbird Five?" He showed the palm of his hand and five outstretched fingers.

"She's my daughter, so she must mean Thunderbird Three." Alan held up both hands; two fingers extended on one and one on the other. "Which Thunderbird did you mean, Honey?"

Exasperated, Tin-Tin looked at Emma. "See what I mean."

"Yes."

Confused, the little girl in Tin-Tin's arms looked between her uncles with their outstretched digits and then attempted to mimic her father's gesture.

"Yes!" Alan threw his arms in the air in jubilation as his brothers slumped. "Her first words were Thunderbird Three!"

Started by his yell, his daughter burst into tears.

"Oh, Alan," Tin-Tin sighed. "Shhh, it's alright, Darling." She gently rocked her howling daughter. "Someone's definitely ready for bed," she stated. "You were going to help me get ready for her bath, weren't you, Alan?"

"Ah, yeah." He sheepishly reached out for his little girl. "I'm sorry, did Daddy frighten you?" he cooed.

Her cries continued unabated.

"Back soon," he promised, and the sound of childish tears faded away down the hall.

"Maybe now we should do some proper celebrating," Jeff suggested.

Kyrano bowed. "I have something prepared." His eyes twinkled. "I had hoped that we might receive such good news during your visit, Miss Emma."

She smiled at him. "Thank you, Kyrano. I've got to admit that I didn't share your confidence." She looped her arm through John's. "But now that I've got him, I'm not going to let go... Even if I do have to share him with Thunderbird Five."

Jeff winked at her. "Tin-Tin's an astute woman."

A short time later, when Tin-Tin and Alan had returned, the adults prepared to mark the occasion.

Jeff raised his glass. "To John and Emma. May you both have many happy years together."

"John and Emma."

"Thanks." Beaming, John squeezed his fiancée's hand. "Here's to Doomsday. Without it I'd still be unfit, overweight, tied to a desk..." He smiled at Emma. "And lonely."

Emma smiled back. "And so would I."

"And if it wasn't for Doomsday," Jeff added, "I'd still be moping around in my personal prison. Unable to do anything useful and too scared to let others see what a miserable shell of a person I'd become."

"And I'd be too scared to do what I really enjoy," Scott grinned at Gordon, "with the people I care about."

"And I'd be either be trapped in a loveless marriage..." Gordon grimaced. "...Or in a mental institution."

"By which point I would have been that confused as to who I really was," Virgil admitted, "that I probably would have moved into the room next door."

Alan grinned. "And I'd be married, with kids... Oh, wait! I am!" He grinned at his family's laughter. "But I don't think I would have been really happy. I haven't missed racing this past year."

Tin-Tin took his hand. "You would not have been happy," she agreed. "Neither of us would have been."

"If it had not been for Dooms-day," Kyrano inclined his head. "I should not have the privilege of watching my grand-daughter grow day by day."

"And I wouldn't have h-had such a challenge as Doomsday offered me," Brains admitted. "It has, er, accelerated my thought processes to a whole new level. I've, ah, tons of new ideas for International Rescue and our machines."

"I'll eat to that." Scott took a bite of one of Kyrano's delicacies.

Emma raised her hand. "May I say something?"

Jeff smiled at her. "Of course. You're going to be a part of the family."

"What I want to say is not as a member of the family, but as an outsider; someone from the rest of the world. No one else knows who you are, so no one else will get the chance to say this to you personally; but, on behalf of every other person on the planet, thank you, all of you, for saving the Earth. If it wasn't for International Rescue none of us would be here today."

Her future family looked a trifle embarrassed by her speech as Jeff answered for the members of International Rescue with: "Thank you, Emma."

John studied the quiet, smiling faces before him; all happy to be on Tracy Island anticipating a long future with loved ones and International Rescue, and wondered if any of them had expected this.

They definitely wouldn't have dreamt it nine years ago.

Now could they not only afford to carry on, they wanted to.

Thunderbirds were go.

_The end._

_Or is it…?_


	60. Chapter 60 - Appendix

_I finished Rima, disappointed that I could only reach 59 chapters, but accepted that that was where the story ended. Then one day, and this was even after I'd started writing my next story, my muse offered me a hint of a potential chapter 60: _"Go on. You know you want to write it."

"But I've started another story."

"You know you want to."

"I do, but we should be working on the sequel to _A Quiet Year_."

"I'll feed you that later."

"Have you got enough to give me one more chapter?"

"Of course I do. Go on. Write it!"

_And so I wrote it!_

_-F-A-B-_

**Chapter 60: Appendix**

_30 September 2105_

_25 years later_

John Tracy stood at the window looking at the vista, his arms about his wife. "I love this view."

Emma Tracy snuggled in closer to him. "So do I."

"I wonder how much longer we'll be able be able to enjoy it."

Emma twisted in his arms so she could see his face. "That sounds ominous."

John let her go. "With all the changes that are happening, maybe it's time to retire and let someone younger take over." He surveyed Thunderbird Five's control room.

His wife frowned. "You're still fit, John. And remember, your namesake was 77 when he last went into space; that's over a decade older than you are now. And you've had more space experience than he had."

John didn't reply.

"Do you want to give up?"

The response was immediate. "No."

"Then don't! You're not ready for it and International Rescue isn't ready to let you go."

He managed a grin. "I hope you're right. The last thing I want is for the team to be sitting back on Earth trying to work out how to tell me that it's time to hang up my spacesuit. When I finish I want it to be on my terms."

She slipped her arms back about him. "And what would those terms be?"

John thought. "If you couldn't come up here with me. Before I met you I loved my time alone on Thunderbird Five. But since we married, I've hated every moment I've been without you."

Emma gave him a squeeze. "Sometimes it was better that way."

"I know..."

_*** __24 years earlier_

The announcement that another child was going to be welcomed into the Tracy fold had been greeted with much joy and celebrations; an atmosphere so different to the fear and uncertainty leading up to the birth of Alan and Tin-Tin's first child. John and Emma had been free to look forward to the day when they would become parents.

With it being weeks before the baby was due, Emma's pregnancy being trouble free, and Brains stating that as Thunderbird Three's flight was no more stressful on the body than a flight in a standard aeroplane and that life in Thunderbird Five was no different to life on Earth; the parents-to-be had no qualms about Emma joining John on another tour of duty.

That was until…

It had been the day after another successful job and John, high above the Earth in Thunderbird Five, had been doing what he always did after a rescue; reviewing all their communications to see if there were any little changes, or major ones, that International Rescue could make to improve their systems.

As normal, he was deep in concentration. So deep that the only thing that would register in his consciousness would be an alarm of distress or a radio message from home. Therefore he barely heard Emma speak to him, assuming that her mention of blood was a comment over something as trivial as a paper cut.

It wasn't until she'd said his name the second time that he'd realised that she was sounding a little odd. Surprised, he'd looked around to see her leaning against the door frame; pale and in obvious distress.

His first action was to slam his fist down on a nearby button that sounded a warning on Tracy Island. This would send the entire crew sprinting for the lounge ready to come to his aid and start the automatic systems that readied Thunderbird Three for space flight. If it was nothing, then he would do some major apologetic grovelling later, but if things were as bad as Emma looked, he didn't want to waste a single second.

And things were bad. Very bad.

It was the worst nightmare any expectant couple miles from medical help could face.

Down on Earth, once John had relayed their predicament to his family, things had swung almost seamlessly into action, despite the fact that this wasn't going to be a normal flight. Instead of having her standard crew of two, Thunderbird Three was going to be carrying five people along with a multitude of equipment to sustain the lives of a newborn and its mother.

Alan and Scott had taken up their place on the couch and gone on ahead to double check that Thunderbird Three was ready for instant blast off. Tin-Tin and Gordon had offered to go too; Tin-Tin to give the reassurance of a mother who'd already lived through the experience, and Gordon to relieve John of his duties, leaving the anxious father-to-be to concentrate on his wife and Alan and Scott to concentrate on getting maximum speed out of the spaceship.

Scott's "Little Brother" Stewie, on Tracy Island for a brief break from his studies, was also pressed into service; experiencing many firsts along the way… His first flight in a spaceship… His first rescue with International Rescue… The first time he'd ever put his still growing medical knowledge into practise… And the first time he'd ever delivered a baby. He'd turned white when Jeff had first suggested that, as he had the most up-to-date medical knowledge of anyone, he attend as official paramedic. He then pulled himself together, grabbed a tablet with his medical text books, and spent the entire flight refreshing his memory. Brains had remained on Earth soothing John and Emma's fears and offering suggestions of things to ease the process until help arrived.

The plan had been to transfer Emma, John, and their unborn child to the nearest hospital as fast as possible. Unfortunately the baby had other ideas, deciding to make an appearance only moments after Thunderbird Three docked with her sister ship.

It was then that International Rescue's training came to the fore. The baby boy was put on oxygen and placed into Thunderbird Two's incubator. Emma was loaded onto a gurney, had an IV inserted into her arm and, crying with fear for her baby and herself and with a grip on John's hand so tight that she may as well have glued them together, passed through the access hatch and into the spaceship.

The flight back to Tracy Island was smooth and speedy. Once there it was time for the other members of International Rescue to launch into action. Virgil and Brains had spent the intervening hours preparing Thunderbird Two so there would be no delays when it left for the hospital; while Jeff, with Kyrano's help, had gathered together some items for the distressed couple – especially John, who they knew would have more important things on his mind than maintaining International Rescue's security. The new granddad had also decided that he'd better join them on the trip, if for no other reason than to ensure that his son took the time to change out of his uniform.

After that day of dramas it had been a stressful few weeks as the Tracys waited to see if the youngest member of the clan would be strong enough to live in the world that they'd helped save…

-I-R-

Remembering that time, John leant back against the window. "I still owe Alan and Scott for what must have been the fastest space flight ever."

"Fast? They seemed to take forever to get here."

John chuckled. "We were lucky that Stewie was home on vacation."

"I'll say."

"I wonder who was more frightened: him or me."

Emma raised her hand. "Me."

Her husband treated her to a loving smile. "I can believe that."

Emma hugged his arm. "There was no way I was going to risk going through all that again second time around."

"I wasn't all that keen in risking you or the baby either. And I hated every minute I was away from you when I was on duty." John shrugged. "I guess it gave me an understanding of what Alan went through when he went to Jupiter..." Then he grinned. "I just love the fact that we are the proud parents of the world's first extra-terrestrial child!"

As Emma laughed, a distinctive tune sounded through the complex.

"Speak of the devil." John pushed himself away from the wall and started walking towards the videophone in their private room.

At that moment there was another sound.

Emma started heading in the opposite direction. "I'll talk Howard in," she offered.

A slight frown creased John's brow. "Okay."

He entered their private quarters before, with a broad smile, he greeted the videophone's caller. "Have you left the States yet?"

"No... Not yet... I, er, was going to head for the airport after this call."

"Good." John's smile slipped a little. "Then what can I do for you that can't wait for the few hours until we're all at the same latitude, longitude, and altitude?"

Strangely, his son seemed a little unsure of himself. "I was hoping we could talk."

"Talk?" John felt a pang of anxiety. "What's wrong?"

"Uh... Nothing."

"Nothing?" John frowned. "It can't be nothing or else you would have waited until your mother and I were back dirtside."

"Dad…?"

"Yes?"

John's son swallowed. "Are you disappointed in me?"

John couldn't help but be shocked and surprised by the question. "Disappointed? In you!? Why would I be?"

"Because I don't want to join International Rescue."

"Because you don't want to join International Rescue?" John echoed. "Of course I'm not disappointed. Just because you were born in a Thunderbird doesn't mean that you're tethered to it by your umbilical cord."

His son didn't laugh. "But... I know that you've always wanted me to be a part of the team. You always said I was literally born into it."

"I'm not going to lie and say that's not true; I'd love to work alongside you. But I'd rather know that you were happy, and I know your poppa and uncles feel the same way. To stand up and say that you don't want to be a part of International Rescue, well… that's shown a level of guts that exceeds anything that any of us have ever shown." John regarded the unconvinced face on the screen. "I'd be disappointed if the only reason why you joined International Rescue was because you believed that's what I wanted. I'd be even more disappointed if I'd done something that made you think that you had no option other than to join us. I haven't, have I?"

"No."

"I'm glad to hear that." John had still failed to elicit a smile from the younger man. "Look, I am proud of you, Son. I'm proud that, despite of all the pressure, real or imagined, that you must have been under to follow in my footsteps; despite the fact that at the moment your sister is planning to be part of International Rescue; despite the fact that your cousins are going to be members of International Rescue, I'm proud that you've been strong enough to choose your own path through life. Maybe one day you'll use that degree you're working so hard on and take over the reins of Tracy Industries. Or maybe you'll take on the challenge of starting up your own business. Or maybe you'll do something totally different. It doesn't matter to me. I spent seven years stuck in a job that I didn't really enjoy, apart from working alongside your mother, because I thought that was what was expected of me, and I don't want you to go through that. All that matters to me is that you're happy."

For the first time there was a glimmer of that happiness in the face opposite. "When are you leaving?"

"Thunderbird Three's docking now. The Atlantic team are packing up, and I'll have to go over a few things with Howard before we leave, but we'll be back well before the presentation."

Finally there was a smile. "You'll probably race me in that case. I'll see you when I get home."

"F-A-B." John winked.

The videophone went blank and he regarded it thoughtfully for a moment.

"John?"

He turned to see Emma standing in the doorway. "You knew what that call was going to be about?"

She walked over to her husband. "He didn't want to disappoint you. I tried to tell him that I was sure that he wasn't, but it's been preying on his mind. That's why he didn't do so well in his last exam."

John was aghast at this bit of information. "Because he was worried about what I thought?!"

"Yes. I told him to talk to you so you could confirm what I'd been saying all along, and he thought that it would be best if he did that when you were on Thunderbird Five. He was hoping to catch a ride with Howard, but he's been trying to make up the points he lost in the exam and couldn't get away any earlier... You aren't disappointed, are you?"

"If I'm honest I'd have to say, yes, I am. But I'm disappointed for myself, not for him. I'm also sorry that International Rescue isn't going to have the benefit of someone who I think would be a real asset." John bit his lip. "Did I ever give the impression I expected him to be a part of the team?"

"Not really." Emma shook her head. "Especially once it became obvious that his skills and interests were leading him away from the organisation."

"Good." John decided that this was a discussion that could be continued later and that it was time to get down to business. "Is Howard here?"

"Yes. He's putting his bag into his room."

The couple wandered into Thunderbird Five's main control room just as Howard O'Neil exited his quarters. "Hi, John."

After greeting the younger man warmly John frowned. "Is everything okay? You look like you're limping more than usual."

Howard grinned. "Relax, Boss. I stubbed my toe against the bed."

Relieved, John laughed. "You've been up here often enough that you should remember where that is by now."

With a laugh of his own, Howard ran his hand over his short, patchy, dark hair, before tugging his magenta-coloured sash back into place. "Anything I need to know about? Emma said the Atlantic team were on the way back to base."

"In that case I don't need to debrief you. They can do it themselves."

"Right. Now..." Howard gave an impish grin. "Anything _really_ important I need to know about?"

John responded in kind. "Keep an eye on sector 2343:389/A248. Something big's going down in the vicinity of Betelgeuse. We've been keeping a close watch, but if you see it happen first, you can take the credit."

Howard's face lit up. "Thanks!" He wandered over to the window and looked out at the stars. "I love it up here." He turned back to his co-workers, the impish grin still on his face. "I must remember to thank Scott for crashing that plane."

Laughing, John picked up his bag and turned to Emma. "Is that everything?"

Her eyes twinkled. "I've turned off the power and let the cat out, so I think we're ready to go."

"Good."

"Give my best to the old man," Howard called, as they stepped through the portal. "See you next month."

-F-A-B-

Alice Tracy raised her greasy face out from inside the engine of the Domo and looked at her husband. "That unit needs replacing." A lock of oily hair escaped from under her cap and fell across her face.

"I told you that." Virgil tucked the hair back into place. His own hair was greying, but the thought of dyeing it never entered his head. He was happy with who he was and where he was in his life and he had no desire to change or pretend to be anyone except for Virgil Tracy: member of International Rescue, loyal son, brother and friend, loving husband, and father of two.

"Do you want to make a start now, or leave it until after the presentation?"

"After the presentation. If we make a start now," Virgil grinned, "I'll never get you out of there."

"Okay." Alice rubbed her hand across her cheek, further smudging the grease on her face.

Virgil chuckled. "My wife: the glamorous movie star," he joked as he pulled a rag from his pocket and attempted to clean the smudge away. "If only the paparazzi could see you now."

"They'd know that I've left the glamorous world of Hollywood for the even more glamorous world of International Rescue." Alice claimed the rag before regarding her broken and greasy nails. "Do you realise that I used to get a manicure nearly every day?"

"Do you miss it?"

She kissed her husband, transferring some of her less than glamorous 'greasepaint' to his face. "Not in the slightest."

Voices could be heard echoing through the hangar.

"Gus… Gus!"

"Jenny!"

Years ago, when their two children had learnt of their parents' artistic pasts, they'd instantly dubbed their mother "_Jenny_" after one of her better known movie roles. Their father, they decided at the time, needed to reinstate the name of his alter ego.

But Virgil had put his foot down. He had no desire to be reminded of the life he'd led a lifetime ago, and so they'd called him the name of "_Jenny's"_ love interest in that particular film. Virgil, after some reminders from Alice that if it hadn't been for his time in New York they wouldn't have met, accepted this compromise and, as time went by, had to secretly come to enjoy it. First: it made him feel that his relationship with his children was based as much on friendship as paternal love and respect. Second: now that they were joining him out on rescues, it made it easier to keep their relationship to each other secret from the outside world. Third: in a household containing eight fathers, it made differentiating who was addressing whom in moments of high excitement much simpler.

Just so long as they didn't call him Gustav...

_*** Sixteen years earlier_

Bored by their studies and eager to experience the exciting life of their dad and uncles, the two young children had decided to explore the forbidden areas of the complex. Naturally their first adventure was acted out inside their father's pride and joy.

They were exploring the rooms where the older members of their family slept when away from home, when they became aware of a strange vibration running through the craft. This was followed by their world tilting alarmingly.

Fear had flooded their systems. They'd seen Thunderbird Two launch often enough to know what was happening. They also knew that no one was aware that they were inside the craft and that they were about to get into major trouble. Visions of everyone else enjoying Datuk Kyrano's desserts while they sat hungry filled their young minds. That was until the thrust of lift-off threw them against the wall and pinned them there cowering until everything levelled off.

The flight seemed to last forever.

Eventually a new vibration shook them before everything was stilled. Frightened that they were about to be discovered they crawled under a bed and hid.

The wait seemed to go on for hours, but they continued to lay low until hunger overrode their instincts for self-preservation. They agreed that it would be better to face the music now and be fed, than go any further hungry. They headed for Thunderbird Two's flight deck.

Meanwhile back at home Alice had gone from being curious about her misplaced children, to mildly concerned, to downright frantic. The whole household was in an uproar with people checking nearby buildings, cliffs, bluffs, caves, watercourses and the shore. Their concerns reached Thunderbird Five who started scanning the whole of Tracy Island for two small bodies.

The decision was made not to let the two members of International Rescue on active duty know what had happened. They needed their focus to be on saving survivors, not fearing for the lives of two of the most important people in their world.

Finally the rescue was over and Scott, having spent the many hours at the danger zone assisting Virgil, returned to Mobile Control. He was shocked to discover a warning light telling him that Thunderbird Two had been invaded. With no time to waste by alerting base to the possible calamity, he and his brother had advanced on the enemy. What they'd discovered when they'd burst into Thunderbird Two's cockpit, stun guns at the ready, were two small, frightened, wide-eyed children.

Virgil's immediate response to the situation was to explode. He told his children in no uncertain terms that they were irresponsible and inconsiderate and warned them that they were due for dire punishments when they got home. He demanded to know if they'd given consideration to what their absence meant to their mother and the rest of the family. He told them that being a Tracy and a member of International Rescue carried certain responsibilities that they were expected to live up to no matter what their age. He asked them how could they expect to be trusted if they behaved in such an irresponsible manner. He reminded them that the hangars and engineering workshops were dangerous places and that they were not to enter any of them without adult supervision.

He would have continued in this fashion for an indefinite period if Scott, recognising his brother's rant for what it really was, hadn't taken him by the shoulders, gently pointed him towards the radio, and made the quiet suggestion that he call home and let everyone know that everything was all right.

Stunned by their father's reaction the two children were even more shocked to when they saw their mother's frightened, tearful face appear on screen. By this point they were so ashamed that they barely acknowledged their uncle when he placed two booster seats on the co-pilot's chair and, after an enquiry to check that they were all right, strapped them in tightly with the safety harnesses before giving them each an energy bar to eat.

Then they were left alone while the two men departed to pack up International Rescue's equipment. They never heard their uncle ask their father if he felt capable of flying Thunderbird Two home, nor Virgil's reply that he was okay.

"Are you sure, 'cos I'm shaking like a leaf. I'd hate to think what you're like."

And Virgil had known that Scott knew exactly how shaken he was.

When he returned to the cabin for the final journey, Virgil didn't give his children any clue as to the emotions that were churning him up inside. He checked their harnesses, made a perfunctory enquiry to confirm that they were ready to leave, and claimed his pilot seat. After that he never said another word to the two young people behind him. Communications with the other Thunderbirds and base were short and succinct.

The children sat, waited, and accepted that the punishment that they were going to receive when they got home was inevitable. Their father's working jaw muscles and the whiteness of his knuckles on the control yoke seemed to confirm that they were going to be subject to something terrifying.

They felt a little better when, before they'd even had a chance to be released from their seats, their mother had boarded the great transporter and wrapped them up in her arms.

Their father stood back and said nothing.

He remained quiet through what remained of the day, barely interacting with his children. Not that anyone said much during the evening meal. The kids, too terrified of their upcoming punishment to even think about food and despite their earlier hunger, ate little.

Straight after their evening meal they were sent to bed.

They had lain there for what seemed to be hours, unable to sleep, when it had finally dawned on them that they hadn't done one vital thing that would hopefully be the first step in the long process of regaining the trust of their parents and the rest of the family.

They hadn't apologised for their actions.

Climbing out of bed they'd approached the door of their parents' bedroom. Then they'd stopped; hearing their father's voice. A voice that was rendered almost unrecognisable by pain and distress and…

Fear? It couldn't be fear. Their father was brave and strong and _never_ frightened!

"_I pointed my gun at children, Alice! And just not any children. __**My**__ children! __**Our**__ children!"_

Then they heard their mother's calm voice, trying to reassure her distraught husband. _"I know, Honey, but you didn't shoot them."_

"_I had my finger on the trigger. I could have hurt them!"_

"_You had your gun set to stun, didn't you?"_

"_Yes..."_

"_Then you couldn't hurt them."_

"_We don't know that! We don't know what effect it would have had on them_! _Those guns were designed for being used on adults, not kids!"_

"_Virgil, calm down. You didn't shoot them."_

"_But I could have!"_

"_You didn'..."_

"_My own children!"_

"_Virgil, they're all right. Stop beating yourself up over this."_

There was a moment's silence. Then: _"You didn't see the fear in their faces. They were terrified… Of me."_

"_Virgil, come to bed. You've had a stressful 24 hours with the rescue and everything and you need some rest. Things'll seem much better in the morning."_

Whether he started doing what he was told, the eavesdroppers couldn't tell. _"I've been in frightening situations before. But nothing like that. You've got no idea what it was like."_

"_No… No, I don't. I was too busy being frightened myself. Frightened that they were lost…"_ Their mother's voice rose in pitch. _"…or hurt, or... or..."_

Then they heard their father's calming response. The roles had been reversed. _"Come here, Honey. It's okay."_ There was what sounded like a muffled sob from their mother. _"They're okay…"_

"_I was so scared. I was imagining all kinds of dire scenarios."_

"_I know you were."_

"_We searched everywhere and couldn't find them!"_

"_I know…"_

The children decided that that was the moment to knock on the door. They had to wait a full minute before they were invited in.

Their father was there; his face impassive. Their mother was there too; her eyes red. The children stopped; not knowing what to say.

"What do you want?" Virgil's voice was quiet and unthreatening.

"We..." The children felt like they were choking on their own words. "We wanted to..."

"We had to..."

"We know what we did was wrong..."

"We wanted to see Thunderbird Two..."

"We wanted to pretend to be you..."

"But we didn't touch anything..."

"We didn't know that you were going to fly it..."

"We..."

"We..."

Their "we're sorry," was said in unison. After saying those two words more seemed to spill forth and the longer they talked the easier it became. They were sorry that they'd frightened their mother. They were sorry that they'd scared their father. They were sorry if they worried Uncle Scott and the rest of the family and offered to apologise to them as well. They knew that Poppa must be mad at them. They only wanted to explore and be like their dad and now they understood why it was wrong. They knew they deserved to be punished and would accept any punishment given to them. They offered the suggestion that their biannual flight in Thunderbird Two, a much loved birthday treat, be cancelled. They would do anything to make it up to their parents...

Finally their staccato speech, broken by their sobs, ground to a halt.

They waited.

Then Virgil got down on his knees so that he was at their eye level. "Come here," he said, and opened his arms out to them.

Finally they were wrapped in their father's strong, protective embrace. They heard him say: "apology accepted" and a huge weight was launched from their young shoulders. They felt their mother join them in the hug and all was right with the world. They would prove that they could be trusted. They would let their actions say what mere words only hinted at. They would show that they were worthy of the Tracy name and to be a part of the International Rescue.

They would never call their father Gustav…

-I-R-

The older versions of those two young people ran in from Thunderbird Two's launch bay and skidded to a stop. "Shoulda known you guys were in here."

Virgil frowned at his now adult offspring. "I didn't hear the alarm going."

One feigned surprise. "Alarm? What alarm?"

"He means the rescue alert," the other suggested.

"Does he?"

"I'm sure he must do."

"Well, I didn't hear it. Did you?"

"No."

"Guess you must be hearing things, Gus."

Virgil had been following the exchange like a tennis match. He'd once passed the idle comment about the unnerving way that his children seemed to know exactly what the other was thinking and had his own father chuckling. "Welcome to the world I've been living in all your life, Virgil."

Now Virgil folded his arms and tried to look stern. "You know what I'm talking about. It's dangerous running around here…"

"Because of all the machinery," they chorused, having heard the lecture many times.

"There are sharp edges everywhere…"

"And bits of metal…"

"And we get called out to enough emergencies…"

"That we don't need to create our own."

"Very good," Virgil acknowledged. "Now, since you know the drill off by heart, why were you running?"

"'Cos Thunderbird Three's on its way back with Uncle John and Aunty Emma. You two will need all that time to scrape the grease off yourselves. Then you might just be clean by the time we start the presentation…"

"Which'll be right after the plane from England gets here."

Alice had been examining the inner working of the Domo while they'd been talking. "Hand me the electrodriver, Honey."

His focus on the two young people, Virgil hadn't noticed his wife's activities. "Huh?"

"She means this, Gus." With a smirk the instrument was handed over. "You've got to get with the picture."

"Speaking of pictures," the conversation was side-tracked before Virgil could pass comment. "There's an Alice Ross retrospective on tonight."

"Oh, dear," Alice sighed. "Which monstrosities have they chosen?"

"_Hailing Dawn_ and _Gaslight._"

"Gaslight! That was a terrible movie!"

Virgil winked at his wife. "Apart from the leading lady."

Alice battered her eyelashes at him. "And that was only thanks to her welding tutor."

Their flirtation was interrupted. "What I don't get, Gus, is how come she always seems so much more into it when she kisses the guy on screen than when she kisses you?"

"Into it?!"

Alice ignored her husband's astonished reaction. "I did have _some_ acting talent and a bit of passion was what the audience expected to see. Plus, each and every one of my leading men were so insecure that they needed me to act like I was _into it_ to boost their fragile egos, while your father's secure enough that he doesn't need to have his ego propped up by anyone… Now… I think it's time we went and got washed up." She climbed out of the Domo.

The younger people seemed content with her explanation. "Did Aunty Tin-Tin say when the plane from England was getting here?"

"No. But it should be soon."

"Good."

"I can't wait to see Parker again. Let's go."

"We'd better walk this time."

"That's right. We don't want to cause an accident."

"No. It would spoil the afternoon…"

Virgil watched them go with an expression of bemused affection on his face.

Alice slipped her arms about him. "_And_," she continued, "I would never let _them_ see just how _into you _I am." She kissed her husband passionately.

"Are you acting now?" Virgil asked, when they finally came up for air.

She gave a seductive smile. "What do you think?"

"I think it's time we had a shower… together." Virgil smirked. "Then I can show you just how _into you_ I am…"

-F-A-B-

"How's she look, Steph?" Gordon asked.

His wife cast her eye over the readouts from the submarine's log. "Shipshape."

"A shipshape submarine." He grinned. "That's what I like to hear." Reaching across to flick a switch his grin reversed into a grimace.

"Are you all right?"

Gordon eased himself back upright. "I've been sitting too long. I've stiffened up."

"Let me take care of that." Two steps across the cabin and Stephanie was behind her husband, her hands massaging the tenseness from his shoulder muscles.

Gordon closed his eyes and allowed her ministrations to soothe his taut body. "Mmmn. If I'd known you had this skill the Adulium wouldn't have stood a chance." He relaxed.

"Gordon..."

"Mmm?"

"Do you think that...? Perhaps...?"

"What?"

"Your body is trying to tell you something?"

Gordon's eyes snapped open. "What?!"

"I mean that you can almost guarantee that the day after you've participated in a rescue you're going to seize up."

"Rescues aren't exactly picnics you know. They're demanding work."

"I know, but... Honey... You..."

"Don't say it!"

But Stephanie wasn't about to give up so easily. "You've got to consider this, Gordon. Your body has had lots of abuse through the years, especially from the concussive effects of the pod being dropped into the water, and I think it's telling you that it's had enough."

"What if I don't want to listen?"

"Then you'll wind up a crippled old man unable to enjoy life." Stephanie swung his pilot's chair about so that she was able to crouch down to his eyelevel. He looked away. "I want us to be able to enjoy our final years together. I don't like seeing you in pain."

"I'm not in pain. I'm a bit stiff, that's all."

"Some days you can barely walk!" Stephanie started massaging his legs. "Gordon! You've got to look after yourself!"

"I do look after myself."

Stephanie ignored his stubborn attitude. "You may not have to give up International Rescue. Why don't you cut back on the number of rescues you participate in?"

"I can't cut back. We don't use Thunderbird Four that often." Gordon glanced at the control panel as if he were afraid that he was being disloyal to his sub. "And I'm the lead aquanaut, remember."

"The operative word there is _lead_. You are the best, but nowadays you're not the only one capable of piloting Thunderbird Four... It's not like it was when the kids were born..."

_*** 21 years earlier_

When Gordon was first told that he and Stephanie were going to be the proud parents of triplets, it had been such a shock that he'd wandered around in a daze for days and had had to submit to comments about how they were breeding their own school and (when Stephanie wasn't present) jokes about how the Adulium must have worn off.

Eventually he'd got used to the idea.

That was until one day late in the pregnancy.

Because there was always a greater chance of early labour during multiple-birth pregnancies, as time had moved closer to "Triple-D-Day", as Gordon had dubbed it, he'd elected to stay home and let someone else take on his co-piloting roles in Thunderbird Two.

Murphy, and his law, wasn't content with this arrangement. Stephanie was close to full term when the emergency call had made its way to Thunderbird Five. A ship had sunk in deep Arctic waters with all hands on board. Word was that most, if not all of the crew had made it to an air pocket in one cabin, and that the ship had settled with this cabin pressed against the sea floor.

Only one organisation could save these men and within this organisation only one craft. And only one member had the skills to steer that craft to the rescue.

Gordon and Stephanie had agreed that he should go.

Thunderbird Four had only just reached the danger zone and was peering through the murky darkness as Gordon evaluated the situation when Murphy slapped a writ on the Tracy family.

Stephanie went into labour.

With Scott and Virgil flying their craft above the Arctic Ocean, John relaying communications via Thunderbird Five, and Gordon beneath the waves, that only left Alan, as pilot, and Tin-Tin, for moral and practical support, to escort the expectant mother to the birthing centre on the mainland.

Jeff had let Scott know what had happened. Scott, wishing he had to make any decision but that one, decided that he would not tell the father-to-be down below. He didn't tell Virgil either, theorising that the more people who knew, the greater the chance that Gordon might realise what was happening and lose concentration when and where he needed it most.

And so, blissfully unaware that his world was about to change forever, Gordon worked beneath the waves in the frigid depths. In the skies above him, Scott kept a parental watch of his own over his younger brother and made plans.

It had been a tricky rescue, one that had taken time and care, but, finally, all the sailors on board had been taken to the safety of another ship standing by. Once again International Rescue had achieved the impossible.

After weeks without any action, the successful rescue had Gordon buzzing more than a bee with a honey stomach full of nectar; so much so that he didn't take in Virgil's announcement that Thunderbird Two was returning to base and Scott's responding: "Negative."

It was only when Scott had ordered his brothers to prepare for an air-to-air transfer that Gordon had realised that something different was happening; but it wasn't until he'd been lowered from the gigantic transporter into her sister ship that he discovered exactly what that something was.

Scott's plan, and Gordon had to admit that it reached his brother's usual high standards (once he'd calmed down enough to comprehend it), was to make use of Thunderbird One's phenomenal speeds to get to the mainland. There Lady Penelope and Parker were waiting in FAB1 in a secluded cove far from prying eyes.

After another, more conventional transfer, Gordon had found him and his wetsuit soaking the seats of a Rolls Royce motor car and wishing that he could have eaten up the remaining miles in Thunderbird One. Lady Penelope, showing her habitual coolness and foresight, had handed him a newly purchased set of clothes and raised a partition between them so that he could change in relative privacy, if not ease.

Parker had done his best to keep to the speed limits for the entire journey and they made good time to their destination; even if it wasn't quick enough for Gordon who, with barely a word of thanks to his friends, launched himself out of the car faster than if he'd been attached to an ejector seat.

Alan was later to recollect that his brother had run into the facility looking like a seal trying outswim a hungry shark. Gordon's first real memory of the whole experience was of Alan lounging casually in the foyer; greeting him with an insolent grin and a laconic: "What's the hurry? Nothin's happening yet." Tin-Tin's overriding memories of the day, as she sat with Stephanie and reassured her that her husband would make it on time, was of Alan pacing up and down the corridor as if he were the expectant father, glancing at his watch as he tracked FAB1's progress, and muttering: "Come on, Gordon."

Once Gordon had taken the instructed deep breath to calm his nerves, Alan had led him down to the birthing suite, stopping outside the door. Then the younger man had turned to his brother. "Make the most of it, Gordon," he'd advised; his serious demeanour a complete contrast to the deliberately infuriating one that he'd used only moments earlier. "It's something you'll never forget. Just relax and enjoy it."

Then he'd pushed Gordon through the door and into an experience that was a million times more enthralling and uplifting than the day's successful rescue.

A few short hours later, Gordon had re-emerged to introduce his family to his three newborn children.

And International Rescue had started searching for a backup aquanaut in earnest.

-I-R-

All that happened 21 years ago and until recently Gordon had been looking forward to working alongside his offspring. But it looked like his body was telling him that that wasn't going to happen.

However Gordon had never let his mass of muscle, sinew and bone beat him in the past, and he wasn't about to let it happen now. At least not without a fight...

So long as it wasn't a fight to the death.

"Even if I wanted to quit... Which I don't," he added quickly. "I can't."

"You can't?" Stephanie frowned. "Why not?"

"Because none of my brothers are quitting International Rescue."

"True," Stephanie conceded, "but they are allowing others to step up. They realise that sometimes it's better to take a back seat."

"They can afford do that. Any of them can fly the Thunderbirds and operate the pod vehicles. Piloting Thunderbird Four's a specialist role. I'm the specialist."

"I know that. For many years they were interchangeable, while you were irreplaceable..."

"And now you're telling me I'm replaceable?"

"Of course not. But you know that Jean and Storm are capable of handling most rescues."

"Most, but not all. They don't have my experience."

"And they're never going to get it if they don't get the opportunity. I'm not saying that it's time to retire completely; just cut back. Give them the easy jobs and save yourself for the tricky ones where only the best will do..."

"Stephanie..."

Gordon's wife ignored his interruption. "As you said it's not as if Thunderbird Four is required all that often. You can still carry on as Thunderbird Two's co-pilot, while leaving them to do the easy marine rescues. That would keep you ready for when International Rescue needs your skills…"

"Steph..."

"And we'll be able to continue our research together. You love doing that, and it's easier on your body." Stephanie ran loving fingers through her husband's hair. "You've got to at least consider it, Gordon."

Gordon snapped. "I have been considering it and it's got to be all or nothing!"

A little surprised by his outburst, and leaning on Thunderbird Four's control panel for support, Stephanie got back to her feet. "All or nothing?" Something in his manner rang alarm bells and she crouched down again so she was closer to his eye-line. "Why?" She took his hand. "Honey?"

Gordon stared at his hand in hers. "Because it's Thunderbird Two's launches that are the killers. Virgil puts his foot down and it's like receiving an electric shock and being slammed by an iron bar all at once. It usually take the entire flight for me to recover... And then I've got to face the pod drop."

"Oh..." Stephanie reached out to touch him on the side of the face. "I didn't realise."

He still didn't look at her. "If I can't cope with the launches then I can't be out there. If I can't be out there then I can't operate Thunderbird Four. And if I can't operate Thunderbird Four then I…" He swallowed as if he was trying to bite back his next words. "I want to quit."

"You want to...? Or you need to?"

"I need to," Gordon whispered, his eyes still down.

"Then why don't you? Are you frightened you'll let the team down?"

"Yes. How can I walk away now with everything else that's going on?"

"They'll understand."

"Will they?"

"Of course they will! They know you give everything when you're on a rescue and that you wouldn't be making this decision without a good reason."

Gordon examined their interlocked fingers. "I love piloting Thunderbird Four... Staying home while someone else took control of her would be like watching someone else take you on a date."

His wife huffed. "Which is never going to happen."

"And…"

"And?"

Gordon sagged in his seat. "I was hoping to be the one to show Sally the ropes when she joins International Rescue. It's not like our kids are interested in specialising in water-based rescues."

"Sally's only just turned 15. She's not old enough to know what she wants to do with her life yet. And by the time she does decide on her future, she might not even want to join International Rescue. And if she does become a member, there's nothing to stop you showing her the ropes. But you want to make sure that you're fit enough to do so when the time comes." Stephanie moved to her husband's side and put her arm about his shoulders. "Talk to your brothers, Gordon, and tell them that this is what you want. Talk to Jean and Storm. You'll work it out between you."

He nodded. "I will."

Stephanie kissed him on the top of the head. "Good."

Pulling his thunderbird locket from under his shirt, Gordon held it up so his wife could see it. "You know, when Dad gave me this before we set out to stop Doomsday, I thought that he was wasting his money because I would never use it the way he intended." Using his fingernail he opened the two clamshell halves and tipped the contents onto his palm. "I'm glad I was wrong." He slipped his wedding ring onto his finger. "Thanks."

The kiss on his lips was more intense than the one on his head. "You're welcome."

Gordon levered himself out of the pilot's seat and started tidying up. "I'm surprised that Virgil's still hanging in there."

"Me too. Has he said anything about quitting?"

"I asked him that and he said he wants to maintain some continuity. I think it's because he wants to work with his kids."

"It can't be because he doesn't trust them. They've only got into trouble once and that was when they were children. Unlike ours..." Stephanie pointed through Thunderbird Four's viewscreen. Grotesque faces were pressed up against the plexiglass.

"Oh, look. It's the three Stooges."

There were times over the past 21 years when the uncles of the identical triplets had wondered if Gordon succeeded in pulling off the ultimate prank. Especially when all three showed that they'd inherited their father's mischievous streak and were prepared to use their similarities to their advantage. Many a time a member of the Tracy household had been convinced that they'd been dealing with one of Gordon's children, only to discover that the one that they thought they'd been working with was doing something totally different on the other side of the complex.

To try and wrestle some control back they had nicknamed the triplets after the world's oceans, but the nomenclature had backfired on them when they discovered that "Pacific" had an unpeaceful tendency to explode in anger. Not only that, but "Indian", which was quickly shortened to Indie, could be cool and moody, while "Atlantic" was invariably warm and engaging.

Taking care to hide his aches and pains from his offspring, Gordon opened the cabin's top hatch and stuck his head out. "What do you guys want and why does it involve making my sub's windows dirty?"

"Aunty Tin-Tin says that Thunderbird Three's halfway back," Atlantic announced.

At least Gordon thought it was Atlantic. There were some days when even he wasn't one hundred percent who was who, especially in the less than optimal light of pod four. There were times when he had to rely on analysing subtle body shape differences and differentiating marks and freckles – like the small scar on the side of Indie's face where it had come into contact with a bit of wood thrown in anger by Pacific. It had been days before the pair had kissed and made up.

But that was years ago. Nowadays the trio were as close as a family could be. Close and determined to be members of International Rescue. So determined that Gordon realised that, out of respect for the recipient of this afternoon's presentation, and to avoid all chances of confusion, each was wearing a kind of uniform of their own devising: jackets emblazoned with their initials. "I see you're dressed for the occasion."

"Unlike you," Indie told him.

Gordon looked at his watch. "We've got plenty of time." He looked over at the jacket with the letter P. "I hope you've got something special made."

Pacific grinned. "Datuk and I have made all of his favourites... Plus one or two surprises."

Gordon nodded his approval. Pacific might not have had the personality to work closely with others or was as willing as the rest of the family to take the risks that were a necessary part of being an International Rescue operative, but if an army marched on its stomach, then International Rescue flew on its and feeding the large team was important. Having an extra cook on the crew also meant that Kyrano was finally getting the freedom to relax and potter about in his garden.

Atlantic was working on a technology degree and Indie was attending an advanced paramedic course. Both were hoping that their skills would make them invaluable to International Rescue and that they would soon be out on the 'front line'.

Gordon hoped this too. But now he knew that he wouldn't be working alongside them.

-F-A-B-

Buried, as usual, deep in his laboratory, Brains looked up from his latest invention and smiled at the lady opposite. Even now, over 20 years into their marriage, he couldn't quite believe that he'd met a woman who was almost his IQ equal and, and Brains found this to be even more of a miracle, he had wanted to get to know better until he'd plucked up the courage to marry her. Even more startling was the 17-year-old who was working in the adjacent room.

As if she felt his eyes on her, Jayne looked at him over her spectacles and returned his smile. "Analysis?"

They often played that game. Whereas normal, everyday, non-science-focussed people would have asked "What's up?" or offered an idiomatic "penny for your thoughts", the couple liked to treat each exchange like a scientific discussion.

"I, er, was analysing the random nature of mutual attraction and its effects on individuals."

"Method?"

"Analysing physical and physiological reactions of the test subject at varying distances between said subject and target."

"Findings?"

"The test subject experienced pleasurable sensations associated with propagation of the species that went beyond that objective and showed a predilection towards maintaining the status quo. Its appreciation of the target shows a leaning towards the desire to continue their symbiotic relationship."

Jayne laughed.

No other woman had interested or intrigued Brains as she had. Tin-Tin had been a much appreciated assistant, but there were times when Brains had the feeling that she hadn't understood a lot of what he was saying. He also knew that her range of expertise was, comparatively speaking, limited.

Jayne on the other hand, was a delight to get into a deep technical, scientific discussion with, because she was in many ways his equal... And if she found he was getting too intense or fixated on the debate, or his extra IQ points were providing him with the winning argument, she was guaranteed to gain the upper hand again by kissing him. He had never realised that the joining together of lips, with the associated potential threat of the transfer of dangerous bacteria and lethal viruses from the exchange of body fluids, could be so enthralling and addictive.

It also helped that even after all these years, to Brains at least, she was stunningly beautiful.

"Dad..."

Brains turned towards the young man standing in the doorway. "Yes?"

"Can you help me with something?"

"Of course, Earnest..."

Brains knew that his son's intellect wasn't in the same league as the boy's mother or himself, but he didn't care. The younger man was no dunce and was proving to be a more rounded individual than either of his parents. He also had the advantage of being totally relaxed in social situations that would have sent Brains running a mile to escape.

"Datuk says that you helped him formulate the process..."

As Brains listened he felt a familiar warm glow inside him. Kyrano permitting _his_ son to call him by the same name as his own grandchildren, and Jeff Tracy insisting that Earnest call him "Poppa", had confirmed just how close the Tracys were to being family. Brains had lost his own family at a young age and the knowledge that, should the unthinkable happen to him and Jayne, Earnest would not be alone in the world was both a relief and a source of gratification.

Earnest wasn't as interested in the sciences as his parents, with one exception. He loved the science of cooking. Earnest by name and earnest by nature, he wasn't only intrigued by the subtle interweaving of tastes and textures to create the perfect dish, but, spurred on by his "Uncles" John and Alan's tales of how the thing they'd missed most of all during their Doomsday deployments was fresh food, he had already embarked on a crusade to discover something better than freeze dried rations. Brains knew that the boy had many years of research ahead of him before he could hope to improve on Kyrano's creations, but already Earnest was learning all he could from his mentors.

And now the young man was explaining some of Kyrano's processes and asking if tweaking them in some way would be an improvement. Brains, with Jayne's input, gave him a measured response, and the boy went away happy and with something new to try.

Brains gave a sigh of contentment. Things couldn't get much better than this. Even if their world was about to undergo a major upheaval.

-F-A-B-

Scott Tracy stood on the balcony of his home and looked out over the Pacific Ocean. The breeze ruffled his snowy white hair, and he smoothed it back into place. He was now at that stage in his life that the media delighted in calling "elderly".

Not that he cared. In their rare bursts of competitive energy he could still keep up with his brothers, even if the younger members of International Rescue left them all in their dust. All that mattered was that he was fit for his age and that his brain was still as sharp as it ever was. Sharp: with the added advantage of years of experience.

A pair of arms slipped about his waist. "Penny for your thoughts."

"Thank you." Chuckling, Scott twisted within the embrace so he could wrap his own arms about his captor.

"What were you thinking about?"

"Just thinking."

"_Scott Tracy: Man of action_ does not just think."

He pretended to pout. "Aren't I allowed a moment's quiet introspection?"

"After a rescue, yes. But your last one was a complete success." His wife laid her head against his chest, enjoying the comforting warmth and feeling of security. In her younger years this was something that she'd lacked in her life and, believing at the time that she had no need for such companionship, it surprised her how much joy it brought her. She felt like a pussy cat curled up in his arms. "What were you thinking about, Honey?"

"Just remembering the past and thinking about the future."

She looked up. "Regrets already?"

"No. This is the right time."

"Are you sure?"

"My mind's telling me this is the right thing to do. My heart's telling me this is the right thing to do. And," Scott grimaced, "often my body tells me this is the right thing to do. There's a reason why I've been spending most of my time at Mobile Control. Besides, if we're retiring Thunderbird One, then it only makes sense that her pilot should retire too."

"Wouldn't you like the opportunity to fly the new One?"

"She's Kim's baby."

"That was _not_ an answer to my question."

"Kim's guided the new craft right through from conception to completion and has had just as much input as I have, if not more. I've no right to assume control just because I've been involved with the organisation for longer. Besides, it's not as if I'm leaving International Rescue. I just won't be working at the coalface."

"No. You won't be at the coalface… or in the coalface… or under the coalface."

Scott chuckled.

"Do you think your brothers will continue with International Rescue?"

"I think Virgil will hang in there until the new Thunderbird Two comes on line. Then he'll be happy to carry on doing maintenance and R&amp;D. John would probably be rather live out his days in Thunderbird Five until he keels over and we roll him out of an airlock and into space. Gordon…" Here Scott lost his jocular manner and frowned. "I think Gordon's struggling physically, but he doesn't want to let anyone down. Virgil's been trying to make the pod drops as non-concussive as he can, but if the seas are rough that's not always possible. And, and don't tell anyone this, I was talking to Virgil during Thunderbird Two's launch yesterday and when they took off I swear Gordon went white from the force of the thrust."

His wife looked at him in concern. "Was he in pain?"

"I imagine so. I would have pulled him out of the rescue, but by then it was too late. I hate to think what sort of discomfort he's in during pod drops. When we redesign Two we're going to have to come up with a better system of launching Thunderbird Four." Scott bit his lip. "One of the first things I'm going to have to do is have a meeting with him to discuss his future with International Rescue."

"What will you tell him?"

"That we don't want to lose him, but that I know that his position is becoming untenable. But I hope that he'll be the one to make the decision that he can't carry on. I don't want to have to tell him that I'm standing him down. He'll hate me, and not just for being a mother hen."

"I'm sure he would realise that you were doing it for his own good, and the good of the team. If he is unable to function properly he could jeopardise the safety of others."

Scott sighed. "Don't I know it. But it won't be the same without Gordon."

"Things are not going to be the same without you. What do you think Alan will do? Will he carry on?"

"Alan…?" Scott gave a derisive snort. "He's just a kid."

"He is much older than you were when you started International Rescue."

"I know, but he's got years left in him yet."

The breeze caught his hair again, and she reached up to smooth it back as he'd done earlier. "I love your hair."

"My hair? It makes me look over a hundred!"

"You are as fit as a man half your age and your hair doesn't make you look old at all. It gave you an aura of maturity and inspires confidence. I'm sure it is part of the reason why you are able to reassure people and keep them calm when you are on a rescue."

Scott had to admit that what his wife said made sense. He'd noticed that people reacted to him differently now than they had when International Rescue had started out 40 years earlier.

"I think it's what first drew me to you. I know you are not just some fly-by-night pilot."

Scott grinned. "No. I fly by day, too." He gave her a gentle kiss. "You asked me what I was thinking about before."

"I did."

"I was wishing that I'd found you earlier."

"We never connected."

"I know, but we wasted too many years not _connecting_."

"The timing was wrong. I was wrapped up in my world and you in yours."

"I suppose so, but it seems crazy now."

"Yes, it does," she agreed. "I am glad that I, ah, discovered what was so special about you before I left it too late."

Scott smiled. "That's one reason why I'm moving away from active duty. I want to make up for lost time and enjoy your company."

"We may grow tired of each other."

"Never! I love the way that you relax around me. You let me in behind that wall you've erected against the world."

She seemed displeased. "You mean I let my standards slip?"

"No. You let me see the real you that you hide away from everyone else. I feel incredibly privileged."

"And so you should."

Scott laughed.

"_Mum… Dad…"_

"Out here, Sally!"

Their fifteen-year-old daughter ran out onto the balcony as her parents released their hold of each other. Her hair was dark as her father's had been, but otherwise her looks came from the maternal side of the family; except that beneath her aquatic-themed t-shirt she was beginning to develop in ways that showed the influence of another member of the family. "Aunty Tin-Tin says Thunderbird Three will be home soon."

"When it will be time for the changing of the guard," her mother commented. "I wonder if Tin-Tin shall require any assistance."

"No, she says that everything's under control. We're only waiting on the planes from England and the States to arrive." Sally rubbed her hands together. "I can't wait to see Parker again. I love hearing his stories."

Her mother laughed. "I should be cautious about what he tells you."

Sally looked surprised. "Does he make them up?"

"No... But he has been known to exaggerate the facts."

"Did he really go to prison?" Sally had only recently been initiated into her family's history and her eyes went round at the thought that a convicted criminal had been invited to stay at the civic-minded Tracys' residence.

"Yes, he did. But that was a long time before I knew him."

"Well, I still like him."

"So do we."

Sally made a half turn to leave before she stopped. She turned back to Scott. "Dad..."

"Yes?"

"Could you ask Uncle Gordon to stop singing _Mustang Sally_ at me?"

Scott chuckled. "Is it the song or his singing you don't like?"

"The song's so old!" Sally screwed up her face. "And his singing's awful!"

This time Scott laughed. "He's only teasing you, you know that."

"I know."

"Then why don't you ask him to stop?"

"Because..." Sally looked awkward. "I like him."

"And you don't want to hurt his feelings?"

"Yes."

Scott nodded. "Alright, Hon, I'll ask him to stop singing it."

Sally's face brightened. "Thanks."

Scott had an idea. "I was thinking of flying over to the Atlantic base this Saturday. Would you like to join me?"

"Nope," Sally responded, with a typical teenager's disregard for anyone but themselves. "Uncle Gordon said he's going to take me scuba diving off Moon Reef. He says there's a cave there we can explore."

"Oh..." Scott only just managed to avoid looking disappointed. "Maybe some other time?"

Sally shrugged. "When do you think the plane from England's going to get here?"

"I didn't hear exactly what time it left," her father admitted as he looked at his watch. "Maybe in quarter of an hour?"

"Good. I'll go and wait." Sally flounced out of the room.

With a wry expression, Scott watched her leave; before turning to the lady at his side. "She'd rather go diving with Gordon than fly with her old man! Are you sure that's my kid?"

His wife smirked. "One time when you were on duty on Thunderbird Five, Gordon and I had a tumble together."

"I'm sure that was wet and wild."

Her response was a silvery laugh. "You believe me?"

"Nope. I trust you, just like I trust Gordon. I know neither of you would do anything to hurt Stephanie or me..." Scott pulled her closer. "Plus all those hours at the clinic were a bit of a giveaway."

"_They'll be here in quarter of an hour!"_ They heard the shout from beneath them and looked down in time to see Sally run across to her cousins.

"Ride, Sally, ride," Scott sang and received a scolding.

"You promised Sally that you would ask Gordon to stop that. That does not mean that you have a licence to start."

"Singing without a licence. What a horrendous crime!" Scott grinned. "The only problem is; I'm not going to be able to get that tune out of my mind now."

"Do you think we ought to go and get changed?"

Scott checked his watch again. "Probably. Tin-Tin's got it planned like a military exercise."

"She wants it to be special."

"We all want it to be something special. It just doesn't have to be done by the numbers."

"And this is from a former Air Force man."

"The operative word being former." Scott started walking towards their bedroom. "I don't plan on being that regimented. I learnt long ago that you've got to be flexible in this game. It's worked all these years and there's no need to change now." He got to the door and stopped, gesturing that his wife should enter first with a bow. "After you, my Lady."

"Thank you, kind sir."

He grimaced as he followed her into the room. "Don't mention _sir._"

She held up two outfits. "Which one do you think I should wear? The pink or the pink?"

"Either. You'll look great in both of them, Penny..."

-F-A-B-

Tin-Tin Tracy stood on the balcony of the Tracy Villa and looked skyward. Had it really been 25 years ago that she's stood on this very spot and strained her eyes as she peered through the rain for the first sight of her returning husband? Then, she'd been pregnant. Today… She looked back down at the scene before her, noticing the changes to the landscape.

As the Tracy family had multiplied further homes had been built around the villa to accommodate the growing number of children. Once 'outsiders' had been admitted into International Rescue's fold it had been decided to house them on neighbouring Mu'a, and the two islands had been connected by an underwater monorail – created courtesy of several training sessions in the Mole. This helped maintain the illusion that Tracy Island was populated by Tracys, while Mu'a was a separate tropical hideaway.

She could see her adult offspring and their cousins waiting by the pool for the expected aeroplane from England. She watched as Earnest pretended to push one of Gordon's triplets (she wasn't sure which one) into the pool and then run away laughing. She couldn't even imagine Brains contemplating such a daring stunt. Another triplet was sketching something – that had to be Atlantic who was the only one with any artistic talent, while the third was in a five-way conversation with Virgil's two children, John's daughter, and Tin-Tin's youngest child.

It didn't seem that many years ago when there were no children on the island and she found herself reminiscing about when she discovered that the first was on the way...

Initially she'd thought it was stress and hard work that was bringing about those changes, but it didn't take her long to realise that it might be the result of something more significant. She remembered the mixed feelings she felt when she saw the first positive test. She and Alan had been trying without success to have a child, and the discovery that they might be going to have one at the worst time imaginable was both a shock and a delight.

It had been days before she'd plucked up the courage to tell Alan that they were going to have a baby. Alan had stared at her and she could almost see the wheels turning in his mind as he tried to process and evaluate what he'd just been told. His silence had seemed to go on forever and for one horrible moment she wondered if he was going to tell her to terminate it.

Then he'd given a bashful grin. "I'm sorry, Honey, but I'm tired and my mind was on fitting out Thunderbird Three. What did you say?"

"I want to see a professional and confirm it, but I think I may be pregnant."

She'd been so unsure of his reaction that she had been unprepared for his exclamation of joy and the way that he'd grabbed her and twirled her about in delight, before placing her back on the ground with an apology and a concerned query to see if he'd hurt her or the baby. He had then proceeded to tell her all the wonderful things that they were going to do as a family.

"Alan…"

They were going to have picnics, and go camping…

"Alan…"

…and he'd build them all go karts and they'd have races on the island's runway, and he'd get to do all the fantastic things that he'd done with his dad.

"But Alan..."

He'd grabbed her by the hand and started to drag her to the door. "Let's go and tell the guys."

"No!"

"What?"

"We can't."

He'd stopped. "You're right. We should tell our fathers first. Can we call mine before we tell yours?"

She didn't want to squash his euphoria, but she knew that she had to bring him back down to their precarious situation on Earth. "Alan, what about Doomsday?"

"Doomsday?"

"We cannot tell anyone. You know what your brothers are like. They will insist that I take it easy and we cannot afford for me to do that; not if we are going to have any chance to get everything ready before we leave for the asteroid."

Alan had lapsed into reflective thought as she'd made her statement and it was a moment after she'd finished speaking before he finally looked back at her. "You can't be serious."

It was Tin-Tin's turn to misunderstand. "I know you want to tell everyone, and so do I, but we cannot now. At least not until we have confirmed that I am pregnant. It might be stress causing a false positive."

He'd shaken his head. "I mean you can't be serious about coming with me to deflect Arnie."

Tin-Tin hadn't even considered not going. "We don't have to change our plans."

"Yes we do." His head shake had become even more emphatic. "You can't come with me." Then he'd raised his hand to caress the side of her face and she still remembered the sadness in his eyes. "I'm gonna miss you so much."

"But I am coming with you!"

"No, Tin-Tin. I can't allow that."

"Alan..."

"I'm going to find Scott now and tell him that you're not going."

"Alan! No!"

26 years later, Tin-Tin was glad that Alan had made that decision. At first she'd been furious with him, but, once her pounding heart and mind had settled after their chase through the complex, she'd known that he was correct. Years later, after she'd stood in Thunderbird Three at Emma and John's side and seen the fear in the faces as their first child had made his premature appearance, she'd even thanked her husband for his clear-headed reaction to her news.

But now in the 22nd century she looked down into the courtyard and saw her father walk out of the villa and across to speak to her children. He was slower than he had been 26 years ago, but he still carried himself erect and with dignity. His love for his grandchildren was obvious to everyone and had started from the moment that he'd first discovered of their existence.

The day after Tin-Tin had told Alan of her possible pregnancy, she'd left the island to have her suspicions confirmed. As an excuse for her departure she'd insinuated to Brains that she'd had been given a task to do by the Tracys, while inferring to her brothers-in-law that she was on a mission for Brains. She'd told Kyrano that she had important International Rescue business to attend to.

None of them had doubted her.

She had never lied to her father before and had wondered if he would be annoyed when she had returned that evening and he learned the truth behind her hasty departure from home.

He had been overjoyed.

His cry of delight had been heard from the hallway and Brains, who had been passing, had stopped to enquire if all was well. Alan and Tin-Tin had made hasty excuses and shut the door in his face before Kyrano had the chance to let their secret escape.

However it wasn't until the battles against Doomsday and Arnie had been fought and won and Alan had returned home that Tin-Tin was able to feel the same level of elation.

Reminiscing about that intense period in their lives reminded Tin-Tin of her future sister-in-law's kidnap and the way her father had risked so much to go to the rescue. The discovery of the identity of the kidnapper had been more than a little disquieting and for years Tin-Tin had carried a not so deep-seated dread that someday her uncle would use similar tactics on her own children. That was until nearly a decade ago.

Kyrano had not been well and Tin-Tin had feared the worst as he deteriorated day after day. She devoted herself to caring for her father, just as he had cared for her when she was a young girl suffering from some childish malady.

One day, two weeks into his malaise, Kyrano had slipped into an almost comatose state and as everyone prepared themselves to say goodbye to a loyal friend and family member, Tin-Tin had stayed by his side, reluctant to miss a second of his final moments.

She was shocked when he'd suddenly sat up in bed. "I am free."

"Bapa?" Tin-Tin had reached out for his hand. "Father? What is wrong?"

He'd turned to look at her and she'd been almost scared by the expression of peaceful joy that had transformed his face. "Nothing is wrong, my daughter."

"Nothing?"

"Never again will my brother use me. Do not fear him any longer, for he is unable to harm you or your children."

For some reason Tin-Tin had had no problems in accepting his statement, however implausible it sounded. "Unable to harm us? Do you mean that he is dead?"

"Yes, Tin-Tin, he is gone. He has died as he lived."

"I am glad." Tin-Tin had known that it wasn't exactly the thing to say to ones father about the recent death of his half-brother, but it was the truth.

"I understand. But I ask that you also pity him."

"Pity him?" Tin-Tin had been aghast by the idea. "How many people has he hurt for his own desires? Father, he was the man behind the bomb on the Fireflash's maiden voyage! He could have killed hundreds, including me. Millions, when you consider the radiation fall out."

"I know this, but he failed. Just as all like him must ultimately fail. But in his selfishness he has not permitted himself to experience the real riches of life. He has never known what it is like to know true friendship. He has never known the joy of holding his daughter in his arms and feeling her love for him and the love he has for her. And for this I pity him. I ask you to do the same."

As she'd explained to Alan that evening, Tin-Tin had been unable to accede to her father's request.

Alan had looked at her. "Why not?"

"He was an evil man. He tried to kill my father and he tried to kill me. If he'd found this island he probably would have killed us all."

"True. And I'm not sorry that he's gone, but your father makes a good point. Can you imagine what life must be like to not have someone to love and who loves you? To not have friends?"

Tin-Tin had tried to imagine what a loveless, friendless, life would have been like, and failed. She wouldn't have given up her life or family for anything.

But she still couldn't forgive the man who had caused so much misery.

Looking down to a group of chairs beside the pool Tin-Tin saw her eldest child deep in conversation with Sally.

Tin-Tin couldn't help but smile at the irony of the scene. She remembered the way that the youngest of the Tracy boys had idolised his big brother. Now Alan's daughter was mentoring Scott's, and the youngest in the Tracy family was gazing at the eldest in exactly the same way.

Then both looked up and pointed. Tin-Tin allowed her eyes to follow their line of sight and was relieved to see a tiny flash of light in the sky. Looking back down she saw her daughter desert her cousin and sprint towards the house.

Tin-Tin sighed. She was going to have to be quick if she was going to get to Thunderbird Three's crew arrival point first.

They arrived in the lounge together; the younger puffing slightly after her dash up the outside steps. "Are they here yet?"

Tin-Tin folded her arms. "You saw Thunderbird Three returning and you know how long it will take them to get here. You have done it often enough yourself."

"It's just that I'm excited about the whole thing. I want to start the presentation."

"I know." Tin-Tin kissed her daughter on the forehead. "And I also know that he will be just as thrilled to receive it."

"When will we do it?"

"Give them," Tin-Tin indicated the couch, "time to get freshened up first."

"Freshen up? Dad's idea of freshening up is to throw on a clean pair of coveralls! And Uncle John's nearly as bad."

"Your dad used to be quite a follower of fashion."

There was a snorted laugh. "I know; I've seen the photographs. Those shirts! And I'm sure he wore that pink tie with everything."

Realising that she was fighting a losing battle, Tin-Tin gave up. "Then at least give Aunty Emma a chance to tidy herself up," she requested. "Besides, the plane from England hasn't arrived yet."

At that moment there was a quiet beeping sound and the couch sunk down into the floor. One minute later it was replaced by its twin, occupied by three smiling faces.

Tin-Tin was about to greet them with a civilised hello, when her daughter rushed forward and, grabbing their hands, pulled her uncle and aunt off the seat. "Mumia says you've got to go and get freshened up before the presentation. You too, Dad."

John resisted the tug. "Oh, she does, does she?" With a sideways glance towards Tin-Tin he sat down again and folded his arms against further attack.

Tin-Tin sighed. "No, she does not. I just thought that you would like to before the plane from England gets here."

"Don't forget Parker's not as young as he used to be," Alan cautioned. "He may want a rest after his flight."

His daughter dismissed his caution with a careless wave. "Please, Uncle John. We want to start as soon as possible."

John looked up at her with an infuriating grin. "I'm not as young as I used to be either and I've just had a long flight from Thunderbird Five. I think I might just sit here and rest."

"Oh!" His niece stamped her foot in frustration.

But John forgot his teasing when a young man strode into the room. Beaming, he stood to greet the newcomer. "You made it before us!"

His son grinned. "Only just. My new plane's like a rocket... Hi, Ma." He kissed Emma.

"It's as fast as Thunderbird Three?" John chuckled. "Has Uncle Scott seen it yet?"

"Nope. I thought I'd better hide it from him until after the presentation. I'm under strict orders that I'm not to do anything to disrupt proceedings."

His cousin glared at him. "And you'd better not."

He gave her a mock salute. "Yes, ma'am," and laughed at her expression of frustration. "You should have seen how disappointed everyone looked when they realised that it was only me in that plane. I reckon that if it had been Parker you would have all forgotten that I was on the way and started without me." He indicated his parents and Alan. "They probably would have started without you too."

"When _are_ we starting, Tin-Tin?" Emma asked. "I wouldn't mind freshening up first."

Tin-Tin looked at her watch. "We'll wait and see how Parker feels after his flight."

There was the sound of pounding feet and Sally ran into the room. "He's here! He's here!"

"He is?!" With an excited yelp, the blur that was Alan and Tin-Tin's daughter made a dash for the doorway.

John chuckled. "She's definitely inherited your gift of speed, Alan." Placing his arm about his son's shoulders they started walking towards the door. "Tell us everything you've been up to…"

Left alone, Alan turned to Tin-Tin. "I like your new dress."

She dimpled at him. "You noticed?"

"I always notice. You still look as beautiful as the day I married you."

"You are teasing me, Alan. I lost that figure years ago. Giving birth to two children ensured that."

"You're still beautiful." He stepped closer, slipping his arms about her. "Thank you."

"Thank you?" Tin-Tin looked surprised. "Thank you for being beautiful?"

"Thank you for insisting that I don't give up on International Rescue. You were right that I wouldn't want any other life."

Tin-Tin laughed. "It has taken you many years to realise that I am right."

"And because of you I've had many years of wonderful memories…" Alan gave a wicked grin before, moving with the sort of speed that he coaxed from Thunderbird Three, he swept her off her feet and into his arms. "Come on. Let's go relive some of them."

"Alan! We've got guests!"

"The kids will entertain them. Let's go entertain ourselves before we're invaded and can't get any privacy."

"There is a lock on the bedroom door. That will give us privacy tonight. Now put me down! "

Alan dropped her back to her feet and then groaned, holding his back. "That's not as easy as it used to be."

Tin-Tin pouted. "Are you saying I am getting fat?"

"Nope. Just that I'm not as young as I was."

His wife frowned. "Are you thinking of giving up too?"

Alan's grin was reassuring. "No chance. Someone's got to keep those youngsters in line."

"Good." She gave him a peck on the cheek. "Then go and get washed. I've left a clean uniform on the bed."

"Clean uniform?" Alan seemed genuinely astonished. "I'm already in uniform, why do I need to get changed?"

Tin-Tin sighed. "Your daughter was right about you… Because you've been wearing that one for hours." She screwed up her delicate nose and sniffed his shirt. "And we've never really successfully deodorised Thunderbird Three after that four months you spent in space."

"Are you saying that I stink?" Alan drew himself up until he was an inch of dignified indignation taller. "I resent that."

Tin-Tin nuzzled his ear. "What would it take to get you out of that uniform?" she whispered.

The wicked grin returned. "Shall we go to the bedroom and discuss it?"

"I suppose we could. Parker will probably want a rest after the trip anyway..."

-F-A-B-

The stampede of young Tracys that ran across the runway to the aeroplane slowed and then stopped when they realised that they weren't the first ones to arrive. Knowing that it was what was expected of them, they hung back and waited.

A door swung open on the aeroplane and, after a moment's pause, a platform extended out from the fuselage, carrying an elderly man; one hand holding onto the handrail, the other using a cane as support. "Good day, m'Lady," he said when the lift touched the ground.

"It is lovely to see you again, Parker." Lady Penelope stepped forward to greet him. "How are you?"

"H-I'm a box o' fluffies. H-And 'ow h-are you?"

"I am well."

"H-And 'ow h-are you..." Parker's eyes twinkled as he turned to the man at her side, "Sir Scott."

Scott groaned. "Parker, please... It's an archaic system that should have been abolished years ago, not extended so that the husbands of aristocratic ladies automatically get a title. America had a civil war with England to get away from such things and I was born American. Just call me Scott. Okay?"

"H-Okie-dokie, Mister Scott."

Scott, realising that that was as good as he was going to get, gave up and went to help the pilot of the air taxi at the refuelling station.

Parker turned back to his former mistress. "You're lookin' well, m'Lady. Married life suits you."

"Indeed it does, Parker."

"How's the nipper?"

"She is not much of a, er, nipper now." Lady Penelope indicated the impatient group and the younger members of the Tracy family decided that that was their invitation to come forward; which they did at speed and with much chatter.

"How are you, Parker?"

"Did you have a good flight, Parker?"

"Will you tell us about the time you tried to steal the Crown Jewels, Parker?"

"Whoa! Give the man some space," Scott ordered. "How about taking his bags up to the house? You can badger him later."

After a few grumbles the younger people obeyed him, leaving the three older members of the group to enjoy a more leisurely walk towards the monorail.

Lady Penelope raised a delicately crafted eyebrow. "The Crown Jewels, Parker?"

"Erm… Yes, m'Lady. Y'see there was this pub in Catford called the Crown. The landlady was fond of 'er bit 'o bling, most of which was nicked by 'er tea leaf h-of a 'usband. H-I, er, nicked 'em back h-again."

"How very civic minded of you. I am sure that Robin Hood would have welcomed you into his merry band."

He gave her a lopsided grin.

Scott opened the door to the monocar and indicated that the others should enter. "You know one of us could have collected you, Parker."

"You was busy yesterday," Parker reminded him. "H-I didn't want to 'old things h-up. 'Sides, h-it's gettin' cooler h-in H-England. H-I was lookin' forward to gettin' somewhere with some warmth."

"Don't forget that you're always welcome to come and live here."

"Thank you, Sir..." Parker saw Scott's warning glare, "Mister Scott. But me h-and a widda woman h-at the rest 'ome 'ave h-an h-understanding..." He winked. "H-If you get my drift."

They got his drift.

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

"Well, that's another successful rescue," Jeff Tracy told the microphone. "You'll pass on my congratulations to the rest of the team?"

"I'll be glad to," the face on the computer screen told him. "We're pleased that we were able to send you off on a positive note."

"Thank you. I've got to admit that I'm looking forward to the rest."

"After what you've done over the years you deserve it, although I'm sure you'll continue to keep an eye on things."

Jeff chuckled. "I daresay I won't be able to stop myself. Scott may have to bolt the door to keep me out of here."

His opposite number laughed. "It's been a privilege working with you, Jeff. And on a personal note, I'd like to say thank you for trusting me to lead this section of your team."

"I know that the Atlantic branch of International Rescue is in good hands. I only wish we could see into the future. Then maybe you'd all be able to join us tonight."

"Duty calls. And we'll be celebrating with you in spirit, if not in person."

"I'll appreciate that. This is Jeff Tracy of International Rescue headquarters, Pacific base, signing off."

"Atlantic base out."

Smiling to himself, Jeff set down the microphone. He may have been close to a century old and had endured a major health crisis during his life, but he was in good shape for his age. Still it was time for him to stand down from International Rescue.

He knew now that both he and Scott had wanted to make these changes for a long time, but that neither had been willing to broach the subject for fear of hurting the other. He'd been worried that his son would think that he believed that he was no longer capable of manning Mobile Control, and Scott had worried that his father would think that he was pushing him out of the organisation.

It was Scott who'd brought it to a head with a casual: "I think it's time I retired from active duties."

"I've been thinking that it's time I retired from being overall commander. Do you want the job?"

"If you think I'm up to it."

"I think there's no one more capable."

And that had been that.

Smiling at the memories, Jeff turned before stopping in surprise.

Every member of International Rescue was standing before him.

After a moment to collect himself he realised that it wasn't every member; just those who'd been with International Rescue since its inception and their families. He noted that those who were formal members of the organisation were dressed in uniform.

"What's all this?" He raised a quizzical eyebrow. "Are you planning on throwing me out early? By my reckoning I've still got," he looked at his watch, "three hours in command."

Scott grinned. "No. I'm not in a hurry to take over, but we wanted today to be special, so we've got a little celebration planned."

Jeff frowned. "I thought that's why we were having a party this evening."

"It is, but this is just from us. The rest of the team will be over from Mu'a later." Scott looked over to his niece as Alan guided his eldest daughter forward.

"Erm... Poppa..." She seemed nervous. "You know the book I've been writing?"

Jeff knew it well. At some point she had got it into her head that his biography needed to be recorded and that she was the one to write it, and so he'd put up with endless hours of her quizzing him about his life, career, and experiences. He'd pretended to be exasperated by the attention, claiming that no one wanted to read about a has-been astronaut and former business tycoon.

Secretly he'd been flattered. "Yes."

"It's been printed." She took two steps forward and placed a copy on the desk in front of him.

Jeff picked it up. On the cover was a montage of photos of him as a young astronaut, a reprint of the photo that adorned the walls of Tracy Industries, and a more recent picture. The title was splashed across the top of the dustcover. _Never Give Up At Any Cost_. "Well, thank you. You finished this quicker than I thought you would."

"I'm surprised that she managed to stay still long enough to interview you, let alone write it," Gordon chuckled, and Jeff grinned. His granddaughter wasn't known for just sitting around, even if her speed in writing the tome wasn't all that unexpected.

"There's more, Dad," and Alan gave his daughter an encouraging nod.

"More?"

"She's been putting a lot of work into this," Virgil added.

"Uh... Yes." She fidgeted, running her fingers down her uniform sash. "Y'see, Poppa, it seemed ridiculous to do all this work and not write about your most important legacy," she indicated the group around her, "International Rescue. And so I've written another book; a companion book..." She looked over to her mother and Tin-Tin handed her a large folder packed with neatly lined up papers.

Jeff felt a moment's alarm, but was careful not to show it. They all knew the importance of secrecy and none of his sons, nor Tin-Tin, would have permitted any information about the organisation to leak out into the public domain. He watched as the massive folder was placed on his desk. "Looks like I've got some light reading to do."

"There's so much misinformation out there," his granddaughter stated, "and conspiracy theories with people claiming to know who's behind International Rescue and where we're based, that I wanted to record the truth while the people who know it... who were part of it... are still with us. I wanted to take the chance to set the record straight." She placed her hand on the folder. "Everyone here's read it and checked the facts, except for Parker, because we didn't want to take the chance that someone at his home might read it, but he's seen bits of it and there's a digital copy in his room to read while he's here..." she glanced over at the ex-butler and he nodded his understanding. "But this is the only hard copy."

Jeff remembered his interviews. He'd wondered why she'd seemed just as interested in his role in the creation and continuation of International Rescue as the rest of his life, and had put it down to idle curiosity. "Thank you." He opened the folder's cover and read the title page. _Never Give Up At Any Cost: The real story of International Rescue._ "I hope you can give me a digital copy too, because I'll never be able to hold this."

"We've got that covered," Scott admitted. "But the idea is that once you've read and approved it, we store that," he pointed at the folder, "somewhere under lock and key where no one can get at it, and where it will be protected until such time as you stipulate."

"Yes." Virgil nodded. "Whether it's in fifty years time, or a hundred years time, or two hundred..."

"Or after the last Tracy has kicked the bucket," Gordon added.

"So it will be a kind of..." The author reclaimed Jeff's attention. "What did you say it was, Uncle John?"

"A tontine – only that's not strictly correct because it's not a financial transaction."

Jeff nodded his understanding.

She was continuing. "Yes, a tontine that will only be released after the last of us is dead."

"That's an excellent idea," Jeff admitted.

"And we want you to be the one to decide when that will be. While I was interviewing everyone they remembered something that Datuk said when they were deciding about how they could raise the money to continue after you'd had your stroke." She smiled at her maternal grandfather and Kyrano bowed his head in acknowledgement. "He described International Rescue as a kind of living organism. Brains is obviously its brains..."

"That's true." Jeff looked over at his friend, smiled, and nodded his agreement. "International Rescue would have been dead without you."

Brains flushed as Jayne gave him a squeeze.

"And Datuk said that your sons made up its body and that you were International Rescue's heart."

"I am?"

"Continuing on that logic," Gordon interrupted. "Penny and Parker were the immune system that protected the organism from dangerous bacteria and viruses. And Kyrano was the stomach that kept us nourished." Everyone laughed.

Alan looked across the group to his brother. "What about Tin-Tin?"

"The nervous system supporting the brain."

"And Grandma?"

"The skeleton supporting us all?"

"This isn't an anatomy lesson, Fellas," Scott growled.

"Sorry."

"It was after Kyrano had said that we were the body," Alan indicated himself and his brothers, "and you were the heart, that Grandma told us that if one of us was injured, then the heart of International Rescue would break."

"She could see that we didn't want to be a part of the organisation anymore," John added. "She was afraid that we'd get careless and do something stupid and that someone would get hurt or worse."

"That's one of the reasons why we eventually decided to quit," Virgil finished. "We knew that she was right and we didn't want to risk hurting you by carrying on when none of us wanted to."

"Your grandmother was a very astute, intelligent woman," Jeff remembered.

"She was that," Scott remembered. "So that's why we wanted to have this ceremony now, with just us present. We; that is all the parts that made up the body; wanted to acknowledge you as the heart of International Rescue. I know that even when I'm sitting at that desk, I'll never be able to take your place."

"He'll just be a ventricle," Gordon quipped.

Jeff laughed. "I will give serious consideration into when this should be released," he ran his fingers along the cover of the folder, "but I think we all should have input into the decision." He looked at his family. "I might have been 'the heart' of International Rescue, but I couldn't have kept it beating without all of you surrounding me and supporting me. We were, and we still are, a team..." He gave a wry grin. "Although the way that this body has grown I hope that we've developed muscle and not just gotten fat." He joined in the laughter that his comment generated. "Thank you all. I'm sure that this will make interesting reading."

As everyone moved away, he took his cane and circled his desk to where his eldest granddaughter was standing. "Thank you," he said, giving her a one-armed embrace and a kiss on the cheek.

"You might want to change parts of it, or remove some sections. Like when the Sentinel shot down Thunderbird Two... Of course that does explain why Thunderbird Four took so long to get to New York."

Jeff glanced over at his middle son who was deep in conversation with Brains and Jayne. If that section included Virgil's feelings on trying to nurse a crippled aircraft back to base, it was going to make for interesting reading. "I'll let you know when I've finished the book."

Scott, about to leave the room so he could change out of his uniform, was caught by the arm.

It was Gordon. "Erm, Scott?"

"Yes?"

"Could I have a meeting...? An official meeting with you sometime? Not tonight; tomorrow will do."

"Sure." Scott smiled at his brother, wondering if he already knew what the content of this 'official meeting' would be. "Before lunch?"

Gordon looked relieved. "Thanks."

Scott stuck his hands into his pockets and surreptitiously looked around. "Can I ask you a favour?"

Gordon frowned. "What is it?"

"Can you stop singing _Mustang Sally_ around Sally?"

Gordon grinned. "Is this you asking, or her?"

"Her. She didn't want to hurt your feelings."

"It's a fifteen year habit. It might be hard to break."

"Will you at least try?"

Gordon laughed. "Tell her that she can tell me to shut up if I so much as hum a note."

Scott slapped him on the back. "Thanks."

He was surprised when his brother suddenly yelled: "Hey, Virgil!"

Virgil looked around the heads of several members of his family. "What?"

"Can I cancel my request for tonight?"

"Your req...?" Virgil saw who Gordon was talking to and grinned. "Sure. No problem."

Turning back to Scott, Gordon asked: "Why didn't Sally ask me herself?"

Scott looked over to where his daughter was listening to one of Parker's tall tales. "For some strange reason, she actually seems to like you."

Gordon treated his brother to a cocky grin. "Well, who wouldn't?"

"I suggested that we head over to the Atlantic station this weekend, so I could touch base with the rest of the team, and she was more interested in going to Moon Reef with her favourite uncle."

Gordon heard the almost wistful undertone in Scott's statement and lost his cockiness. "Heck, Scott, I didn't know. If you guys have plans, I can cancel."

"No, don't do that. We can go together some other time."

"No. I'll cancel," Gordon declared. "This is going to be the first time you'll visit the Atlantic Base as their commander. That'll never happen again and she should see how respected her dad is... We can go swimming anytime. I'll tell her something else came up."

"Gordon..."

"It's okay... I guess I get carried away by the novelty of having someone who actually wants to learn from me." Gordon's voice became quiet. "It's not like my three are interested in following in my footsteps."

"Apart from a tendency to getting into trouble," Scott amended. "At least Sally takes her lessons seriously. Unlike some I could mention…"

_*** __Five years earlier_

Scott had been nominated to train Gordon's triplets in the art of flying, soaring, and all things aeronautical, and things had gone swimmingly until one day when he was due to take Pacific for a training flight. He'd climbed into the co-pilot's seat, looked across at his pupil, and seen a tell-tale scar.

He got out of the aeroplane, stormed around to the other door, and yanked it open. "Indie! Out!"

Indie, realising that to refuse was courting trouble, had obeyed.

"Follow me."

It had been a silent procession up to the courtyard where the other two triplets were relaxing by the pool.

Scott had marched over to the one without a sketchbook in hand. "Get down to that plane now!"

"Erm… Uncle Scott…" The sketchbook was returned to its owner. "You're supposed to be teaching me."

Scott glared at the miscreant.

"I-I'm sorry... It was only a joke."

"A joke? I'm teaching you how to keep yourself and others safe in the air and you're making it into a joke?!"

Three sets of eyes stared at the cobblestones beneath their feet.

"If you're not prepared to take these lessons seriously, I'm not prepared to teach you." Scott's glare scolded the three triplets. "Understand?"

"Yes, Uncle Scott."

"Anyone want to pull out now?"

"No, Uncle Scott."

Without a word, Scott had stood back and allowed a chastened and convinced-that-this-session-was-not-going-to-be-fun-and-games Pacific to hurry past him.

The other two knew that they would be expecting similar treatment when it was their turn.

They were not wrong.

-I-R-

Gordon shook his head in exasperation. "That was years ago, Scott! They've learnt their lesson. Get over it."

"It was a stupid stunt."

"And you discovered what they were up to before they got away with it."

"Yeah... Well... They're not totally identical." Scott touched the side of his face.

"They were probably counting on you to realise that it wasn't Pacific in the cockpit. They just didn't expect you to go ballistic on them."

"They should have known better. Flying's a serious business."

"I know. And they know how important it is to you. That's why I asked you to teach them instead of doing it myself." Gordon grinned. "Why settle for second best when you can have the best?"

"Ah, Gordon..." Scott looked over his brother's shoulder. "Perhaps you should reconsider that."

"Reconsider?" Turning, Gordon discovered that the room had cleared and that the only people who remained were their brothers and father; all of whom were listening to every word. Virgil, his folded arms and frown expressing his displeasure, had been standing directly behind him.

"I was giving Scott my ideas for a new training schedule," Gordon lied. "You know. It wouldn't hurt for everyone to have a few refresher courses? Can I sign you up for some swimming lessons, Virg?"

"No, thanks."

"Swimming," Scott snorted. "All Sally thinks about is swimming. She hasn't shown any interest in learning to pilot a plane."

Jeff chuckled. "Give her time," he advised. "Not everyone wants to fly before they can walk like you did."

"Yeah," John agreed. "Before you know it she'll have her wings and will be asking you for the keys to the plane so she can go and visit her boyfriend."

Scott's jaw dropped. "Boyfriend?!"

Alan poked his eldest sibling in the ribs. "You've gone a bit pale there, Scott."

His brother grimaced. "I wonder if it's still possible to buy chastity belts."

"Ask Penny," John suggested. "Chances are she's got one or two lying around the manor."

"They were probably the reason why she learnt how to pick locks." Gordon ducked a clip across the ear from the Lady's husband.

Deciding that this was one topic he didn't want to contemplate any longer, Scott turned to his father. "Looking forward to reading the book?"

"Very much so." Jeff leant on his cane and smiled at his five sons. "Unless it's going to remind me of things that I'd rather forget."

"You might get a shock at what you have forgotten," John told him. "I did. We've been through so much over the years that a lot of it seemed to have crowded other parts out of my brain."

"Same here," Virgil agreed. "I'd read some and a whole lot of memories that I would have sworn were gone forever would come flooding back." He frowned. "With some of our less successful rescues, I wish they stayed away."

Alan, the author's ever-loyal father, puffed his chest out in pride. "I'm glad that she's written about our failures as well as our successes. We don't sound like we're some kind of supermen."

"Aren't we?" Gordon teased.

"I kept forgetting that it was semi-autobiographical," Virgil admitted. "When I was reading about some of our trickier rescues I was thinking; _there's no way they'll succeed, _and then I'd have to stop and remind myself that _we_ _did_!"

Scott fingered the pale blue sash that would never again see active duty, "Seeing it all catalogued like that, I'm amazed at what we've achieved."

"Seeing it all catalogued like that..." John grinned, "I'm amazed that we survived!"

Alan turned to his father. "Have you any ideas about when you're going to let it be released, Dad?"

"Not yet. I'd like to read it first."

There was a moment of silence and each man reflected on their own memories of forty amazing years.

Jeff looked between his five sons. "Never again will the six of us be together as members of International Rescue and I'd like to give you all one last piece of advice. This time I've had some say in when and how I'm leaving the organisation, and I'm grateful for that. And I want you all to remember that it's your choice too. Whether you decide to hang up your sash tomorrow," his eyes fell for a moment on Gordon, "or sometime next decade," this time his gaze rested for longer on Alan, "I want you to be first and foremost honest with yourselves. Don't let anyone or anything else influence your decision. You'll know when it's time to retire and I know that you'll support each other as you make that decision."

"You can count on it, Dad," John reassured him.

"I know. Everything's going to be F-A-B..."

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

It was later that night, after an evening of celebrations and commemorations, that Jeff Tracy retired to bed and picked up his digital copy of _Never Give Up At Any Cost: The real story of International Rescue_. He began to read about the organisation that he'd created some 40 years earlier...

_When Jeff Tracy's wife died it turned his whole world upside-down, but planted a seed of an idea that had repercussions for him, his sons, and, eventually the inhabitants of Planet Earth. That idea grew alongside Jeff's fortune until one day it burst into flower..._

_A flower that today we call International Rescue._

_This is the story of Jeff Tracy, his family, and a close-knit team who collectively work together to ensure that, at least at the time of writing this book, Thunderbirds are go..._

_**The end.**_

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

-I-R-

_**Author's note:**_

_**However I did consider finishing with: **_

_Later that same day, after an evening of celebrations and commemorations, Jeff Tracy retired to bed and spent the night reading about the organisation that he'd created. As he dropped off to sleep the digital book that detailed his life and the lives of those closest to him slipped from his fingers and slid onto his chest..._

_That night the heart of International Rescue stopped beating._

-I-R-

_**But I like my stories to finish on a positive note, so Jeff's going to be watching over International Rescue for a few years yet.**_

_**F-A-B**_

**:****-)**_** Purupuss **_

_**Definitely the end. **_


End file.
